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Chapter Text

The sky erupts in a bright and loud explosion. Vines, flowers, and clouds are ripped apart in the eruption leaving nothing behind as the mad monarch falls and shrivels up in the blast. Her last screams are cut off as her vocal cords are the first thing to be blown away by Kirby's Hypernova beam. She falls to her demise as the silence follows her dutifully to the grave. The vain queen of Floralia is finally laid to rest. She shall sleep forevermore, never to awaken from her glory-filled dreams.

Queen Sectonia’s reign ends with a bang and silent relief. Though, peace is far from within reach.

Taranza takes a deep breath and slowly counts to ten. He exhales as soon as he hits the mark. The gigantic parasitic flower - the moon blossom with its tyrian pink and heart-shaped petals with Sectonia’s hea- 

Sectonia … She is gone. She is gone. 

She is gone.

It  - is gone. The Dreamstalk – the hopes and wishes of the sky people blossoms under the sparkling dawn. Despite how fitting it would be for it to fall apart in smoke and ash – the bridge that connects the islands of Floralia blooms beautifully. Small – though still large compared to their usual size – moon blossoms unfurl from tiny white bulbs. They sparkle and reach for the rising sun’s light. Soaking up the shimmering dust that is her remains. 

The night has ended, and a new dawn has begun, Taranza notes bittersweetly. His wish came true. But at what cost? He wished for a sunrise not knowing what he would exchange to see the proverbial light of day again. If he had known he would have never made that lofty wish. 

The aurora that streaks across the sky is stunning. Taranza almost forgets that he is holding King Dedede as he and the saviour of Dreamland – neigh – Popstar float down at the sight of it. Taranza adjusts his hold, puffing to stay afloat as he gently glides down. King Dedede is not a light man, he has discovered throughout carrying him all the way from the bottom to the top of the sky realm. He knows how much effort goes into carrying him. But to be fair, he had carried the strongman in his magic spider web. Holding onto him by the arms is different.

He has suggested using his web again. But by the King’s haggard look he kept his mouth shut. Opting to use two pairs of hands as his one free pair keeps him from plunging to their deaths. Flying magic comes with ease - every creature in the sky knows it! But it is different with cargo thrice his size and ten times his weight. It is oddly familiar; he muses with a sharp pain in his chest. He tries not to think back to that memory - to the reason this all started.

Taranza looks over at Kirby. The child – they cannot be a teenager! They are too bubbly and stubborn - believing that they will always stand on top and win every time. Not that Taranza can blame them for the arrogance. They demonstrated that the faith they have in themself is true. There are only a few people who can call themselves Kirby’s peers.

He has never seen someone so young be so powerful. It took him by surprise. Though perhaps he should not have been surprised. Kirby looks an awful lot like a cherub, down to the deceptive childlike cuteness and the sheer amount of power at the tips of their fingertips. The only things they are missing are a set of wings and a dozen blinking eyes. The cherubs of the books of old look more insect-like but he has heard the army scream ‘Engel! Verschwinde!!’  when he passed by. So, he knows he is not the only one who sees the resemblance. Only the brave stood their ground and they paid dearly for it.

He had been fed up with Kirby being so close on his tail that he had not cared that he was attacking a sprout. But now the guilt eats at him. He may not have directly attacked the youth but making all those monsters fight them and then their kingly friend is not much different from trying to kill them, himself. For once he wishes he had fought using his magic rather than puppeteering someone else to do the dirty work. Perhaps he would feel a teensy bit better. Although, he probably would not have forgiven himself if he attacked Kirby personally. This is not the only bad thing he has done in the last few months.

Taranza shakes his head. He ignores the nagging in the back of his mind. He knows he will have to face the music soon enough but for now, he can pretend everything is fine – that this is fine.

He is fine.

It is disturbing how easy it is to ignore his bad thoughts. The joy of victory is infectious. The lower land spreads underneath their feet, the lowest clouds parting at their descent. Taranza stares in wonder. He was born on a little patch of dirt not too far from Endless Explosions. All he had ever known were the islands. A whole swath of land is unheard of, and here he is looking at it – the land of legends! Only Aidon was big enough for the whole sky to inhabit, grow food and have enough life stock to feed everyone. Yet here there is no end in sight for the green land below. It feels as if he is dreaming.

Kirby cheers as they spot it as well. King Dedede flinches, lost in thought as he hears Kirby hollering. He looks down, a relieved smile making its way on the king's face.

“It’s home, poyo! Yahoo!” Kirby wiggles their arms – probably wanting to jump for joy or do one of their peculiar victory dances. The people of the sky follow along with their motions. They do not show a hint of Kirby being tiring to carry. Taranza on the other hand wishes they could trade places. No, he retracts that statement. He does not want to touch Kirby even with a ten-foot pole.

He nervously observes Kirby's hands. They look so innocent, rosy with scraps and old white scars. They are the hands of a child and yet, those hands kill - ended- did in Sectoni–

He stops himself before he can continue that dreadful thought. His throat burns.

"Aye," King Dedede's words crawl out of his throat like a bad cough, still recovering from the strain he went through - the things Taranza put him through. The ache in Taranza's chest worsens.

"Thet sure is Dreamland."

“Dreamland?” Taranza muses out loud. It sounds like a name out of a storybook. 

King Dedede looks up at the spider, his eyes hard as he studies the adolescent’s expression. Taranza's face is that of awe. But as much as Taranza is impressed – it is also hollow. It is the expression of someone who sees paradise right after tragedy befell them. It is uncanny to see the guy with so much energy and duty look so empty. It is strange how fast one's worldview can change - how fast their world can fall apart right in front of their eyes.

King Dedede sighs, his eyes softening as they take on the tender edge of whenever he thinks of his great country – of all his wonderful citizens and the people he loves.

“Yeah, Dreamland, thuh best country on all of Popstar. A beaut, ain’t she?”

Taranza wants to protest. His patriotism surges forth on a matter of principle. But it is a weak argument with his country is in tatters by nothing other than his hands. He made a big mess up there.

“It is beautiful.” He admits. The land of dreams is a fitting title. If under any other circumstance he would have believed Aidon was not a place in the furthest reaches of the sky nobody could reach but rather the lands below. A misconception by their ancestors that worshipped space rather than the scarce earth beneath their feet. But if it had been that easy - he would wail in the cursed tragedy of such a revelation. It is not Aidon but it is beautiful all the same.

The air here is different from the clouds. Taranza’s body feels heavy as the ground comes closer. His chest constricts, and sweat pours down his forehead. All the layers of clothes he wears, despite their holes – feel unbearable and hot. The temperature feels as if it is rising in a matter of seconds since they breached the cloud barrier. 

Taranza knows what is happening, having read about what happened to early explorers who wanted to know about the lands below. But he is too late, the effects have already taken hold. His vision goes black.

“Taranza? Are you okay, buddy –  Urk!” Dedede's voice cuts off as they fall, and Taranza goes limp.

Darkness is what greets Taranza. He knows it well and by the strain in his neck slowly travelling towards his temple he knows what kind of day it will be. 

Taranza groans, rubbing his face as he comes to. He feels drunk. It is strangely reminiscent of the hangover he experienced after Sectonia’s coronation. His head feels like a sole pickle inside of a pickle jar, sloshing around to meet the edges of the glass every time it is jostled around. His focus latches onto the nausea swimming in his gut, ignoring his surroundings. He recognises the feeling, and he wonders how many drinks he had if he does not remember drinking anything the previous night. 

He smacks his lips, his mouth dry and tangy. He does not taste the sweet alcohols Moonlight Capital is known for. But it would not be the first time he took a shot and blacked out right thereafter. Bitter drinks tend to not linger, not like the sweet honey that softens the heavier drinks.

Being Queen Sectonia’s right-hand man is an honourable job. He would not trade it in for the world! But it is stressful and sometimes he adds a little too much spice to his juice to keep him relaxed when he wants to rip the talons from his hands. It is a total normal response, he reasoned a long time ago. Though maybe it is not a good sign he is unsurprised to wake up to a migraine. But it beats anxiously racking through his hair and accidentally pulling his roots out. Sectonia will not have it if his hair is uneven.

Taranza is laying on his back in the dirt. He has no idea how he wound up on the ground far away from his bed. Oh well, he thinks. Them’s the breaks. He still has to get a move on. He can agonise about how he fell asleep in a patch of earth later. There is paperwork to finalise and rebellions to squash. 

He uses his arms to push himself upright. But he can barely lift himself from the ground. His head lands in the grass with a thud. Taranza’s whole body aches as it if has been ripped apart by the seams. What happened?  The question bounces inside his head, joining in with his raging headache. What gobbled me up and spat me out again? I feel like a waking nightmare.

Taranza opens his eyes, yet the sun pushes them back shut as if to punish him for his boldness. Gosh, that is fierce! Ow! Taranza is used to how stark the sun can be from living in Royal Road his whole life, but it still stings to get the glare in his eyes. He is lucky most of his seeing eyes are on the back of his head. 

He hisses in his hands, covering his face. He can feel his other hands grapple onto his clothes and his hair, steadying his breath by feeling familiar sensations. Strangely, they feel different. However, he cannot put his finger on why.

The pain leaves him breathless. His hands are rough on his face, and he wrinkles his nose. He might not see anything from how hard he clenches his eyes shut but he can still feel. His gloves are ripped and the skin of his palm meets his cheek. His digits press into his face and catch on his glasses. But instead of touching the glass and smudging it – they give and touch his closed eyelids.

Huh, echoes through Taranza’s mind as he feels the edges. The glass inside of his frames is gone, shattered by the feeling of sharp glass poking at his fingertips.

He hears a voice above him and with the state his glasses are in, it can only mean bad things.

Okay, he thinks in a voice that sounds a little too calm for how panicked he feels. Now I really need to know what happened. 

Taranza painfully pries his eyes open, gagging as the light burns his retinas. He fights through it, his vision clearing to see the dawn. The sky is baby blue and tapers off into pinks and yellows. A beautiful stream of lights dances across the heavens. The sight puzzles him. The blue yonder of his home should be closer. Why is it so far away?

His mind is slow, so slow the thought of queen Sectonia killing him for his no doubt improper appearance does not scare him as much as it should. If she knows he would be in the dungeon for his fashion crimes and although he is far from comfortable, he is not locked up or anywhere near the palace. He is more scared of not getting home than he is of her wrath.

The barrier of clouds is far above his head. He cannot recognise any of Floralia’s landmarks and worse, the Dreamstalk reaches far overhead. The sight of it is a bad omen. He cannot see where it ends. 

His throat tightens, knowing all too well what that means. All the sunstones have been gathered and anyone can walk their way up to Royal Road. Especially that pink meddle-

Taranza flinches. The king who he took from his shoddy castle abode, is standing over him. Taranza never realised, having always had the upper hand – how much the king towers over him. He is a twig compared to him.

“Easy, easy! Ya took a tumble thayure, Tazz.” The king tries to ease Taranza, throwing up his hands in a placating gesture. Taranza hunches in on himself, trying to make himself appear smaller. But the man is built like a brick house with the height to match. Whatever he does, he will always be massive compared to a guy like Taranza. He never thought he would have to be scared of someone because of their height since he is on the lean side. Past him is a fool.

Taranza yelps, inching away as he drags his sorry arse across the dirt. He blinks, the eyes on the back of his head taking in how soft and pleasing the grass looks. There are wildflowers scattered among the field. He sits up, admiring the far plains. An unknown environment greets him from all sides. They are on a hill that overlooks green pastures. In the distance, there are dirt spirals-like formations that reach from the ground, star-shaped plants and natural forming windmills with dragonfly wings as blades. It is a new world, and a single word stands out when he catches his bearings.

Dreamland. I'm in Dreamland.

The sunlight, as weak as it may be - is warm on his skin.

“Um, Popstar to Taranza – ya in there, bud?” Taranza cocks his head, taking in the hero of Lower Lan- No, the King of Dreamland. His clothes are torn. The hem of his robe is torn, revealing the claw-like feet poking out from his sandals. His footwear is reinforced with a steel-like contraption. it looks uncomfortable yet does not screech or thump as sabatons should. Taranza does not what he is looking at and does not bother to understand it.

King Dedede’s kimono is not faring much better. The collar has been ripped in the battle. It is a miracle that Dedede’s clothes are still hanging on, as threadbare as they are from the abuse. Though, perhaps it is the large belt around his waist keeping everything together. Taranza would not know. He has never seen such a style before until he popped in over to kidnap King Dedede. Lowland fashion is weird. 

Taranza shakes his head, eyes darting around the hill again. Confusion is making his headache worse. Why is he in Dreamland?

“Wh-where am I?”

“In Dreamland! How hard did ya hit chur head? Though, it is naw wonder you look so dazed. Thet wuz one nasty fall!” King Dedede chuckles, but he does not sound as carefree as he wants to be. The King rubs the back of his neck. His face looks gaunt and Taranza wonders when that happened. King Dedede despite his dishevelled appearance should have been fed with his magic spider web. Why does he look so-

All at once, the memories filter in. Kidnapping the king of Dreamland on Sectonia’s orders, the supposed hero of the lower lands with the real hero chasing after him, hot on his trail. The people of the sky, working against them and standing in his way at every turn. He ordered his subordinates to capture them to keep them out of his business and finally the battle. The Battle. 

Sectonia, Taranza's breath hitches staring up at the clouds once more.  She is… No, it can't be. But it is true, the Dreamstalk is in bloom and that can only mean one thing. There is no queen of Floralia, not anymore.

But Taranza cannot mourn. He may have helped the King and Kirby defeat his former queen but that does not mean he is off the hook. One right does not right all the wrongs he committed. 

Taranza scrambles upwards, flushing for showing weakness. It is undignifying for someone of his position. He is in the middle of dusting himself off when he recalls that he is not the right hand of a powerful monarch anymore. He swallows thickly, ignoring the growing pit in his stomach. 

“You alright? You suddenly passed out in thuh sky. Is thayure an injury we’re not aware of? Well, aside from hitting ya noggin supah hard.” King Dedede asks with a snort. He straightens and it is as Taranza suspected, at his full height the man is twice his size. He could so easily crush him. Taranza has no energy to summon his magic and forget teleporting. He refuses to shudder at the realisation of how vulnerable he is. He will not succumb. 

Taranza frantically searches for the bubblegum pink hero, feeling fear creep up his spine at the thought of not knowing where they are. A day ago, that would have been a good sign. It meant he shook Kirby off his trail. Now though, it is a fine opportunity to jump him and finish the job.

Taranza sidesteps Dedede, the king’s curious gaze following him. Kirby is behind Dedede a few paces away. They are sitting in the grass, fiddling with a rectangle device, seemingly waiting for something. Taranza does not want to know what they are waiting for.

“Huh – no! I suppose exhaustion must have gotten the best of me. I'm so sorry to have worried you, your majesty.” Taranza glances back at the King, cringing. It hurts to call someone else by that title. But he fears the retribution of not addressing a king in his land without the proper honorific. In Floralia, even as Sectonia’s best friend when she was a princess - he would not have gotten away with that with people around. 

He bows at the waist. It feels like pouring salt into his wounds. 

“Hey! It’s alright, naw need tuh bow! If you’re still dizzy it is best tuh keep docile.” King Dedede guffaws, slapping Taranza on the back. Taranza falls over, only catching himself as his hands clutch onto Dedede’s robe to keep himself upright.

“Ah, sorry! I forget mah strength sometimes. Ya ok?” He helps steady Taranza, and the spider backs away. Grateful for the assistance but wary. He feels uneasy being around the king. It is bizarre how friendly he is. One would think if one kidnapped and possessed someone to fight on their behalf, they would be angry. But King Dedede appears anything but mad. He is an odd man. 

“I’m fine, thank you for your concern, your majesty.”

“You’re welcome and call me King Dedede, Tazz, everyone does.”

Taranza’s perfect smile twitches. 

“Okay, King Dedede.” 

“See? Much better, raht?” King Dedede smiles. If Taranza did not know better, he would think Dedede was just a good-natured middle-aged man giving him a pep talk he met on the street, not a powerful warrior king of a vast country. A warrior king who could so easily break him in half. Taranza quickly nods, wanting Dedede’s intense eyes off of him. 

King Dedede, despite his his less than delicate ways – notices Taranza curl into himself and distances himself from him. Dedede takes a step back and blissfully, points his attention elsewhere. He coughs in his hand. 

“Kirbay, when is Bandee coming?”

Kirby perks up. They energetically bounce up from their crouch and stretch their limbs. They shake their device in the air with a sunny smile.

“Poyo po-po! In a moment, Dedede! The people of the sky are helping everyone get down who got caught up in the Dreamstalk, po. Bandee wants to stay behind for a bit to help them out.” They go back to typing, giggling as they stare at their screen.

King Dedede shrugs.

“Heh, fair. He has always been tuh responsible one.” He nudges Taranza's shoulder but stops short when he sees the way Taranza freezes. Dedede awkwardly rubs his elbow.

“Kids these days, ey? Glued tuh thur phones.” 

“Yes! Of course. I concur wholeheartedly.” Taranza quickly agrees. He does want to anger the ruler of these lands. He may be terrified but with being Sectonia’s right hand for a good while he knows how to pacify a quick-tempered monarch. Saying yes to whatever mystifying thing Dedede says is familiar and safe territory. He can do this.

He has no idea what a phone is.

Dedede looks disappointed, or sad at his words. It is hard to tell. But before Taranza can scramble to salvage the situation, he moves on to the next topic. Ignoring Taranza's attempt at appeasing him.

“Oh, it is good tuh be home!” King Dedede stretches his arms above his head, groaning as his back pops. A wide smile blooms across his tired face nonetheless, “I need a long vacation wheyun everythin' has calmed down.”

He scratches his back and groans in only a way a person can when they have been awake for too long. Taranza would suggest a back massage or soaking in hot water, anything to bring him the good graces of someone who could throw him in the dungeons to starve. He is not sure if King Dedede knows the power he has over him or not, but he would rather not risk getting on his bad side. There are worse things than death.

“But you didn’t do anything, po?” Kirby pipes up. Their unspoken rule of not coming close to the high-strung spider seems to not matter anymore. Taranza shouts in surprise as Kirby jumps on Dedede’s back. Dedede does not budge at Kirby’s weight, not even a little! He looks over his shoulder at the pink hero who slings an arm around Dedede's neck to steady themself. His eyebrow twitches. 

“Kirbay, shut it ya menace! I absolutely did sumpn! I saved you from thet vine and I helped with thuh canon.” He shakes his fist at Kirby. Kirby pockets their phone and sticks out their tongue. Their eyes narrow with mischief.

“Did I not have to save your sorry butt first though? Poyo?" They ruffle the hair underneath King Dedede's crown-like cap. The short yet thick blue tufts of hair shine in the sun, sticking up with sweat and grease. 

King Dedede growls and Kirby jumps off, sensing danger before the first strike.

“You little-!” King Dedede roars after them, forgetting his hat as it tumbles from his head. Kirby runs away, childish laughter spilling out their mouth as they duck and roll away from Dedede’s grasp. They run in circles in a weird game of tag with the king lunging at them while Kirby dashes out of the way with years of honing their dodging skills. Finding the perfect time frame to duck and roll away with a giggle and a laugh.

The sight would be comical if it is not for how confused Taranza is. He knows the King is a bit of an oaf from the lackeys he sent down to do recon before the people of the sky decided to plant their seed of invasion. An invasion that never happened because the People of the sky brought the citizens of Dreamland to them. But seeing him run after a child – a powerful one but still a child – is inconceivable to witniss. 

Taranza wishes he was dreaming. But the pain in his chest is too great to be just a dream. He clutches at his breast, biting his teeth as he looks down at himself. By Aidon, he looks horrible! He is lucky nobody else is here to see him in this sorry state. King Dedede and Kirby do not count, they are just as if not even more banged up than he is.

“Got ya!”

Taranza is brought out of his thoughts by a loud shout. He looks and sees King Dedede holding Kirby in his arm. His size dwarfs the already small hero. It is unbelievable to think someone at Kirby’s size and age chased him all around Floralia and ki- defeated Sectonia. 

Kirby is yelling, squirming in Dedede’s bear hug. But the sounds are joyous, Taranza guesses. He is not sure as Kirby’s laughter sounds closer to how a kid would scream bloody murder than being tickled.

“Take thet ya brat!” King Dedede shouts gleefully. Kirby squeals and tries to stop Dedede by holding the arm he is using to tickle them. Not that it does much. With their small hands, they cannot even wrap two around Dedede’s wrist. Though, Taranza has a feeling if Kirby does not want to be tickled - they would have found a way to get out of Dedede’s grasp. He has a hard time believing someone like Kirby would suffer under such treatment if they hated it.

“I know, I know! Poyo yo po! I was teasing Dedede. Have mercy - haha hee!” 

“Never!” Dedede cries, pressing Kirby close against him in a crushing embrace. He cards his fingers through Kirby’s hair, turning their face into his chest. The king’s smile falters, letting the sadness peek through as Kirby wrestles their way out of his arms. He plasters on a carefree façade as soon as Kirby rips their way out of his rough if affectionate treatment. Not letting the youngster see the pain and exhaustion weighing him down.

King Dedede swipes to get Kirby back into his arms for another noogie but Kirby weaves out of the way, repeating their song and dance.

Their buoyant laughter echoes through the rolling hills. It would be such a picture-perfect scene. Two friends, a family almost - playing in the scenic landscape of green fields and odd-shaped wildflowers. 

Taranza bites his cheek, his fangs piercing through the soft tissue of his mouth. He tastes iron on his tongue. It is almost sweet how the pain soothes his misery.

Sectonia…  He cannot stop thinking about what happened mere moments ago. About how she is gone, about how she cast him aside. It is only because King Dedede puts a halt to his and Kirby’s play fighting that he stops his downwards spiral. It is mercy as much as it is a curse. He wants to be left alone but he knows the second that he is – he will only have his stormy thoughts to keep him company. Taranza chuckles dryly, hiding it behind a charred glove. One way or another, he suffers.

“Wayul, it is time tuh get back tuh thuh castle me thinks.” King Dedede states as he holds Kirby by the back of their shirt. He raises his other hand to look in the distance. He squints his eyes, searching for his castle until he finds it. His joy is short lived and he groans at how far Mt Dedede is from their hill. 

Kirby wiggles, puffing their cheeks to stay afloat. They do not weigh much but their shirt is going to give if Dedede keeps dangling them like this. They do not want it to rip, even as battered as it is. It is a good shirt!

“You wanna come with, Kirbay? You’re probly hawngry after goin' all supernova on thet witc- uh, lady!” Dedede quickly backtracks, eyeing Taranza. Taranza stares at him with an owlish stare. Only the eyes on his forehead blink. The white ones once hidden by his broken glasses, gaze at him emotionlessly. It is as if they were never eyes, to begin with. King Dedede decides to not bother.

“What do ya say, Kirbs? Wanna eat thuh entire pantry empty after all our troubles?” Dedede asks. Kirby releases the air from their cheeks and flaps their arms. Stars shine in the deep blue sea of Kirby's eyes as they clasp their hands together in glee. Their answer is clear from the get-go.

“Do I! But it’s Hypernova! Not supernova – Hyper, po!” Kirby jabs his finger in Dedede’s face. Dedede rolls his eyes but agrees, throwing Kirby on his back in one smooth motion. 

“Yeah, yeah! Hypernova Kirbay, got it!” Kirby scrambles to right themself. They seem used to the treatment as they wrap their arms around Dedede’s neck. Their battered body sinks into the fluff of the king’s robe. With a sigh, they close their eyes. Taranza is not sure if their energy was a façade or if they naturally gonk out as soon as they lay down on something soft. Yet regardless of the truth, they nestle in the crook of King Dedede’s neck. Oblivious to the wreckage they had brought into so many people’s lives. Though as much as Taranza wants to blame them, he cannot ask a child to be held responsible for the state Floralia is in. The problems started long before Kirby came into the picture.

King Dedede’s face is soft. He lovingly pats Kirby’s head as a doting father would, “Sleep wayul Kirbs, wheyun you wake thayure will be a banquet waitin' fahwar ya." He makes sure Kirby will not fall as he adjusts the child on his back. Dedede holds Kirby as if they are his kid.

His gaze lands on Taranza and he exhales with a performative sigh. He gestures to his back with an exasperated if fond look. Taranza has a feeling Kirby has Dedede aged a thousand years ever since they met. But the look on the king’s face is one Taranza is familiar with. He was once a head priest; he knows when he sees a caring father.

“Thuh rascal needs thur beauty sleep or they get cranky. They tend tuh run themself ragged wheyunever adventure calls. I have mah hands full with them, can ya believe it?” 

“Yes, I can imagine your majes- your highness.” Dedede gives him a look but gives up when Taranza smiles too wide to be comfortable. He shrugs.

“Eh, close enough.” He gestures to his back again and Taranza expects Dedede to tell him another tidbit about Kirby. He feels puzzled when Dedede winks instead, pointing with his thumb to his left shoulder.

“Okay, hop on Tazz! We’re departing fahwar Mt Dedede, and it is gunna to be a journey and a half tuh get thayure!” 

“What?! No, I can’t! You’re- you’re!” Royalty! I would have been tossed on the curb for this on Floralia. Heck, he had gotten really close to getting his life ripped apart by gossip because of his closeness with the late queen. He does not want to think of what could have happened to him if he has been fired during her reign. He would have been fish food for the sharks smelling blood. A prime target for the revolutionaries wanting to make an example of him. Though, it probably would not have gotten to that. Queen Sectonia would have killed him first before he could give away sensitive information. He knows that now. She would not have hesitated. 

He swallows thickly. The scene where she disregarded flashes before his eyes. It was the moment he realised she was too far gone. If she had not been preoccupied with Kirby, she would have – he would- 

Taranza cannot bring himself to finish that thought. He feels dizzy, the world is spinning. His horns buzz and every strand of hair on top of his head scraps against them the wrong way. Everything feels too much.

His knees give out underneath him and he cannot protest King Dedede’s support in keeping him upright. He feels himself being lifted on Dedede’s back. The king grumbles something under his breath. Taranza does not hear it. The King jogs down the hill. His running should make Taranza sick, but with the soft robe cradling his aching body, nausea is far from his mind. It is pathetic but he finds himself not able to focus on the humiliation he no doubt will once he is a little more coherent. 

His thoughts drift to the fight and he looks up at the sky, sailing off to an exhausted doze. He cannot see Floralia from here. But he can see the Dreamstalk and makes an educated guess where Royal Road is. He cannot imagine the crisis that is happening in his absence. 

Taranza sighs and lets the pace of Dedede’s gait lull him into closing his eyes. 

Dissociating, Taranza knows it well. Yet he does not fight the beast. He rests his hands on his stomach and focuses on staying calm. His floating hands hold onto Dedede’s robe for stability, and he breathes in and out. He can only hope that the worse is now behind them.

Chapter Text

Insects have always been sensitive to the environment around them. Insectoids are no different. They know the altitude without a thrown glance at the sky. That is what the horns on top of Taranza’s head are for, sensing the vibrations in the air and sending out his own. In Floralia, it is impossible to send out pheromones to other Insectoids in the open air. They rely on sound waves to hear and biometric electricity to map out their surroundings. Having eyes is nice but their ancestral traits allow for them to see in the dark perfectly fine and see colours beyond the scope of their mammalian counterparts. 

So Taranza knows the moment they step on rocky terrain that they are at the Mt Dedede the king mentioned. His mind perks at the feedback his horns give. The small fuzz growing on the keratin whispers information to him, and he dutifully listens. He can do nothing but try to understand what is going on around him.

The feeling of sand and sulphur suggests an extinct volcano. It is just a mountain now but the traces of its past still linger in the bedrock. The smell of warmed dust makes Taranza cringe but he is too far up to be bothered by it or to fear it getting in his mouth. The road is bumpy and when they arrive at a settlement Dedede’s gait is much smoother. Not once does Taranza need to open his mouth or his eyes to confirm where they are. He curls deeper into himself, ignoring the wafts of powerful magic that come from the sleeping child next to him. 

He wonders how he missed the tremendous aura emitting from the astral before. Up close they are as bright as a star and as hot as the sun. He feels like an idiot, he should have closed his eyes sooner than maybe he would have known from the get-go who the real hero of Lowerlands was. But it is too late now.

The town they are in feels clean with light vibrations suggesting light pigments and sturdy foundations. Only the cobblestone gives back a darker taste. The stone makes his teeth grind. He can taste the grit and gravel in the back of his throat. He cannot imagine how many people walk this path daily and spread their germs. He does not want to know.

The lights or whatever Dreamland uses to illuminate their nights, are so old. He can sense the electricity running underground. He wonders how far along technology is in this place if they are still using windmill energy. He hopes for the king's sake they have a few powerful lightning mages in this kingdom. Taranza cannot imagine living in a place that is still using such primitive means for energy. 

The air tastes like people, too many people. Taranza shrinks. He knows that these are waddle dees, his kingdom has a lot of them in the lower islands. Yet, there are others too - creatures he has never sensed before. The feeling of so many people gathered in one place, their vibrations are making his stomach roll. His head overfills with information and he short circuits. His neck lolls limply to the side and he blanks out. Overstimulated by everything happening all at once.

The reboot does not last too long. Before Taranza can worry about what he missed during his blackout, he feels something underneath him. Softer than King Dedede’s tarnished robe and softer than the spiky chaos that is his mind toiling and turning. The fabric underneath him is rougher than the rich cloth of his parents' trade, he notes distantly as he curls into the foetal position. Tucking his knees under his chin and groaning in pain now that he is coherent enough to voice his discomfort.

Someone above him makes a sympathetic sound but Taranza does not care enough to open his eyes. He could use his horns to determine who it is. But he feels so overloaded that he knows the feedback will leave him howling in agony. He is not in the mood to worsen the misery he is in. Although there is one good thing to being in pain physically. It means he does not focus on what is going on inside his mind. 

“Po? is he going to be okay, Dedede?” 

“You’re awake! Huh, I should’ve known thet ya wouldn’t stay under fahwar long. Heh, probly. Let him rest, fahwar now, Kirbs. Thuh man’s tired and honestly, I don't blame him. I do not know how long he spent servin' under thet woman, but I can't imagine thet it wuz easy.”

“Hmm, okay! Poy!”

Taranza wants to protest but he is too deep in his meltdown to even lift a finger. He curls in tighter and tighter until he cannot feel anything but the soft cocoon around him. He wants the world to disappear, existing feels like dying. He cannot take it anymore.  

His face feels damp, and he correctly guesses that his tears stain the fabric around his head. He does not do anything to stop them. They are silent and easily overlooked. They overflow but he knows all too well that these are just the tip of the iceberg. If he truly let's go there will be no end to the waterfall that will leak from his six-seeing eyes. He cannot have that, not when he does not know if he is truly safe. He cannot break down.

Taranza forces his head out of his cocoon. He wants to stay in there and sleep until the end of time swallows him whole. But he is too paranoid to find peace in darkness. He is in a strange land of which he kidnapped its king. He should treat it as it is - a hostile territory. He does not care if King Dedede is stupid enough to let him be free, his subjects can have very different opinions. He helped rule a country, he knows all too well how different the opinions can be between its people and the ones calling the shots.

A wide room meets his eyes. Its pale stone interior is unfamiliar to him and yet, he recognises parts of it. It clicks in his head once he sees bright red banners with the blue peace sign emblem embossed on Dedede’s kingly robe. The same that robe is wrapped around him and dwarfs his spindly form. 

The hall is dim despite its open design. He can tell because the sun is not currently searing his eyes. The curtains must be closed, even the ones behind him. He is sitting on a massive throne and he can correctly guess who it is meant for. Its owner is sitting on the floor enveloped by pillows, resting. King Dedede is surrounded by worrying personnel and a captain clueing him into what happened in his absence. Nurses tend to him and Dedede sheepishly waves them off. They roll their eyes, forcing him to stay down as they check him over. It seems as if they had tried to get him to move to the hospital wing, but the king refused to leave. They seem annoyed enough for it at least. Though, Taranza can taste the palpable relief Dedede’s subjects feel that their king has returned. There is none of that standoffish fear he is so used to with the servants at the palace. The difference is so jarring and yet they play the same roles.

Kirby sits on the other end of the blanket pile, ignoring the commotion. They push away anyone who gets too close with their socked feet. They shake their head and burrow themselves deeper into the mound of quilts until only their head and feet stick out. They do not want to be fussed about it seems. Yet, they are not impartial to the plates full of snacks, both healthy and unhealthy the helpers keep bringing. Stuffing their mouth full as they type into their new-fangled device.

A lump lodges itself in Taranza’s throat. He caused this worry and if Kirby did not do anything, Sectonia would have no doubt imprisoned Dedede in her darkest dungeon. They were going to subjugate Dreamland once their plans were finalised to take over the entirety of Popstar. The king had been a tool meant to keep the people in line and when he thought Dedede was also its main hero, he thought he could kill two birds with one stone. What a disaster that turned out to be. Not that Sectonia waited until her kingdom was secure, she went right along ahead when she sensed there was nothing else to lose. Or so she thought. 

“Tch, I’m fine, I’m fine! It’s just a couple of bruises. Kirby has done much worse to me wheyun I got possessed many times before. It's no biggie! Hahaha!” King Dedede assures the medical professional checking the back of his head, laughing the pain away. The doctor clicks their tongue, something sharp flashing in their eyes when they see the marks the mask Taranza forced on Dedede left behind. Taranza digs himself deeper into the plush throne. If the rest of Dreamland ever finds out it was his fault this whole mess started, he is toast.

“My king, your nonchalance about your health is worrying.”

“Heh, I’ve had worse.” King Dedede shrugs.

“That’s exactly why it is worrying.” They point an accusatory finger at him but sigh. They know they will not get through the king’s thick skull. 

The doctor decides to cut their losses and focuses on Kirby. They approach the mound and crouch to pull the blankets from the child, taking in the singed clothes and bruised skin. Though one kick from the astral has them scrambling. Kirby sticks out their tongue, irritated. Taranza has no idea why. They appeared like such a happy child before. Nothing seemed to be able to curb their terrifying determination. Of all people, should Kirby not trust Dedede's staff the most? Why are they suddenly hostile? The mood change is perplexing. 

King Dedede chuckles, defusing the situation before it can boil over. Kirby crawls deeper into their den. Only a hand occasionally reaching out for food indicates that they are here at all. It is fascinating how still Kirby can move to not disturb their lair of blankets. If Taranza did not know better, he would think Kirby is the tarantula spider. Just waiting for prey to stick their head into the entrance of their nest so they can pounce and feast on their unlucky quarry. It makes Taranza feel a little better to see something familiar.

“Kirbay's a bit grumpy, doctor, playze don’t take it too personally. Thay heal fast with food, so ya don’t hav tuh worry!” The medic looks like they want to argue but one deep growl from the mound of blankets has them dashing behind the king. They decide to not push it with a grumble. Nobody wants to deal with an aggravated Kirby. It would be suicide to try.

“What about the other patient? Taranza, that’s their name, right? Are they suffering any injuries?” They inquire. Taranza ducks his head back into the robe, hoping they did not catch him intruding on their conversation. He feels silly, ducking as a young adult under the covers to hide from older adults. It is as if he is a child all over again, overstimulated by his surroundings and being looked down upon by the grown-ups who do not understand. He hates the way it brings him back to those times. But he hates it even more that he wants to go back. Back then the worst thing he did was sneak into the pantry for biscuits before dinner.

“Nuthin' thet seems life-threatenin'. He blacked out a few times, but I think that must be from exhaustion.”

“Alright, I think it is still best to check so if you could remove your robe from him, your majesty, me and my staff will carry the patient to the hospital wing for a thorough examination-”

“Wait a second thayure, Head First Responder Dee! Normally I would agree but Taranza has gone through a lot. I don’t think wakin' up in an unfamiliar environment with strangers will do him any good. Let him stay here with us. It’s why I set this up after all! Taranza can go tuh thuh hospital wing once he feels comfortable enough fahwar a check-up.”

“…whatever you say, my king. I trust your judgement.”

Taranza cannot see the face the doctor makes. But from the tone they respond with, he presumes they are exasperated with their king. But they are still loyal.

"Come on, everyone – let’s finish up! There is a stream of patients coming through that got caught up in the Dreamstalk and we need everyone onboard. Chop, chop!” 

The first responders clear out of the room, fast on their feet as they do not bemoan their heavy workload. A crisis is a crisis, and they know those well by now. There is no time to complain.

The throne room grows quieter. There is still Dedede, Kirby and a few guards standing at their station but otherwise, the hustle and bustle of the medical team and the servants has left. Taranza sighs in relief. The fewer people there are the less pain his head will be in once he can feel his horns again. 

“Tazz! You feelin’ better?” Dedede calls gently. It is a strange timbre to hear from the loud man. Although, Taranza has not had much to judge on. Yet, from what he has seen him handling Kirby, the rough king has a soft spot. He should not be surprised at this gentle treatment and yet, he is. 

Taranza bites his teeth and burrows deeper into the robe. But, he gives up and tears the fabric from his face. The fluff catches on his horn and he gasps at the pain that shoots up his spine. He should not have been so rough pulling the wool off his head.

The face that greets him is one of concern. Taranza does not know why. Does he look that horrible? How bad must he look for someone royal to be worried over him? Sectonia once upon a time worried over him. With her soft hands and charming voice, she would ask him what was wrong, and they would work through it together. He did not deserve the treatment, he knows that by now. He took advantage of her bleeding heart and now there is nothing of her left.

It is all his fault.

He bows his head, digging a hand through his hair to make the memories stop. They hurt too much to think about.

To speak feels like pulling teeth. Nevertheless, Taranza pushes through. Not answering has the potential to be worse. You do not leave royalty hanging. He learned that the hard way.

“Huh I, uh... this is not your castle?” He asks, tittering anxiously. He changes the subject, not wanting to talk about how he feels. This is not the throne room he joinked Dedede from when the king’s castle was whisked away far above the clouds. No, it is too grandiose and fancy compared to the simple design of that little château.

The king laughs, slapping his knee as if Taranza just told him a joke. The shredded boxing gloves lay at his feet and his hands are naked for everyone to see. In Floralia, naked hands are scandalous among the upper crust. It is so bizarre to see a king not care about propriety. Though compared to the many weird things about King Dedede, this is the most normal thing he has done since they set foot on the green lands.

“Oh, that thang? Thet wuz a vacation castle! I wuz takin' on a small holiday when the Dreamstalk snatched me up. Lucky me I guess. I can't imagine whut thuh Dreamstalk would hav done tuh mah beloved castle if I had stayed here.” He winces, imagining the Dreamstalk taking up the entirety of his expanded palace and its ground with his staff in it. The damages done would have been indescribable. 

“Oh,” Taranza responds, “that makes sense.” A vacation castle, huh? The king must be richer than he let on. Taranza thoughtfully notes. He certainly does not dress like it. Or Dreamland and Floralia's sense of showing status is different. He will bet on the latter.

“Hmm.” Dedede hums. They fall into a comfortable silence. King Dedede does not try again to ask how Taranza is feeling. He must see the deep exhaustion that digs into Taranza’s bones. The way he slumps and can barely hold together up. It would be silly to ask again.

Something in Taranza tells him to join the king and Kirby on the floor. He is being sacrilegious, sitting on the king’s throne when he is on the ground. But he cannot find it in himself to join them. Taranza wonders why the king even put him on the throne when it is his. He could have so easily laid Taranza down amongst the pillows and taken the seat for himself. It is his throne! It is his right to take it.

However, Taranza is too tired to ask why Dedede put him here and even if he had the energy, he still would not ask. He is not an idiot. He would rather die in uncertainty than die a painful death because he doubted someone above his rank. If he is going to die he is not going down from something that stupid.

Taranza sense of time is skewed. He cannot tell how late it is. His senses are fried and when he tries to sense the vibrations around him it makes his pain worse. The darkness of the room helps soothe his growing migraine but it does not help him determine the time of day. 

He knows the time has fled his grasp when Kirby crawls out of their blanket burrito, not grumpy anymore. They shuffle into Dedede’s lap and the fatigued king lets them. Kirby wraps their arms around his neck and whispers in his ear. But Kirby is not a quiet person and Taranza can hear them just fine despite that they are trying to stay hushed. Taranza is not sure why they are whispering but he appreciates Kirby trying to be silent. His ears hurt a little less.

“Bandee should be here any minute, po! Most of Dreamland’s forces have been saved from the Dreamstalk and only a few people are staying up there.”

King Dedede nods. His half-lidded eyes widen when he realises what Kirby said. His lips pull into a massive grin which Kirby copies. He excitingly ruffles Kirby's hair, and they lean into it. 

“That’s great! I can’t wait tuh see thet goober back safe and sound in the castle. I appreciate thuh help, but I don’t like Bandee bein' all alone up thayure.” King Dedede admits. The worry carves lines into his face. His hair stands up like an agitated bird. He must care about this ‘Bandee’ to look this tense. A noble friend perhaps? His second child? King Dedede does not look like someone who would stop at having one kid. He would probably adopt a whole gaggle of them. 

Kirby hums and returns the pat on top of Dedede’s head. 

“I don’t like him being alone either, but Bandee can take care of himself, poyo! Have faith in him Dedede. If anyone can come back unharmed from recon it is Bandee!” They smile reassuringly. King Dedede nods, releasing his held breath.

“You’re raht, Kirbay. But I’m allowed tuh worry, ya brat.” Dedede jokingly scolds, flicking Kirby's forehead. The impact from his finger makes Taranza flinch at the sound. Kirby falls back onto the pillows. The force behind the flick should have blown them to the other side of the room. But Kirby looks unbothered, reciprocating the love tap with a punch to Dedede’s gut. The king smirks down at them, not even moving an inch despite how Kirby put their entire weight into it. Kirby grins back.

Taranza presses himself into his seat. He does not want to get in the middle of whatever sudden beef these two have with each other. The images of the fight between possessed Dedede and Kirby play out in his mind. He swallows dryly. He does not want to see that again. Taranza can feel his hands pulling into a familiar formation, the feeling of spider thread wrapped around his fingers. He forces himself to breathe calmly to make the feeling disappear. 

Kirby lunges at Dedede, trying to wrestle king into submission. Dedede lets them, amused at their attempts but fighting back when Kirby gets a little too close to a sore spot. They roll on the ground, dragging the blankets and pillows with them until it becomes a tangle of limbs than quilts. The king fights back and Kirby squeaks in surprise. Pinned underneath the king with their arms just barely matching the king's strength as Dedede pushes Kirby onto the blankets in the same way someone would press their opponent onto a training mat. Kirby escapes by wiggling from under him. King Dedede is a formidable foe but Kirby is nimble and has that boundless energy only found in children. They jump on his back. King Dedede tries to shake them off. But they are like a leech, staying on and giggling to their heart's content at Dedede's mock frustration.

Taranza cocks his head, bemused. He frowns at the lack of aggression he is so used to when fists swing. As barbaric, as it is the play-fighting appears harmless enough. Though, if Taranza were to come in the middle of that he would die at impact. He may be one skilled mage for who he is but even he cannot magic denser bones. 

As if to relieve Taranza’s thoughts on weird Dreamland customs, the doors of the grand throne room crack open. Sunlight skitters across the floor and although the doors are far away from the throne area - it lights up the room. Taranza hisses. His eyes sing with pain.

He closes his eyes and when he opens them again, a new figure approaches the throne and pillow fort. Luckily the doors are closed again and he can look at them without straining his eyes.

They are short, but it makes sense, Taranza realises as they are child. They have all the features of one with large eyes and chubby cheeks hidden by a cloth mask. Still, despite their young age, they carry themselves with grace. It is only when they reach the final step that their elegant gait falters. They rub their neck. It is a near replica of the king’s own sheepish habit.

They are wearing all black, perfect to go unnoticed in the dark. Taranza recognises the blue bandana on top of their head. It is the person who is always one step ahead. The one who he mistook for a part of their recon troops until he saw them giving food to Kirby. He remembers feeling hot rage course through him at the betrayal. Now he knows that this fellow was a part of Kirby’s team all along he feels like an idiot. They look nothing like an Insectoid. But, it is not like he could have stopped and looked closer when Kirby was always so close on his heels.

Taranza is not sure if he should feel relieved that this mystery person is alright or annoyed that they infiltrated through Floralia’s defences so easily. But he knows that their return is a good sign when King Dedede and Kirby break apart to look at them.

“Great king, Kirby – I’m back and I come with grand news! The casualties caused by the Dreamstalk and Floralia’s forces are at a minimum and we were able to save at least 88% of our citizens that got trap-“

“Bandee, you’re back!” Kirby interrupts him, jumping at the boy with their arms wide open. ‘Bandee’ shrieks as he is picked up and spun around. The shrieking changes into laughter as soon as his brown eyes light up in recognition. It seems sneaking into Floralia has made ‘Bandee’ a touch paranoid.

“Kirby, ya! Don’t scare me like – I could have stabbed ya, na-ya.” Kirby giggles, setting him down. Kiby puffs out their chest, making a hand gesture by gently pinching their nose and then dismissively throwing it away like a discarded handkerchief. 

‘Bandee’ places his hands on his hips and puffs his cheek. Not that is easy to see with the mouth mask of his black uniform covering half of his face but Taranza has a keen eye for body language. You do not survive in court otherwise.

“I so could have, ya! Don’t underestimate me, Kirby.” He gently nudges Kirby’s arm. The pink hero winks and 'Bandee's' pinched brow softens. Not able to stay serious when the happiness of being reunited wins out.

“Bandana – welcome home!” King Dedede greets, cutting in on Kirby and Bandana's fake tiff.

Bandana turns around to greet the sitting king. His real name, Taranza guesses and if he knows the waddle dees by now – his full name is Bandana Waddle Dee – not Bandee. A beloved nickname, he notes with sadness as in the middle of his bow – Bandana Dee is lifted from his feet and brought into a bone-crushing embrace by his king.

In regards to affection, Kirby and King Dedede are one in the same. Bandana squeaks like a plush toy as Dedede squeezes him tight. Though not too tight, Taranza has seen what Dedede can do with those guns of his. Nobody wants a Bandana Dee puree. 

With Bandana’s back towards him, Taranza can see the spear tied to their back. It looks simple but well-loved. The point is wicked sharp. Taranza knows that stabbing Kirby was a joke – it could have been a reality if Kirby spooked Bandnana a little too much. He wonders if Kirby would even be inconvenienced by a stab wound. His experience with the child tells him that they would just shrug it off.

“I’m back, my king.” Bandana Dee murmurs, and hugs back, nestling his head under King Dedede’s beard. The embrace slackens and the tension in King Dedede’s body floods out of him. He cups the back of Bandana's head and for a moment and sighs. Happy to have the waddle dee back safe and sound.

Kirby jumps in the hug too by clinging to Bandana's waist and patting Dedede's large hairy hands. They are not one to miss out on any display of affection. They break apart but King Dedede keeps the boy under his arm. That adrenaline that is so well known by fear-stricken parents is still coursing through his body and most likely wants Bandana Dee to stay close too.

“I’m so happy you’re safe Bandee but I would hav appreciated it if ya stayed out of danger. I nearly had a heart attack wheyun I say ya upon thuh vines in thuh last battle.” King Dedede says.  Bandana Dee sighs, accepting the side hug. Yet he looks dismayed at the admonishment. He sinks into the malleable form of his majesty, not even asking why Dedede is not sitting on his throne. 

“What, and Kirby can? What else was I supposed to do, Great King, ya? Let Kirby go alone into enemy territory while you were incapable of defending yourself? I don’t think so.”

Kirby, who was inching in for a second hug – backs away at the sound of a fight. They settle on the other side of Dedede. It must be an old argument because Kirby is tuning it out as soon as a sigh leaves past King Dedede’s lips. They inhale a plate with biscuits and strawberries. The bruise on their brow heals with each piece of food eaten. Only a few scrapes and mild bruising are left. However, Taranza doubts eating will make the dark circles under their eyes disappear. Kirby needs sleep to heal the sick pallor of their skin.

“I know and I’m glad you hav Kirbay’s back. But do you hav tuh put yourself in harm's way? Why did ya not travel with them up thuh Dreamstalk?”

Bandana Dee mumbles into Dedede's side and Dedede cranes his neck to hear Bandana better.

“Can you speak up a bit, buddy? I can’t hear you from thayure.” Dedede asks. Bandana Dee pushes his face from the tattered kimono he hides his face in. The look that meets King Dedede leaves him stumped. Tears roll down Bandana’s face, staining the dark face mask.

“Because I was worried about you, ya! I saw you get kidnapped right in front of my eyes, my king. I just wanted to save you as soon as I could.” Bandana grits his teeth. He rubs away at his red eyes, rubbing his cheeks raw, “I know I could not do it on my own, I realised that as soon I encountered the first mid-boss. My stamina is not the same as you guys. So, I thought support was the best way to go.”

Bandana leans back into Dedede’s side, finally letting go of the brave front he put on for so long. He trembles under the strain of his sorrow, keeping it all inside of his little chest.

King Dedede’s face saddens at Bandana Dee’s weeping. He knows how worried everyone was at his disappearance, even if he only became aware of it recently. He was not conscious during his trip through the heavens after all. He draws Bandana to his chest. 

Ooohhhh, the guilt is setting in, Taranza swallows hard. Wishing he was not here and rotting in a dark cell instead. Anything to not be here to see the turmoil he brought on these misguided but kind people.

Whereas their previous embrace was filled with relief, this one is tender and careful. As if Bandana is made out of glass rather than the fellow warrior that he is. Kirby joins in, wiggling themself under Dedede’s arm and soothingly rubbing Bandana’s back. The boy hiccups, crying after holding himself together for so long.

“I’m very proud of ya, Bandee. Ya know I worry cuz I care. I cannot bear thuh thought of sumpn horrible happenin' tuh ya."

Bandana vigorously bobs his head, drying his tears. He chuckles.

“Waya, I know. Though that did not stop you from letting me fight Landia, ya.” He smiles a little teasingly, poking Dedede in the arm. King Dedede sighs sufferingly.

“You let a kid fight a dragon alongside you one time and they will nevur let you forget it!” He throws his hands up in the air and Bandana Dee and Kirby fall into a giggle fit. 

He must have his hands full with his kids. Taranza would chuckle, it reminds him of the time he saw families being their true selves in the city’s communal gardens. Messing around and poking fun at each other while still being heartfelt. But he cannot. Taranza caused this. He made these people suffer, doubt and feel this anguish. His agony cannot compare to what he made them go through. 

He is the worst.

Bandana Dee laughs softly, accepting Kirby’s gentle touch as they rest their cheek against his shoulder. He wraps an arm around Kirby’s abdomen, letting the tired astral snuggle in his side. They look like siblings enjoying each other company. With Dedede holding them in his lap like a papa bird, they would make the picture-perfect family. A king, a pink god-child and a bandana-clad ninja. Taranza feels as if he is intruding. He never asked to be here, but it feels as if is his fault nonetheless. He is ruining things by being here.

Bandana Dee sighs in contentment. With his free hand, he reaches for the mask covering his mouth. 

“I’m glad that everyone is okay, ya. Meta Knight should be here in a moment-!” Bandana Dee stops mid-sentence. His eyes widen as they land on Taranza. He wraps the cloth back over his face in a panic. He looks scandalised but more importantly alarmed. 

He looks back at King Dedede, and gestures with wide arms at Taranza, at the throne he is sitting in and back at the king. Without giving an explanation Dedede shrugs, moving his shoulders in a lax motion. Bandana throws up his arms, not able to believe his king. Kirby giggles, not seeing the issue. 

“Ya wuz sayin, Bandana? Wheyun will Mety be here?” 

“But-! Oh, whatever! Meta Knight should be here in a minute or two. He was just finishing up getting everyone that got caught in the Dreamstalk out of his airship when I rushed over here, ya.” King Dedede grins widely, looking ecstatic about this ‘Meta Knight’ character coming to visit. He claps Badana’s back. The boy faceplants on the blanketed floor.

“Ha! Sounds like him! Nevur leaves a job unfinished, that's the Mety I know.” 

“Ha ha, ya. I guess, great king.” Bandana Dee picks himself up and sits back down. He casts Taranza a side-eye. Not that it is unwarranted. He is the cause of this fiasco.

“About Meta Knight, my king. He is a little um,… He is very worried about you, ya. I think it is for the best we barricade the doors before he gets here to calm him down a little.” King Dedede blinks owlishly at Bandana Dee ,puzzled by his words. 

“Why would we need tuh do thet that? I know Mety like thuh back of my hand, Bandee. I doubt that he will be so distraught that we need to barricade mah castle. He is a rational man.” Bandana shoots Dedede a glance, asking him through expression alone if he is joking. A million untold stories flash behind his eyes. He winces when Dedede smiles at him reassuringly, not joking at all. 

Bandana looks back in Taranza's direction and the spider knows exactly what he means. It is not that they have to worry about themselves. It is Taranza who has to worry.

“It is not that I fear him hurting us. Rather, if you are determined to keep Taranza around I suggest either hiding him or locking the doors. Meta Knight does not react well to-” Bandana Dee does not get to finish his sentence. The doors fly open with a deafening crack. 

King Dedede leaps to his feet, ready to defend everyone despite his present injuries as he summons his hammer. His wounds may have been treated but he still looks worse for wear. Kirby follows him, kicking up blankets and pillows as they accidentally throw Bandana over their shoulder and behind them, “Ow!” Badana shouts. Kirby absentmindedly apologises under their breath, too preoccupied to turn around and help Bandana Dee upright.

Taranza's heart leaps in his throat as he nervously observes the entrance. He tries to reach for his magic and feels it spark and splutter. The one time he needs his magic to defend himself and it fails him. What rotten luck.

The guards raise their weapons. But at the door stands nobody. The soldiers at the twin doors look in the courtyard with bemusement. The other two guards outside lay on the ground, the wind knocked out of them.

“A false alarm? Heh.” King Dedede chuckles, trying to sound optimistic. The silence that follows him is nerve-wracking. Something is off. The doors did not get knocked open by themselves. Someone did it, someone, who needed a distraction.

The sound of cloth ripping has everyone’s head whizzing towards the back of the throne room. Taranza follows their stunned gaze. His head pounds at the abrupt movement, but he cannot let himself be caught unawares. 

Stark sunlight invades the room. Taranza covers his eyes, even the ones on the back of his head. He screams. The pain is unbearable! His nerves feel as if they are on fire. But he is too concerned with what danger decided to storm the throne room to let himself stay blind. 

He pries his eyrs open, tearing up at the burn. He is laying down, knocked back by the pain. He stares up at the ceiling but more importantly, he locks eyes with the back of the throne.

Sitting on top of its backrest - is a humanoid figure. They are draped in shiny armour that glints in the sun, lighting their back in sunlight. Taranza cannot tell what colours they wear. So great is the agony that courses through him. Even if he could concentrate, he is too wrapped up in the giant draconic wings fanned out above their head to pay attention to something as benign as colour. The clawed spikes are razor sharp and he imagines them cutting through his flesh like a knife through hot butter. The light shining down on the dark flesh, reveals the membrane and its veins pumping blood through the large limbs. The rosy hue of their wings should calm him down. Remind him that this person is mortal and can be hurt. The detail scares him instead. 

They sit hunched over, gargoyle style, watching him through the darkness behind their mask. Their gloved but clawed hands dig into the throne leaving behind dents and scrapes. Their talons make a horrible screeching sound against the stone.

The figure's terrible golden eyes burn into Taranza. The mask hides their emotions but even without his horns working, Taranza feels the rage contained within. They are one snap away from lunging at him and tearing him apart.

And Taranza, the once faithful servant to her late majesty does the only thing he can do in this situation, smile nervously.

“H-h-h-hey?” 

Chapter Text

The knightmarish warrior does not waver in his scalding gaze, assessing Taranza with a bird-like tilt of their head. He must not look like much of a threat, sprawled over the large throne with his limbs akimbo and his floating hands scrambling to right himself. Taranza feels hot shame flow through him. Floralia’s court would have laughed themselves hoarse at the sight of him, acting like a common jester. He is a laughingstock!

Yet nobody is laughing. Only the sound of his beating heart meets his ears.

Their golden eyes narrow. Yet it is their growly chitter that has Taranza’s hair standing on end. He has never heard anything like it before! He knows all Insectoid warbles, murmurs and chirps by heart. It sounds so close to a growl and yet, it is nothing like a bellow from a great mammalian beast. Taranza is dealing with something else entirely, something beyond his scope of knowledge. It is otherworldly and terrifying. 

Their wings flare and the knight reaches behind their back, brandishing a golden four-pronged sword from out of thin air. They point it at him, burning with righteous fury. Taranza’s eyes widen at its golden glow. He has never seen the weapon before, but he can feel its power. It is not holy, but it was forged in the wild waters of the cosmos and tempered by the flames of fortitude. There is no doubting it – this is a legendary blade. A legendary blade wielded by a pissed-off warrior.

Taranza is screwed.

“Mety, howdy! I’m so glad you came tuh stop by! But wuz thuh doors not good enough fahwar ya, sugarplum? You gave mah men half a scare.” ‘Mety’s wings twitch and if Taranza had to guess – this is the Meta Knight he is supposed to look out for - if Bandana Dee’s tight look is anything to go by. 

Meta Knight’s head turns towards the king, his neck stretching to look at Dedede. It makes Taranza realise that his armour is light for a knight. It makes sense, he supposes. If Meta Knight wants to fly he cannot weigh more than sixteen kilograms (35 lb) and that is if you ignore the weight of the blade and his body weight. Florelian armour does not have that kind of problem. But then again it took his processors ages to figure out how to make durable but featherlight armour so he cannot blame Dreamland for not having the same technology. They use windmill energy for goodness sake! 

“Sire, there is vermin among our midst. Would you like me to exterminate it for you?” He asks so casually, Taranza does not want to think about how easy it would be for this experienced sword master to do as promised. Usually, he would be able to put up a fight and laugh haughtily at the thought of someone laying a hand on him. But he has been humbled by his defeat. Even so, he is not exactly in the right shape to be challenging powerful knights. He does not have a death wish! On a normal day, he would have excused himself because he had more important things to do than to rough-house. Sectonia's orders to kidnap Dedede have messed with his mind. 

Dedede pouts. The way the king purses his lip looks so strange on a full-grown forty-year-old something adult. Especially with his messed-up hair and skewed hat - he looks ridiculous.

“Oh, come on now, Mety! Thet’s not how we treat our guests!”

“Guest?” Meta Knight quietly sounds, taken aback, “My king - he kidnapped you! In the dungeons is where he belongs.” Meta Knight declares full of vitriol and untethered vengeance, growing louder with each spoken word. The knight’s intimidating aura tells enough of what he would do to Taranza if the king were absent. Taranza may not see the knight’s expression, but he can guess all too well that his opinion of him is far below the bar. Can he even blame Meta Knight? If someone kidnapped Sectonia he would have killed the assailant on the spot. Oh, how far he has fallen! Taranza is not sure if he should be ashamed of his former self or disgusted that he has thrown away his morals since he became Sectonia's right hand. 

“Up-puppe- nonsense! Anyone I say is a guest is mah guest. Thayure is naw arguin' thet.” King Dedede firmly states. he stomps his foot, final in his degree. 

“Dedede…” Meta Knight hisses between his teeth. However, Dedede does not back down, his face hard with resolve. The sudden tension in the air is so thick you can cut it with a butter knife.

Meta Knight straightens. But his posture does not relax one bit, growing tenser. The two warriors stare each other down, one on top of a large throne and the other standing in a pathetic version of a pillow fort.

Taranza shoots a look across the room, someone will intervene. But, the guards look away – minding their own business the one time they should do something. He glances at Kirby and Bandana Dee. If anyone could stop the two from fighting, it would be the god child and the ninja. King Dedede would listen to his children, right?

Yet, like the guards who turn a blind eye to the tension - they inch away. The waddle dee pulls Kirby by the arm, away from the budding conflict. Kirby, the one time they should meddle – stares blankly at the commotion. The emotionless expression on their face is unnerving and Taranza closes the eyes on the back of his head. He does not want to see it any longer.

Taranza hunkers in on himself, pushing himself off the cushy seat onto the floor. He clears his throat, hoping he can dissuade the issue by offering himself up and appeasing the knight. If he voluntarily goes to the dungeons maybe this fight does not have to occur. He is sick of conflict and maybe if he is imprisoned he would feel a little less self-loathing. He can only hope it will be that easy. 

Taranza opens his mouth to concede, but he is too late. Meta Knight lunges and Taranza shrieks. He may not care much for the king, but he does not want to see more violence today. He has had enough of that to last a lifetime. 

Except, the clashing of blade and hammer never meet. Only the thump of a wooden hammer falling to a soft floor. Taranza's jaw drops at the unfolding scene. 

Meta Knight latches onto the king, making the large man nearly stumble. From how sturdy the king is – it is surprising to see him stagger from the power behind Meta Knight’s lunge. He had not even budged when he was playing fighting with Kirby. To see someone be able to potentially push the strongman over is startling to think about. Even with momentum on his side, Meta Knight does nearly look as big enough to be able to commit such a feat. However, Dedede’s hat is knocked to the floor, lost between the blankets and pillows twisting at the king’s feet. 

Meta Knight loops his arms around Dedede’s head, tight enough to choke. He embraces Dedede – wings and all and tucks Dedede’s head underneath his chin. With the sharp and cold mask the knight adorns, the position must be uncomfortable. 

Another chitter flows from Meta Knight's mouth, familiar in its unfamiliarity. The knight is quiet despite how furious he sounded. Though Taranza has fantastic hearing and can hear every word, even when he does not want to. It must be a very special mask Meta Knight wears because even with his face pressed against Dedede’s temple his words come out clearly.

“Me alegro de que estés a salvo, mi vida. Pensé que...” His words are heartfelt, and scream of barely avoided tragedy. Taranza does not understand a word of it and if it was not for the raw emotion in the knight’s voice - he would think it was some sort of a spell. The words are elegant and with the knight’s heavy accent it must be the native language he speaks as opposed to the practical but limited Standard Dreamland seems to favour. There is no doubt, Meta Knight is not from here. 

King Dedede chuckles tenderly. He returns the embrace – pressing Meta Knight tightly against him. Meta Knight’s octopus hold loosens, letting himself rest as Dedede supports the knight's weight so effortlessly. It speaks of strength and love so wonderfully deep and true.

“Hav mercy on me, Mety! Ya know I’m only a beginner. Can ya repeat thet fahwar me, darlin'?” Meta Knight sighs, exasperated but not annoyed. He sounds weary.

“I’m glad you are safe, sire. I was… worried.” He coughs, angling away as if he has a blush to hide. For all of his passionate words, the answer he gives is closely guarded against his chest. Sliding the metaphorical mask back over his voice as he realises that they are not alone. It is the tenseness that gives him away, only noticeable after one has seen him relax. 

“Oh, ya worry wart! I am fine! I’m as healthy as a penguin! A king penguin even. Hahaha!” King Dedede chortles, belly aching with laughter at his poor attempt at a joke. Meta Knight levels him with a glare.

“You’re not funny, my liege.”

Dedede tisks, exaggeratedly waggling his eyebrows. 

“Hmm, I wuz not tryin' tuh be, dear. You’ll know wheyun I'm bein' funny.” Meta Knight's disgruntled glare does not budge. Dedede rolls his eyes, pushing the mask aside. Only a sliver of brown skin peeks from under as he plants his cracked lips on Meta Knight’s chin, smiling.

“I’m sorry, pardner. I did not mean tuh worry ya. Forgive me?” Meta Knight's patch of skin burns bright red as King Dedede withdraws to bury his face in the comfort of his partner’s chest. Meta Knight lowers the mask back in place, steam blowing out his ears from the loving if scratchy kiss. But he never let go. Shame has no dominion over him.

“It’s not your fault,” Meta Knight says, his voice robust regardless of his soft volume, “You did not have control over the situation. I would never blame you for getting hurt.” He grits between his teeth. The growl in his voice is directed at Taranza, at everything that has hurt Dedede before and every future threat that will seek to put their fangs into the king of Dreamland. But he recognises the importance of being there for his love and cradles the back of Dedede’s head in a firm but gentle hold. Protective yet loose, a hold that speaks of trust and respect. A wish to be someone's shield when the weapon has dulled and must rest to resharpen its keen edge.  

Dedede laughs wetly, relieved yet so utterly and irrevocably spent. The ordeal has taken years from his life, he feels.

Meta Knight’s wings flutter but he stills them when he notices how close his sharp wings are to the king's ruined kimono. Meta Knight clears his throat, covering up his majesty with his wingspan – despite that nothing is showing because of his underrobe - until he remembers his abilities.

In the blink of an eye, those enormous wings vanish into a long and silky cape. Shiny pauldrons peek from under it and a large collar hide both of the knight and king’s faces, allowing them a little bit of privacy as Meta Knight wraps his golden stitched mantle around his majesty. It does not cover the monarch completely but the gesture is met with a wobbly grin. King Dedede trembles at his knight’s chivalrous and loving gesture, preening under the love the knight showers him with.

Taranza awkwardly averts his eyes, after picking up his jaw from the floor. He is unsure of what to think of this display. A knight and a king - together?! Such a pairing happened only in fairytales which cared not for good breeding or appeasing noble houses. Insistent thoughts are swarming his head but he ignores them to glance at the kids. He is more curious about what the kids think of this. Surely this is a new development - no?! 

Although, Kirby and Bandana Dee are not paying attention to the duo at all. Giving them space as they sit back in a pile, pressed against each other. Bandana clings to Kirby, skin hunger pouring from his every pore. He is subtle about it but anyone with a trained eye can see the waddle dee's need to be close to his friend. Bandana grimaces at the couple but he also rolls his eyes as if he is used to their sappiness. The king and the knight being together is not a new development it seems. His arm is slung over Kirby’s shoulder and it makes it easier for him to see what they are doing. 

Kirby, with a pillow in their lap to soften their twisting gut – from the exhausting journey no doubt - is tapping away at their phone. King Dedede was not kidding when he said that Kirby was addicted to it. Yet, the way Bandana Dee’s brows shoot up in surprise – makes Kirby's actions curious. 

Bandana’s eyebrows furrow in askance. Taranza wishes the boy would forgo covering half of his face. It is hard to get a read on him. But not impossible, just frustrating.

“Oh, you’re texting him, ya? Are you telling him not to worry like he always does when you have to go AWOL?” Kirby sticks out their tongue, half paying attention as their fingers rapidly type away. The only time their digits rest is right before a cheery ping. How Kirby has not sanded away the tips of their fingers yet with their frantic texting is a mystery. 

“Poyo oy…, yeah – something like that.” They sound distracted and Bandana picks up on it. 

“Have you texted anyone else yet, ya?” 

“…yes, po.” Bandana narrows his eyes.

“You don’t sound so sure, what are you hiding na-ya?” 

“Nothing!” Kirby shouts defensively. Yet they wither when they see how surprised Bandana Dee is at their outburst. They are still running hot on that fighter’s adrenaline despite that the final battle that saved the day was hours ago. Then again, blazing through unfamiliar lands without rest will put anyone on edge.

They sigh, patting their brother’s arm in apology. The pronounced bags under Kirby’s eyes soften Bandana Dee’s face. He out of all people would know how much Kirby suffered throughout the days - furious beyond belief and surviving on adrenaline and inhaling everything that came upon their path - alone.

“Sorry, Bandee. I didn’t mean to shout. I just… thought of Fluffu when I was up there. The palace was so big! Fluff must be so lonely in his castle. I just feel bad I can’t be there for him when on the off chance he has a day off and I’m not available. He has Dom Woole and the Quilty Court residents but... I wanted to cheer him up.” Kirby slumps, resting his cheek on Bandana’s chest for comfort. Bandana Dee draws them in his arms. Their eyes shine with tears and Bandana shushes them. Not to silence but to soothe the hiccup wrecking Kirby’s frame. At the end of the day, regardless of the amount of power Kirby wields – they are still so young. 

Bandana Dee recognises this, comfortingly rubbing their back. Only the realisation of how dirty Kirby is - breaks Bandana’s peaceful expression. Bandana Dee is going to throw his sibling into a bathtub before the day is over. One does not need to guess to see that Bandana is going to fight to make that a reality.

“That is very sweet of you Kirby. You’re always the one cheering someone up when they are down in the dumps. But focus on yourself for a bit. You deserve a good helping of leisure after all this, great friend ya.” Kirby nods but they do not look convinced. Bandana Dee sighs.

“I will cover you the next time you go to Patchland,” He promises, reluctantly. He winks to ease the hard pinch in his brow, “The Great King and Meta Knight won’t know a thing, ya!”

Kirby beams.

“Po yon po! Thank you Bandee, po!”

“No problem- ya ya!” Bandana Dee scratches Kirby's head and Kirby giggles. Kirby leans into the touch with a hum, playing with their fingers.

“I did text the others I’m back but Fluffu texted me about how he is glad I’m safe and then about the new additions to Space Land from Patchland’s science and entertainment department and I guess we kind of kept going.” They waggle the phone in their hand, smiling with pink-dusted cheeks as their free hand does a fun little wiggle. 

Bandana Dee’s eyebrows crawl up to his hairline. 

“Oh?” Mischievous drips from his voice, poking Kirby’s arm in a manner that is universally a gesture considered to be teasing, “You talk so much about your yarn friend, ya, that I if did not know any better with the way you talk about him I would mistake him to be your boyfriend.” He pitters off into a chuckle, covering his face with a hand – despite how only the wrinkles near his eyes give him away from his smile. 

Kirby gives Bandana an owlish stare. He does not notice.

“I mean – can you imagine how out of the blue that would be? You – dating someone?! Not to mention it being an interdimensional prince. We can’t even properly meet him because the only way there and back is through a magic sock. A magic sock you're the owner of. I should call ya the guardian of Patchland at this point, ya.” Bandana snickers. He throws his arm in the air as his snickers evolve into barking laughter.

“None of our schedules lines up because of how busy most days in Dreamland are – especially after the peace gets destroyed – there is no time to meet Prince Fluff to get to know him. We tried but luck is not in our cards, ya. What a hoot though, na-ya! And if ya did have a beau of course it would be a prince, haha!” Bandana Dee wipes a tear away from his eye, tuckered out from laughing. He does not see Kirby dating anyone but if it had to be anyone - the yarn prince would be a good match. It does not mean Bandana is not going to screen him, however. 

Taranza freezes. He was only paying half attention to their conversation but now he is painfully aware of it. A prince?! Patchland? He has never heard of such a place or there being a second royal on the surface world. Bandana has said many things but those are the only two things he remembers now that his mind zeros onto them. He blissfully ignores that if Dedede is their father then technically Kirby and Bandana Dee would be royalty too. That is a problem Taranza is not going to acknowledge. Ignorance is bliss as they say.

He does not have the time to dwell on it further. Bandana Dee quickly regains composure.

“Kirby, are you listening?” Kirby frowns, tapping their finger against their chin. The action draws attention to their freckles. They are hard to see with how pale their skin is from their lack of sleep but they are there and impossible to look past once seen. It is as if someone went wild with a brown marker on a cream sheet, dotting it all over the place.

“Boyfriend… that’s like a friend, right?” Kirby asks contemplatively. Bandana Dee blanks. He looks like he simply wants to say no and move on. But he knows that will not curb Kirby’s curiosity.

Bandana looks up at the ceiling, humming as he exaggeratedly illustrates his point by twisting his wrist to make shapes with his fingers as if the term boyfriend is an object you can hold rather than a person.

“Well, I suppose... yes? I mean, If you can’t be friends with a romantic partner I can’t imagine the relationship working out so ya have to be friends first to get things to work, ya.” He coughs. Yeah, that’s it, he whispers to himself at the end. Nailed it. 

Kirby perks up.

“So you have to be best friends to be someone’s boyfriend?” Bandana Dee nods but he looks unsure. He wants this conversation to be over so he concedes, hoping that this is the end of it.

“Waya e, na-ya.” Kirby brightens and goes back to their phone, typing vigorously.

“Okay! I will tell Fluffu that! He loves learning Dreamlandic words.” Bandana Dee’s eyes widen, realising his mistake as 'his' words appear on Kirby’s tiny screen.

“W-wait Kirby! That’s not what I meant! Being someone’s boyfriend means –”

“Why are ya two yellin' bout boyfriends?” Bandana Dee yelps in surprise, startled as he cranes his head upwards. He winces at the painful crack in his neck that spawns from the sudden motion.

King Dedede is hovering over them, his intimidating stature cut short by the knight sitting on his shoulder like a prized parrot. Bandana would laugh if it is not for the sheer panic that flows in his veins. The great king’s face is pleasantly bemused but he has known his king for a long time. His royal blue eyes contain a hard edge to them, a careful deliberation that foresees many outcomes. Dedede might be a laid-back back individual, but he is focused when he wants to be.

Bandana Dee is young but he is also observant. Puppy love is not something the king would be concerned with. He would sooner playfully jib at him and ask who the lucky boy is. But for Kirby? A kid who has beaten the snot out of the king because they thought he stole their cake – he can understand the wariness. 

As for Meta Knight – his eyes are sharp, too inquisitive to be simple curiosity. If Bandana did not know him so well he would be scared for his life. But that is not why he is afraid. He lost his fear of Meta Knight a long time ago. But after everything that has happened – these two are going to be insufferable to be around if they get protective. For how lax they otherwise are – neither the King nor his knight takes their chances if they think Kirby and him are in actual danger. 

“Yes, pray tell – who are you talking about?” Meta Knight asks with eagle-eyed focus, solidifying Bandana Dee’s thoughts. Yeah, Bandana Dee realises nervously. They can never know.

Bandana swivels his head towards Kirby, his half-spoken warning still on his tongue. However, it is too late. Kirby’s bubblegum pink text bubble incorrectly explaining the term is already plastered on his screen. The three bouncing dots indicating Prince Fluff is replying has him burying his head in his hands. This is going to cause problems in the future - Bandana just knows it. 

With no answer given, the couple’s suspicion grows. Bandana Dee grapples for a good excuse. With everything that has happened in the last week, they do not need King Dedede and Meta Knight’s protective instincts getting in the way. Their senses are already in overdrive right now with how stiff they look, like sharks smelling blood and trying to pinpoint the location of the wounded prey. Bandana needs to diffuse the situation before these two run themselves ragged trying to solve a problem that does not exist. 

He jumps to what first comes to mind.

“Uh – no one! Wha- what about you two! Aren’t you each other’s boyfriends?! You never told me!” He jumps up from his position, pointing an excusing finger at both of them. Kirby tumbles onto the blankets but they do not seem to mind. Lost in the text conversation with their prince. 

The pair blink, synonymous as they glance at each other. Bandana Dee groans at their telepathic gesture, rolling his eyes as they turn back to him with concerned looks. Great, they are close enough to have a conversation by just looking into each other’s eyes. What is next – osmosis? 

“Uh, yes? Bandee, you’ve known thus for a while. Why are you asking thus now?” King Dedede asks gently. He lays a hand on Bandana's shoulder. Any other time the touch would warm the waddle dee down to his toes. To be protected and loved by his king like a son is the greatest honour he can think of. Right now, though he wants to shrug it off and scoff. He cannot be placated!

“But you never announced it or made it clear, ya! I did not know you were together until someone else pointed it out. Why did you not tell me sooner?” Bandana Dee demands, quiet despite his words as his eyes droop with unshed tears. He feels the need to cry but he is too tired to do it. It is a question that has been plaguing him for so long and yet he can not muster the energy to feel the outrage he felt when he found out about it.

King Dedede’s face contorts into pain and regret. He opens his mouth, ready to assure Bandana Dee. But Meta Knight beats him to it.

“Bandana Dee – I may never call Dedede my boyfriend as I prefer using different words to express how I feel. But the king is indeed my boyfriend, as juvenile as that sounds.” He coughs, the tips of his ears turning red, “And I’m sorry we never told you and Kirby of the change in our relationship. We wanted to see where this would take us and tell you when we were ready. But Dreamland's gossip rags got the better of us. I apologise for the way I hurt you.”

“Me too!” Dedede chimes in, picking the boy up and settling him in the crook of his arm. The king might be lethargic but he totes his strength with pride, nuzzling the side of Meta Knight’s head as he presses Bandana Dee under his chin. 

“I'm really sorry that we nevur told ya personally. As Meta said, we wanted tuh wait and see if we wuz compatible before breakin' thuh news. You  don’t hav tuh forgive us but know it wuz nevur our intention tuh hawhrt ya.” Bandana nods, accepting the apology as he lets himself be tucked against the king. He gives in bonelessly.

“Waya – I can accept that but I still want to talk about it some more later, ya. Now, I just want to sleepssss ye.” He slurs, the excitement finally draining every last bit of energy he has left. The bags under his eyes speak for themselves as he finally let's go. 

Dedede coos. It is a low sound that Taranza recognises compared to the strange noises he has heard in the short time he has been on the surface. It is not an exact match but he would recognise the chirping of a bird anywhere. Yet - Taranza furrows his brow. Why would the king sound like a bird? Not to mention, a bird with such low timber? Should birds not sound melodic and sweet? Dedede’s croon is guttural with a honk at the end. It is weird, just plain weird. Taranza shakes his head. Dreamlanders are so weird.  

King Dedede reaches down and with some help from his knight, settles a dozing Kirby next to their brother. Kirby conks out, not protesting being held so closely in a one-armed grip. They snuggle deeper into Dedede’s arm, attaching themselves to Bandana in a sleepy cuddle. The youngsters are sound asleep. 

The two men gaze down proudly at the younger members of their family and Taranza feels empty. He should be happy for them that they still have each other, as unconventional as their family is. All mismatched pieces that somehow fit together to fit an orthodox puzzle. But he is too tired to care, too tired to feel anything but regret and sadness. Even when the couple turns to look at each other, King Dedede with a soppy grin and the knight with relaxed shoulders – he cannot get himself to care. How can he when the woman he was in love with is – was, she is… 

He does not dare finish that thought.

“Ah~, Mety! Thet wuz so romantic!” Dedede sings now that the children have fallen asleep, referring to what Meta Knight said a hot minute ago. Only the warm tint to Meta Knight’s ears gives away his embarrassment, “I luv ya too sugar! You’re thuh best boyfriend a kang could ask for!” 

Meta knight looks like he wants to argue, the hitch of a breath gives him away. But he shakes his head and shrugs as Dedede beams at him. It seems to be a resolved argument but one Meta still has the knee-jerk reaction to try and deny.

As much as Taranza wants this moment to end, he is not prepared for when the centre of attention falls on him again. With his king and children safe, the knight bristles at the reminder that got them into this mess. 

Taranza presses closer to the throne, feeling its cold stone dig into his back. He winces, his injuries flaring at the cold touch. Taranza is painfully reminded of his state as his battle-shredded clothes barely keep him warm. Ironically, it is the king’s robe softening the shaking of his frame. 

The royal couple stands over him, cool and calculating. Even King Dedede who sprung to his defence - regards him with a calm look. Taranza cannot blame him and he was anticipating it. The pensive expression is the face he expected when they landed in Dreamland. With Meta Knight beside him, the king’s brain is right back on track it appears. 

“Now, what to do with him.” Meta Knight’s yellow eyes flash alongside his words. King Dedede sighs wearily.

“We are not gunna to imprison him. Thuh situation is more difficult than thet.” Meta Knight glances at his king and with an understanding blink, stops burning the spider with his eyes. He may not be happy about his love’s decision, but he will follow it. Yet that does not mean his concerns are laid to rest.

“What then? We cannot let him go out to settle in the countryside. News will travel eventually and it is not like he was subtle in kidnapping you. The people are going to put two and two together eventually.” Meta knight reasons. He has a point as much as Taranza does not want to admit it, letting him go is only going to cause more problems for everyone. He is vulnerable, and as much as he hates to have to come to terms with it he has to. He is exhausted, weak and in unfamiliar lands. He is in more danger if he were to go out in the wilds in this state. He is at their mercy. 

Taranza shrinks in on himself, realising hysterically that his fate hangs by a single pitiful thread. He had been aware of his precarious situation but it is now that it hits him at full force. 

Dedede scratches his chin. Sadness mars his features. Pity, Taranza corrects bitterly. Pity for the servant of a slain queen. Pity for a guy who was strung along, played by his own strings and pity for the captor now the captured. He hates it, this feeling of helplessness. Is this how the rebels felt when they were sentenced in front of his queen? He never thought about it, always so sure he was on the right side. That the things he let happen were a sacrifice that had to be made for the prosperity of the kingdom – for his queen. His belief shatters right in front of him. There is nothing right about this and yet with everything he has done – it is justice. 

How ironic that he would find himself at the other end of the stick. The rebellion would laugh themselves sick if they ever found out.

King Dedede scans the room with anxious guards and servants. They are spooked by the truth Meta Knight revealed. There is not much choice to be made. 

He sighs, it feels like a final verdict when he speaks and since he is the king – his word is final even with his less than royal posture or lack of propriety. He is the ruler of this land and people look at him for guidance. 

“Taranza will hav tuh stay here. Normally I would like it tuh be as mah guest but I understand thus situation calls fahwar delicacy. Taranza shall remain at mah castle and is not allowed tuh unless with a guard or with us until he has proven himself tuh not be the man he once wuz.” The words sound like a damning sentence, a pretty version of jail time. But Taranza recognises it for what it is. Probation.

King Dedede looks at him expectantly and Taranza answers quickly, not wanting to leave his majesty hanging when he is giving him more than he deserves. He cannot waste the mercy he has been given.

“As you wish, your majesty.” Dedede does not even protest the use of the title. He returns the terse nod and gestures for him to follow, bending down to help him up until he is reminded of the cargo he bears. The kids sleeping in his arm and his beau sitting on his shoulder do not allow him to bend liberally and even so, Taranza doubts Meta Knight would let Tarzanza within a meter radius again. He looks ready to jump from his perch and cleave his head from his shoulders for the slightest out-of-place twitch. He does not want to anger the man and stands up jerkily. He would smile if his face did no feel like lead. He feels more like a puppet on strings than a person.

His body aches but he obeys, hiding his face in his frayed scarf when he feels eyes stare at his retreating form. He wonders if the king told them that he switched sides at the end. Does it matter? Would that piece of information look favourable to him or would he be seen as an unloyal dog changing sides because staying with his queen was not fortune for him? He knows that it is not that simple but he cannot expect the people to know what really happened. He lowers his head in shame. The ragged red robe is suffocatingly warm. He holds in quickened breath, his lungs protesting as he lets go only when he starts to choke. 

Only silence permeates their walk. It is eerie to see the bold king so silent. Aside from the looks he shoots behind him, there is nothing to quell this overwhelming dread. At least Meta Knight has let up but Taranza cannot imagine he is happy that Taranza is by technicality a free man. As free as one can be when all of his movements will be monitored. 

The halls twist and turn and it is only when the king stops in front of a door that Taranza looks up. Years of propriety training have instilled a sense of when someone of higher ranking wants something out of him and he looks up at the thing King Dedede is examining. 

It is nothing special. It is a door like many others decorating the hallway they find themselves in. It is bland and nondescript. Yet Taranza knows what this is, regardless of what the room looks like behind this door. His hands tighten around his torso, his magic hands hiding beneath his ragged clothing to stop from pulling at his hair. It is his jail cell.

“This is one of thuh guest rooms at the castle. I know it ain't much but we are kinduh of working on short notice. I will get a servant tuh clean it properly after breakfast." Taranza nods. The words mean nothing to him. He wants to be thankful, to show how great of a gift this is to someone who has brought so much pain and misery to not one but two kingdoms. This is too much.

The knight glares at him for his silence. He swallows, his throat aching for water. He does not voice his needs. It is better if he does not get too greedy. The king is already showing so much generosity, asking for a glass of water as if he was a butler who is going to get him killed. Maybe not by the man's own hand, but his lover will act on behalf of his honour. He knows that for certainty. 

Taranza bows, desperately trying not to think what Meta Knight's role is if he is the king's spouse. 

"Thank you, my king, truly you are generous beyond your years." He comes back up, his spine twinging from bowing so low at the waist. He has not done a proper servant bow in so long. Even queen Sectonia had not asked of him to do that, even when madness overtook her. No, she always was-

"It ain't nuthin! I know we had a rough start but ya did come through at thuh end." The king chuckles wearily. He sighs.

"Git sum rest and tuhmorrow we can discuss whut tuh do bout chur situation, away frum pryin eyes." 

"Sire-!" Meta Knight interjects but one look from Dedede quietens down the protectiveness raging through the knight. However, Dedede still looks troubled. If Taranza knows anything, these two will be arguing about this later. He bites his teeth. He really does not care. 

"Yes, alright. I will, my king. I bid thee goodnight." Taranza grabs the doorhandle and without peering inside the room first - walks into the darkness. He ignores how obviously it is not night and Dedede does the same. Just like him, King Dedede wants this interaction to end and he cannot say that he is offended. He desires the same thing.

"Raht, goodnight." Gently as if the door will break at the slightest touch - with his strength that is a possibility - he closes the door behind him. Taranza does not move, not until he can the king's lumbering footsteps walking away from the door. He hears him talk but he does not care anymore to listen. Only emptiness follows the thunder of today's events, drowning him in silence.

Taranza does not know for how long he stares at the door. He catalogues the wooden grain, the divots that emerged from age and use. The wood is smooth if a bit dusty. He can smell the soap they last used to clean it. His head hurts and suddenly the door is much closer.

"Huh?" he utters, confused. His body slides against the door and he realises very slowly as his rear meets the floor that he has collapsed. 

He does not care, even if his horns tingle and his ears strain to hear everything. Nothing meets his mind, the gates of stimuli are closed and he can only focus on what is going on inside of him. Yet a fog enters his mind. A temporary painkiller for the suffering that is bound to follow.

His position is uncomfortable but he cannot find the strength to move. He glances at his hands, shaking with fatigue and something else he does not want to name. 

His six hands spread in front of him but it is his main hands - the ones attached to his arms that he focuses on. Taranza never favoured one pair of hands above the other. His left first hand is his dominant writing hand but his third right has always been more skilled than the rest in casting one-hand spells. Each hand has its memories, its uses and abilities. He has never been ashamed of his Arachnid heritage or the features that it gave him. 

But it is these hands that committed those crimes, the things he did for Sectonia and the things he has done to Dreamland. To a king with so much love for his people and family, to all the casualties that fell when the people of the sky flung their wish from the heavens onto the ground. He wants to blame them. At this point, it would be a part of his skills. But after imprisoning them and invading the Dreamlander's homelands - he knows all too well that the only one to blame is himself. He alone carries the burden. 

Taranza ignores those thoughts, wanting to hold on for just a bit longer to his sanity. He peels his gloves from his main hands, twisting them around as his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. The dark brown skin that meets him is foreign after having spent so long always covering them up. But he recognises them, even if takes an eternity to place each knobbly knuckle and tipped claw. 

His hands had never been soft. As a gardener, especially a high priest once upon a time – rough hands were a sign of good work. Being able to keep your hands soft was only for the elite. 

He stares at them for a long time. When had his hands grown soft? Granted, they will never be as soft as they had been when he was a wee lad pulling his first weed from the family garden. But still, to feel the inside of his palm give and accept touch as gentle as a feather – is disturbing. How long has it been since he retired from being a priest? It could not have been that long. He does not use ointments and sure, the use of gloves keeps his hands protected. But to make callouses disappear is too strange for words.

Taranza tugs his other gloves off. He never bothered to check his other hands. They are magic after all. He would miss them just as much as an arm of a leg. But he is so used to them that often they escape his notice. 

Just as the hands he was born with – they are adorned with wicked claws with many microscopic needles that would help him stick to a wall if his flight magic ever failed him. His nails are ugly, black with an oily sheen the nobles back home would have declared him uncouth for. It is not poor hygiene that makes them look like this. But for someone who is not an Arachnid – the look of them would be nasty indeed.

His floating hands have always been so nimble, but they should hold scars. But they too are free of the garden work he used to do. There is no hint of the vicious bite scar he got from a ravenous Pacflower on his third right hand. It had been such an ugly thing and its needle teeth had punctured his hand so deep the scars looked like a net. He had been lucky that day that its teeth had missed his hand’s delicate bone structure. It had still hurt so much though.

His hand is clean, soft and with nary a sign of being weathered from living. Almost as if it is brand new – like it spawned overnight.

Taranza holds his breath. It is not as if the sight is that odd. There have been many Arachnids before him that had healed serious injuries as if it was nothing. It was a staple of how powerful they were. But Taranza is not of good breeding. Anything beyond a scrape never healed correctly. He had always been a boy of poor health. His health only started improving after he entered teenagehood. But that does not explain his sudden lack of a big and obvious scar.

He feels like he cannot breathe. It is ridiculous. He has finally gotten used to how little oxygen there is in Dreamland compared to the Islands. Why does it feel like his chest is caving in?

Taranza reaches for the vanity mirror in the small room, the king's robe falling from his shoulders. He does not want to look. The sight of his reflection has frightened him beyond belief. It does not make sense; it should be the mirror that scares him. But it is looking into it that has his hair standing on edge.

But he must know. He looks.

He is dishevelled. His clothes are ripped and his once pristine appearance the queen so loved - is in tatters. A little voice in his head warns of the punishment Queen Sectonia has waiting for him when she sees him. Bitterly he reminds that voice that she is gone. It quietens but he is left with the aching grief his reasoning brings. Because she can’t be…

He ignores it. His panic is too great to think of the fact that his childhood friend is gone – forever. He chokes on a sob.

His glasses are gone. They must have fallen off when King Dedede carried him here. The heels of his boots have been sanded down. Probably because he had to skid along the floor too many times while puppeteering King Dedede.

Taranza winces. It happened not even 24 hours ago; he has no idea how King Dedede has forgiven him for using him like that. He has not, he reminds himself. He has no idea what the King will gain from taking in a refugee with no doubt a pages-long criminal record for the things he did for her majesty. King Dedede would find more fortune in handing him over to the surviving nobility fighting over who gets to rule Floralia now that its queen is gone. 

Taranza takes a deep breath and ignores the burning in his chest. Only time will tell what King Dedede has in store for him.

The only thing left intact is his cape. That stupid, green spider web cape that tied him so close to her side. The thing the upper class used to fight over as if it was diamonds and gold – still lays on his shoulders like chains.

Taranza chucks it off his shoulders. It lands haphazardly on the ground. The sound of it falling delicately on the floor makes him angrier than if it had fallen with a heavy thud. Its elegancy, the dear golden thread weavers spend hours on to be intricate and soft – it is all useless now. Those weavers, merchants, and farmers – they are dead. From his hands no less - he let it happen. Why did Kirby and that foolish king spare him? He does not understand. King Dedede should have let Meta Knight kill him. Death is what he deserves. 

He buries his head in his hands. The world that greets him is not dark. He can see perfectly well with his white eyes obscured. The many benefits of having eight eyes and all. He laughs humourlessly at how empty his face feels. He never needed glasses, but they sure were a comfort for how long they lasted.

Taranza lets himself fall on the carpeted floor, his earrings clinking against the floor. His shoulders shake. His thoughts are a jumbled mess, jumping from one thing to another. It cannot stay on one track for too long. His eyes flip to the charred remains of his button-up – blackened by soot and ash. 

He sighs and raises his body enough to discard his destroyed clothes. He is not in the mood to stand upright. Something in him tells him to do so anyway. His comfort means nothing. He is a symbol of power and symbols did not succumb to discomfort. So better grin and bear it, dear. You would not want to disappoint me, would you?  Her voice echoes in his mind.

He ignores it.

He is glad for the change of clothes buried deep within a cupboard. It proves this is a guest room and not some kind of weird remodelled jail cell. It could be an illusion but even when he is tired, he would have smelled the magic miles away. King Dedede does not seem like the sort to deceive him. He knows he should not trust the man with his bad experience with royalty. But the king is strangely genuine. Loud, abrasive and too crude for a king – but he is honest. Too kind. Such kindness is misplaced in a monarch. But it works in his favour so he will keep his opinions to himself.

The clothes are dusty, and he wrinkles his nose. Not like he can complain much about the circumstances. But he baulks at the thought of how long it has been sitting in the back of the closet. He closes his heart to it. He swats the garment for good measure.

It consists of a long shirt that could double as a sleeping gown and some trousers Taranza does not have the heart to pull on with how many holes it has. It is a little too rough to be meant for pyjamas, but its make betrays that it is not a smock. Taranza would know – you do not become a head priest in a day. He cannot believe that he misses the rough spun gambesons of his teenage days. Back then the world used to be so simple and his dreams so close. Nothing seemed like it could go wrong.

It is funny how easily the world can come crashing down around you.

He pulls it on and drags himself to bed. Everything that was on his person lies discarded in the corner. He does not want to look at them. Though he doubts if it had stayed intact, he would continue to wear them. They are not his, they always had been hers. Clothes she chose for him to wear. It hurts, it hurts so much that he cannot bear the thought of owning anything of his lost friend. Not that would be a problem, Taranza muses bitterly. He has no possessions to speak of and there is no way in hell he is going back to Floralia to go and get them. He will never return home.

Taranza turns his nose into the pillow. In the cover of darkness – he lets the day’s events unfold. 

What little he can see, becomes blurry as the tears flood his sight. There is no reason to hold back anymore. He feels safe in his blanket cocoon. Yet he feels so vile, so stupid so used. There are so many emotions coursing through him, it takes everything to not just wail and scream. Like a dam, he breaks loose. He clutches the bed tight so as not to jump and break something. A shot of adrenaline rushes through him, his fear response going haywire as he relives the fight and the subsequent near-death experience when he was disregarded by Sectonia.

Taranza’s breath hitches. Oh, Sectonia. Sectonia, Sectonia, Sectonia. She is gone – she is gone! She is never coming back… The realisation feels like a million knives stabbing into his chest. Denial keeps them there and now that he has given the time to acknowledge them – they wiggle and press deeper and deeper. It burns – it aches, like a pain he has never felt before. How can grief hurt so much? It wrings its ugly hands around his neck as he sobs and wails and expels all the wretched fluids out of his body that no proper gentleman is supposed to eject. He failed his queen, he failed his people and failed his parents – he is a failure. 

His thoughts drift to his parents. Did they survive the commotion? Kirby’s appearance in Royal Road had shaken the people. Taranza had not gotten a good look around him as he ran up straight to the palace. But he had caught a glimpse of the rebellion waking from its slumber as the army ran around headless chickens to stop the pink cherub casting down their judgement. The capital was doomed from the start, and the renegades took their chance. Seeing Kirby’s wrath as a divine sign to enact their beliefs.

Are they safe – alive? How long has it been since he has seen them? He was so swamped with work and pleasing her that he had forgotten to make time to spend with them. Ever since his demotion from priesthood, he had been afraid to show his face. Even if he had the time – his shame kept him far above the streets of the commoners. High up enough so he could ignore their suffering.

He knows they understand – serving the young queen was a noble cause. But what are they thinking now? Did they look at the corruption and recognise their son in it? Or did they give up hope and fund the people Taranza was putting on the chopping block? He never carried out the duty himself but it was him making the arrangements and striking off names of the ledgers when the deed was done. He is to blame.

He can never see them again – he will never know if they are alive or if they died in the crossfire. 

He is all alone. 

Taranza bites his teeth and screams in pain, pulling at his hair as he trashes into the bed. The full weight of everything that has happened unleashes its brunt on the little itty-bitty spider, so alone in his suffering. Nobody can hear his turmoil in the lonely corridor of the guest bedroom and if they did they would ignore it. 

The last gift Sectonia gave him – the purple earrings glow as he fitfully falls asleep. Exhaustion sinks its claws into his battered body and the stone becomes dull and worthless.

Chapter Text

Heyo everyone! As you probably read in the title, I will be on hiatus for a while. Tomorrow, I will be undergoing surgery. While I would love to keep writing and posting during recovery (and honestly, knowing myself, I probably would if this was any other type of surgery), the surgery is pretty taxing on my body. My surgeon estimated that my recovery will take about three months, give or take. That is not long, but I know how brutal it feels to wait for an update as a follow fanfiction enjoyer. This is why I at least wanted to give you guys a heads-up, as I know many people have been enjoying this fic. It makes me incredibly happy that this story sparks so much joy. I love Taranza and have a lot of ideas for this series as a whole. I know it has been a while but don't worry, I am still working on it! College just gets in the way of everything and well now with my medical situation, and surgery too I guess.

Thank you so much for your patience and for reading this story of mine. I cannot wait to get back to our favourite spider boi. I wish you all luck in your endeavours! Hopefully, until soon! <3

Chapter Text

The morning comes too swiftly for Taranza's liking. The light changes from the stark noon sun to the low light of the afternoon and nighttime n the blink of an eye. The darkness is soothing but also so lonely. The light of the moon reminds him of what happened the previous night. Only a sliver from the celestial body has changed, yet it seems just as full as when Sectonia tossed him aside, calling him worthless and leaving him for dead – not even bothering to finish the job herself. He almost wishes she did until he remembers his mortal fear of death and spirals back into that self-loathing that he knows so well by now, like a parasitic worm wriggling deeper into the core of his heart. 

The light of morning grants Taranza hope and despair. The pink of dawn is his saviour, the bringer of peace to what he thought was an endless nightmare. However, the light also brings the day. It is hope for a future broken from his chains, from his miserable life in the Palace, isolated and cruel in his ignorance. But it also means he will have to face his punishment. 

Taranza shakes the blanket off his body, shivering as his only comfort is ripped away. The morning is cold. His eyes whizz in his room curiously, trying to find the culprit for the frigid air. For a guest room, it is awfully drafty in here. Is Dreamland always this cold in the morning? He should be used to the cold. In the capital of Floralia, there went nary a day without the unforgiving chill of the night and early dawn creeping beneath the skin and not letting go. There is a reason why high fashion in Moonlight Capital has so many layers. It gets cold so high up in the heavens. The sun is stark and blistering once it reaches noon, so every noble outfit consists of noon apparel under heavy, rich fabrics. The cold is foreign when he has run on adrenaline for over a week.

Reality is catching up with me, Taranza muses wryly, rubbing his arms to warm up. Not that the friction matters much through his hard carapace skin. He looks down at himself, grimacing. Though, the night apparel I found is not helping. It could be the altitude difference he is still getting used to. But Taranza does not care enough to theorise about it. He already has enough on his plate, and figuring out the inner machinations of Dreamland's climate will not help him right now. 

Taranza's habits take over years of working on a tight schedule. If there is anything he learned from becoming a priest and then the assistant to a powerful monarch, adhering to schedules is as important as the daily grind.

It helps that he has two pairs of hands not attached to his body. One makes the bed, and the other pair draws back the curtain so the natural light filters into the room. The horizon is still quite pink and yellow, a beautiful sight that would have made the old him scramble to get his morning duties before breakfast in order. But he is in a different place in a different world. Old rules do not apply. So he lingers by it, captured by its serenity. Letting himself be enraptured by how different the skies look from the ground. He saw it yesterday, but this is the first time he has allowed himself to take it in.

Taranza slaps his cheeks and breaks from his trance. He cannot get distracted! Taranza has yet to learn what morning constitutes around here and would rather not get caught unawares as he gets dressed. How mortifying! All of his virtue would go down the drain. 

He tidies up the room, clearing the dust with the snap of his finger. He fluffs the pillows, presses the sheets with heat-soaked hands until it is wrinkle-free and, for good measure, tightens every screw of the bed frame. After all his worry wriggling, some of the bolts must have gotten loose. Once the room looks proper enough to be called a guest bedroom, Taranza performs his morning routine. Which he realises will be relatively short as all his stuff lies in his rooms at the Palace. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but he must. Not that Taranza's usual makeup would have hidden his misery. But the thought of being seen so disorderly has his skin crawling. In Floralia, propriety is everything. Even as a monk, when outside the cathedral walls, it was one of his duties to represent the church. So he had to look proper and holy, untouchable by the matters of flesh and riches—an extension of Aurelia's brilliant light. 

Taranza drags a hand over his face, cringing as chunky makeup, debris, and soot stick to his hand. He looks at his pillowcase—an imprint of his face clings to the pillow. Taranza sighs. There is no way he can wash that out in time. Not with his lack of water magic, washboard or a washtub.

So be it! Taranza muses. He quickly scrubs all the filth off himself in the side bathroom. He deigns to use the products in the weird cabin like Bath, wondering what it will do to his skin and hair. His skin is made of hard keratin, smooth plating with hairy joints and sensitive fuzz at every limb and horn. Dreamlanders seem to have soft skin like flesh. He doubts their creams and oils will work for him. It might even harm him. Thank the heavens, though, for hot water! It has been so long since he had to use cold water, as was a tradition of the priesthood. But it had been too long since he had done that. He is not looking forward to ever doing that again.

His first predicament of the day comes as an absence of wearable clothes. His old, battle-worn outfit only held together through sheer power of will. Even if Taranza wanted to - he does not - he would not be able to wear it again. So he is stuck wearing a nightgown for the day, the very day he is to receive his sentence.

How undignifying! Taranza huffs, his six hands immediately going to work on his nightwear. He pulls a thread from his own silk and cuts them with the snip of his claws. Without his gloves, his nails are as sharp as scissors.

It is unsightly for a disgraced priest to wear clothing resembling robes. But it is not like he has the time or the resources to sew trousers. Taranza cuts the sleeves, sows cuffs, and makes a cloth belt from his ruined waistcoat. All to create the illusion of a waistline. However, he notes that it leaves his legs bare down the knee. Despite the once-too-long sleeves, this nightdress was clearly not made to be used as a nightgown but as a shirt. It is alright for casual clothes, but that is the thing - his situation is anything but casual. 

Taranza ponders on his predicament, snapping his fingers when he realises he can use the undamaged strips of fabric of his trousers to sew a hem. The pieces do not seamlessly match the rest of the pattern, but he can easily cover that up with colourful thread, masking the discrepancy. He sews pockets to his smock with the leftover scraps for good measure. Having magic is pretty useful,  he muses with a wistful grin. Recalling his first-ever spell. 

As for shoes, they are not his expertise. Going barefoot is fine in Floralia as long as you hide your feet. Some species of Insectoids cannot wear shoes, so forcing them to footwear is impossible. Taranza expects the castle to have cold floors, and though he is comfortable now, he is sure that will change when he is forced to walk on marble tiling. Though he could try to put his old shoes back on, he is confident the heels will snap if he does. It is undoubtedly a tough nugget to crack. But, ultimately, he decides to fashion socks from his ruined button-up. 

And lastly, Taranza's scarf. He remembers feeling choked with emotion when he first received it from Sectonia. Taranza cradles it sadly in his hands. However, with some styling, it became his own, and he was known as the boy with the red scarf at court. That was the nicest thing they called him behind his back. Carrying the lucky colour around his neck, hoping the red string fate could keep him and Sectonia together. 

It didn't. 

Taranza shakes his head, pressing the wool against his face, hoping to catch the scent of sweet perfumes and moonlight. For one last shred of Sectonia before everything became so hopeless. Knowing all too well by that point, it had already been too late. He does not want to acknowledge it. But all that greets him is smoke and soot. Taranza shakes out the scarf, disappointed. He should have known. Even if everything that happened yesterday never transpired, the chance of Sectonia's scent remaining was small.

Taranza beats it against the wall and, for good measure, blasts wind through it. Once clean, he cuts off the burned parts, stitching them into a smaller, thinner shape. When he finishes it, it resembles a necktie more than a scarf. Taranza ties it around his neck and inspects his work, satisfied. It looks like a cravat. The only details missing are the iconic ruffles and pin. He is sure he can do that later once he studies tailoring more. The sewing and stitching were basic; he has gotten rusty since acclimating to the palace life.

Taranza beams with satisfaction as he puts everything on. He briefly forgets about his situation, twirling to admire his handiwork. He recalls the fond memories of being in his parent's house, sitting in the drawing room at their family's weekly bonding night, talking about their experiences that week and gossiping as they made and repaired clothes.

He turns towards the mirror reflexively, smiling from ear to ear. Taranza's happy moment shatters. He only sees a treacherous man in his reflection. Not the confident Arachnid he used with his dreams achieved, and a world singing him praises for his hard work. He was not selfless, but he had been loved. 

Taranza tears his eyes away, disgusted by what he sees. He turns the mirror around, wrapping his hands around his body and feeling oh so cold with disgust.

A knock at the door snaps him out of his thoughts. Taranza straightens, forcing himself to conceal his weaknesses with a smile. Showing vulnerability in court was a death wish. Even as a priest, he could not show his insecurities - it was unbecoming. He cannot let anybody know what he feels, or they will take advantage of him. It is already bad enough they saw him at his worst yesterday. He cannot let it happen again. 

Taranza opens the door in the image of a good-bred gentleman. The only thing missing is a good night's rest. A Sir Kibble stands at the door, their eyes wide at Taranza's appearance. They are unnervingly quiet. Yet before Taranza begins to doubt himself - Sir Kibble steps back, their yellow armour clinking.

"The king is expecting you; follow me." They sound rough as if they do not use their voice often. Or they are astonished at the sight of Taranza. Either way, Taranza does not care, nodding. 

"Indeed, let us make post haste then. Can't keep his majesty waiting." Taranza jokes, his fangs scraping at his bottom lip, trying so hard to mimic the smiles of the people around here.

Sir Kibble does not laugh. Taranza feels like a failure.

Taranza casts a last glance at the room, more or less satisfied with his work. Then, his eyes land on his green mantle, his last connection to his country and everything he left behind when he fled. He ignores it, closing the door behind him. 

Sir Kibble leads him out of the guest room's wing, all the way down spiralling staircases and buzzing corridors. For a moment, the staff bustling reminds him of the royal Palace. He is brought back to the past, to a simple yet complicated time. But he is shaken from the illusion as the broom hatters and waddle dees stop and stare, frightful eyes burning into him. Taranza avoids their eyes, hiding his grimace behind a strategic cough. He is a fish out of water, alien from head to toe. The differences between Floralia and Dreamland are like day and night. How he could ever think they were similar is as good a guess as any. 

He feels like a prisoner sent to his trial, and is that not the truth? Sir Kibble is here to make sure he does not make a run for it. Not that he would get far. His magic has returned with rest, but he is still disoriented with no dime or land to his name. Hiding out in the unknown landscape of Dreamland is bound to be perilous and not to mention stupid. Its natives would sniff him out faster than he could make a home for himself. Even so, roughing it up in the wilderness has never been his style. He would rather face his punishment now than potentially worsen it. 

So, Taranza dutifully follows behind. But, if he is to confront his sentence, it will be with dignity. That is the least he can do for all the wrongs he committed.

To Taranza's shock, their destination differs from a cold and dark cell. Instead, they walk into a decked-out hall with high ceilings, chandeliers and red roller carpets. The geniality of Dedede Castle throws Taranza for a loop. Is Dreamland wealthy enough to dress up its dungeons this nicely? The thought is scary after being in charge of Floralia's treasury for some time. How much money does this country have?!

Sir Kibble opens a double door and gestures for Taranza to go inside, much too respectful for a criminal or a prisoner. Taranza wants to object, not liking this game the staff is playing on him. Being cold and then hot, he would rather be treated like trash than feel so confused. But he fears retaliation, or worse, looking like a fool. So he accepts, eyes widening as he steps into the room. 

It is a dining hall. A classic mediaeval one from the stories Taranza used to read as a young sprout - retrofitted to fit modern times. The table is long and different from the U shape in the history books. The chairs are made from rich oak, only possible in a land with an overabundance of trees, and a white golden trimmed tablecloth brings the image of a royal dining hall together. As does the fireplace behind the head of the table. A massive painting of King Dedede posing hangs above it.

King Dedede sits at the head of the table, eating breakfast as he shuffles through reports, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His robe is new and shiny. It reminds Taranza of the robe Dedede gave him yesterday, lying on the floor in his guestroom. He wonders if there is even a point in washing and returning it. King Dedede probably has a closet full of kingly robes, and with its dye tarnished, it is a lost cause even if he repairs it. That is one less thing I can use to get into the King's good graces. Taranza laments anxiously. He looks around the room for anything he can familiarise himself with. If the King does not change his mind and sends me to the gallows forthwith.  

The doors close with a thud, scaring Taranza. His hands clutch at his chest, feeling his heart stutter. It is an unpleasant sensation. Why does he feel so jumpy? He has never felt so high-strung before. But this panicked feeling has been simmering in his gut since he came down here. He was just too tired to register it yesterday.

Is this… what it feels like to have anxiety?  Taranza’s smile sours. He hates it.

King Dedede looks up, the neutrality of his face bleeding into a wide grin.

"Tazz, thayure are! How dja sleep? Come, sit!" King Dedede says… happily? Taranza is not sure. He does not sound angry, at least, or like he is going to lob Taranza's head off. Taranza used to be able to tell. But his head is so full of guilt and fear that there is no place for people skills if he did not leave them in Floralia with his loyalty. 

Taranza approaches the King, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. Not a difficult task as Dedede is twice his size and could so easily snap his spine in half with one hand. Don't think about it, Taranza. Don't think about it. Taranza reminds himself, his practised toothy smile shaky on his face. Nonetheless, he cannot let his attempts at appearing presentable go to waste. 

"I…" Still, Taranza falters at the first syllable. What is he even supposed to say? The truth? But that could be interpreted as the guestroom being lacklustre. So it was, but Taranza will not spit at King Dedede's generosity. Despite everything that transpired, he does not have a death wish. 

Taranza clears his throat, avoiding the King's eyes to look at the window. The sky looks stunning from here. Taranza clenches his fists.

"It was… a fitful sleep if I have to be honest, your majesty," Taranza admits, feeling his chest constrict with honesty, hoping it will not backfire on him. So to say he did not get much sleep last night is an understatement. He is groggy and, at the same time, too wide awake. He feels contradictory, somehow worse and yet somehow calmer. It is all so confusing, these feelings inside his chest. As if a beast has burrowed inside his heart, changing everything from the inside out. Leaving his body to feel like an empty, hollowed-out shell, waiting to be discarded and used for the next unfortunate tenant.

King Dedede bobs his head in sympathy, the content mask slipping from his face. Taranza was not the only one pretending. 

"It certainly wuz no easy sleep fahwar, anyone. Though," King Dedede grins mischievously, scratching his bearded cheek, "I know a few people who slept lahk babies last night."

Taranza furrows his brow, bemused. 

"Oh… okay? I guess?" He has absolutely no idea what that means. Taranza has never heard of the idiom before.

King Dedede shrugs.

"Eh, it don't matter. Sit, bud. Standin' upright can't be comfortable fahwar so long." Dedede gestures for the chair on his left, disregarding seating arrangements or royal protocol. If this was, Floralia and Taranza was still the highest ranking person at the table, besides the queen herself, sitting next to royalty would not be so strange. But this is not Floralia, nor is he the secretary of state anymore. Even so, that title means nothing in a foreign country his homeland tried to invade, an invasion he started by kidnapping the man gesturing him to take a seat as if nothing happened. It makes no sense, and every little hair, fuzz included, stands upright.

But orders are orders. Taranza delicately draws his chair back, moving it carefully as if it will come to life and bite him. With how strange everything is in this country, Taranza would not be surprised if that is possible. 

Taranza sits ramrod straight. His back against his chair, his chin tilted upwards, and his hands on his lap, not on the table, unless he eats. The only exception is his detached hands, wringing nervously and picking at every little loose thread—his bad habit. Hopefully, the stitches on his clothes will not come loose. Dedede frowns, noticing Taranza's shaky posture. Taranza smiles. It is crooked.

King Dedede breathes in and out through his nostrils, one moment away from slapping his hands together in an 'oh boy' pose.

"I already got breakfast fahwar myself. After all, I'm a hungry man; I can't go long without feelin' peckish!" Dedede tries to lighten the mood with a joke. But, unfortunately, his attempt falls flat as he watches Taranza's eyes widen. Taranza hisses softly, reminded of the not-quite-unconscious conscious state he left Dedede in as he carried him up the heavens.

"I meant tuh order fahwar ya; I'm not thet bad of a host as tuh only order fahwar myself! Until I realised, I had naw idea whut ya lahk or if you even can eat Dreamland foods. It would be pretty stupid of me tuh expect us tuh hav similar diets." King Dedede quickly clarifies. He waves at the food in front of him, only half eaten. Taranza does not know Dedede; he is still a stranger to him, but from the King's words and physique, it seems out of character. A man like King Dedede should eat a lot to maintain his size and strength. To leave his plate half empty, he must not be feeling well. 

Taranza wisely does not comment on it.

"I… suppose so." Taranza mumbles. Now that he finally looks at the table, he notices it has been set. The tableware is nothing fancy, just ceramic that seems to be heirloom-like rather than expensive. The paint has long since faded, but there are still imprints left of what once was. The table is set for five people, including the King, with special cups and cutlery that speak of needs turned into habits. A pink plastic mug with hearts with only a fork. A metal straw for someone who does not take off their mask. Chopsticks and spoons for someone who prefers a traditional breakfast. And even Dedede's plate, knives, and fork are specialised for him, as the other tableware in his hands would look laughably tiny. 

Only his dishes stand out on the King's left side. The odd one out. The intruder of an idyllic scene. Standard and yet so peculiar in their commonplace nature. 

Taranza shakes his head. What a strange interrogation technique. He thinks, forcing his attention finally on the food. He would never have thought to do this to their prisoners. Dreamlanders are so strange.

Staring at the food confirms what Taranza thought. He feels too nervous to eat, even if what lies on Dedede's plate looks divine. Rolls of doughy fresh baked bread with fruits and salted meats sit on the plate. Every roll is a different kind of bread; honey, walnut, brioche and cinnamon raisin. Delectable things only a wealthy aristocrat could afford to eat every day, or a king in this case.

But, Taranza cannot confirm if he can even eat that. He has no allergies he is familiar with, yet there are things in this land unbeknownst to him. There could be an ingredient in the bread harmful to him that is not present in the bread his homeland makes. One extra item is all it would take to kill him. Such is the danger of coming to a foreign land.

"Whut would ya lahk? Mah chefs can whip sumpn up fahwar ya in a jiffy." Dedede smiles encouragingly, his battle-worn face softening, "Or you can pick sumpn frum mah plate." He pushes his plate towards Taranza, inviting him to take a roll for himself. Taranza shies away from the offer, waving his hands apologetically. He hides them as soon as he realises he used his magic hands. To him, they are as much a part of him as his main body. But others do not see it that way. 

"No, thank you! I think I prefer sticking to unprepared ingredients for now." He chitters, but even to himself, he sounds too high-pitched to be natural. Taranza quickly tacks on, slightly bowing, "Though, I appreciate your generosity, your majesty." 

King Dedede leans back, a careful mask of indifference slipping over his face. But as broken as Taranza feels, he can still see the pinch in his eyes. He is perturbed by something Taranza said. Either Taranza is improving at rereading people, or Dedede is an open person. Taranza is unsure of what to believe. 

"You're raht. It' be best tuh stick tuh raw foods. I should hav known thet before I offered." King Dedede rubs his neck with a chuckle.

"Au contraire! It was very kind of you to offer me food from your plate. However, it is my duty to remind you of my lesser attributes. The blame is entirely my own." Taranza jumps in, years of appeasing his superiors kicking in. It is the only way to protect himself in this strange land. 

King Dedede's mouth falls open, taken aback by the smooth Souringue phrase flowing from Taranza's tongue. Though it could also be the fancy way Taranza speaks or the way he puts all the blame on himself. Ultimately, it does not matter. Dedede slumps forward on the table, digging his palms into his forehead. 

"Okay, that's a lot tuh unpack. Oof." King Dedede massages his temple, glancing at Taranza sternly, "First of all, no self-blamin' at thuh table! We don't put ourselves down based on thangs we cannot control. Secondly, you don't hav tuh be ashamed of chur hands. They are a part of ya, and though I admit it will take sum time, I will eventually get used tuh them. Thirdly, yore mah guest. It is me who is responsible fahwar providin' a pleasant time." 

Taranza blinks, stunned by the words coming from the king's mouth. He only understood half of it. He may speak Dreamlandic, but its nuance escapes him occasionally. Or, it is Dedede's outlandish etiquette riling him up, throwing everything he knows of royalty in the trash bin. 

A bit hypocritical, isn't it, to say not to 'put yourself down' and then laugh at your own forgetfulness. Taranza muses with disdain. But he swallows the words and feelings deep down - hiding all the unsightliness within his cracked shell.

"I thought I was part of a 'situation'. I cannot be a guest after what happened yesterday." The flash of anger controls Taranza, letting it slip past him as he gashes his fangs. He covers up the reaction with his hands, shrugging them in a manner that seems as if he accepted King Dedede's attempt at relieving him of his propriety. As if. Good manners are what make me a gentleman. I would never give them up.

"Yeah, it is pretty complicated. I nearly forgot about thet interaction yesterday. Can't say thet wuz a good first impression." Dedede sighs. Taranza quickly schools himself, frigidly monotone.

"Decidedly not, your majesty."

King Dedede frowns yet shrugs. He straightens, his back properly resting against his chair, drawing to his full seated height. The seat is more of a throne in its size, though not as gaudy as the chairs and other furniture Queen Sectonia commissioned after her coronation. Truly the intimidating King, Taranza envisioned him when he received the task from Sectonia to kidnap Dedede. Nothing like the helpless hero of the lowlands Taranza ambushed a week ago.

Taranza gulps, shrinking in his seat.

"That is what I wanted to discuss with you today. Your sentence." The ruler of Dreamland states gravely. No shred of humour shines in his royal blue eyes, but the reminder of his absolute power over Taranza. It terrifies the living daylights out of him.

The door to the dining room cracks open. Taranza catches only a glimpse of the person waddling in, too nervous even to angle his head to look with his four extra eyes. Afraid that even a smidgen of distraction will be enough for King Dedede to decide that he is worse than scum and deserves to rot all his life in the darkest dungeon. That may be what he deserves after all his wrongdoings, but that does not mean that is what he wants. 

It is an aged waddle doo butler bringing in tea. Taranza recognises the bitter scent, but everything else escapes him. The details of the tea set, the conversation between King Dedede and the servant, even when Dedede turns back to him - it washes away in a sea of white noise.

He feels like he cannot breathe. 

He cannot breathe. 

This is it. I'm going to die. Taranza thinks deliriously. His limbs feel numb.

"Thank you, Waddle Doo. Now, Tazz, back tuh - waffles and cream!" Dedede exclaims, shocked at the pale, shaking young man at his side. He stares, unsure of what to do. So, he laughs nervously, wracking his brain to figure out what went wrong.

"Oh, it's nuthin' thet serious! Playze calm down. Yore alright, hon." Dedede tries to assure. His natural southern drawl is thick in his panic. Caught between wanting to comfort Taranza and being a responsible king. His hand hovers over Taranza's shoulder, as he would do for one of his waddle dees or his friends. Offering a comforting pat or a good firm hug. But Dedede abandons it, knowing he would do more damage than help. He waits it out, steaming in uncomfortable silence. Then, finally, when Taranza comes back to himself, Dedede smiles gently, not mentioning what just happened. Taranza gratefully nods, holding himself with resembled pieces. It is only morning, and he already feels ready to drop dead.

"But Tazz, evun I have tuh admit if I let ya go, scott-free, you and me are gunna tuh be in big trouble." King Dedede says not unkindly, gauging a reaction before he continues. As much as he wants it not to be the truth, it is difficult to ignore the reality of the situation, "Sum fanatics might evun take matters into chur own hands."

Taranza grimaces. That does not sound good. He is familiar with rebels and even the worst of the bunch - renegades. The people who think they could take control of an interstate system and run it better. Only to give up and only benefit themselves. Or that was always the plan. They are all just pretty lies to get the masses to agree to overthrow a government. Taranza agrees that the system could be better. Heck, he became secretary of state without any prior experience! But he has had enough justice-seeking types with red-dyed hands shouting rhetoric after rhetoric. Or maybe he is tired of sending them to their deaths, only to feel the guilt keeping him awake at night. The details hardly matter. 

King Dedede twirls his wrist with a shrug.

"I am sure a wizard lahk you can handle them, but I ain't gonna sugarcoat it. It ain't candid. Thuh best option would be a peaceful solution everyone can benefit frum. So ya can live a peaceful life here in Dreamland." King Dedede picks up the teapot, looking inside to see how far the tea leaves have steeped. Steam wafts in his face, making the warrior king look mysterious. 

"Unless ya plan on returning tuh Floralia?" Dedede's eyes turn sharp, gleaming behind a curtain of vapour. 

Taranza bites his lip, wondering what returning home means. He doubts they will welcome him with open arms if he could return right now. Queen Sectonia may have been the target people rioted against, but he was her hands. Cruelty at its finest as he sent people to the gallows and collected taxes from rich and poor, young and old. A once holy man turned into a reaper of destruction and strife. Taranza became what he hates most, a symbol of death and hate, fallen so far from grace. A blight on a once bright, prosperous country now lies in ruins from his imbecility. His love ruined Floralia, and all his prayers and offerings - past and future - could never make up for it.

Death would be the kindest punishment. But Floralia and its people are hungry. They want retribution, their slain dragon to put on a pike. With Sectonia unable to fulfil that role, he would be sentenced in her stead. And if Taranza knows Floralia's nobles, they are fighting for the right to rule. If he were to come back miraculously pardoned - he would be a candidate to the throne as the only Arachnid left. He may not be a woman, but it would be expected, even with his tainted hands, that he would continue Aurelia's legacy. A fate no noble house can risk. 

He is as good as dead either way. Dreamland is by far the safer option.

"No, your majesty, that is not an option for someone like me." Taranza bows his head, not explaining further. His hands grasp his smock, wrinkling between his spindly fingers. He unplucks them from his lap. With the sharpness of his claws, it will not be long before he accidentally tears into his clothes. Dreamland fabric is strangely thin, He muses absentmindedly. It certainly is inefficient.

The sound of running water makes Taranza look up. Dedede is pouring tea into two cups. They are pretty but too dull in colour for Taranza to be interesting. They resemble mugs more than teacups, with no handle to stick his thumb into.

"I sympathise with ya, Tazz, I really do. But I hav tuh look at thus frum thuh perspective of a king. I wouldn't dream of sentencin' ya lightly if ya were one of mah own. Examples hav tuh be made, or thuh citizens will start tuh think I will let anyone walk all over Dreamland and me. I cannot do thet tuh mah people." Dedede sighs, picking up the biggest cup and holding it delicately in his hands. Strangely elegant for a brutish man. "Yet, ya did come through at thuh end and hav been behaving quite spectacularly. An A plus, by thuh way, fahwar stayin' calm yesterday. I know I wouldn't be in chur shoes." King Dedede grins at his own quip. He places the other cup in front of Taranza. He only drinks from his tea when Taranza picks it up to inspect it.

"But ya aren't one of mah own, so thus situation and you are unique. Different matters require different approaches. In all mah years as King, I learned thet nuthin' is as simple as it seems, and sumtimes exceptions must be made."

Taranza is only half paying attention, placing the golden-tinged tea. It is Yarrow.  

"Taranza of Floralia," Taranza startles at his name, putting his cup down with a stammering, 'Y-yes?' King Dedede looks him right in the eyes, or where he thinks Taranza's eyes are. Nevertheless, his intensity does not waver, "-as the King of Dreamland, I sentence you tuh castle confinement unless accompanied and supervised menial labour for twelve months. The hours and tasks can always be changed and improved on, as is the chance of earlier parol and if labour conditions prove tuh be harmful to your physical and mental health. Are there any objections tuh this sentencing?" King Dedede asks, sipping his tea as if he did not just decide for Taranza's future so easily.

The tension in the room is tangible, a covering like a dusty powder. However, King Dedede does not jump in to dissuade it. Instead, it makes the King's previous efforts to be accommodating stick out. For all his rough edges, Dedede is good at creating a welcoming environment. It is sorely missed.

Should I tell him that is not my full name?  Taranza considers telling Dedede just that. However, Taranza does not want to shoot himself in the foot by being nitpicky. He could weasel himself out of the punishment if King Dedede did not use his full name. Oh, who am I kidding? I have no rights. King Dedede could sentence me to anything, and I would have to agree to it. This is just a formality.

Taranza nods, swallowing his pride. This is the best deal he will get. It is more than he deserves; after all, everything. 

"No, I agree, my king." Taranza solemnly replies, sealing the deal.

King Dedede smiles brilliantly.

"Fantastic! Now thets outta thuh way, we can finally relax! I hate bein' all formal." In one fell swoop, the room brightens - slapping Taranza in the face with whiplash. King Dedede sighs with relief, leaning back and resting his arms behind his head — the picture of relaxation. 

That was formal?!  Taranza screams internally, reeling. Sure, King Dedede was serious and intimidating, but Taranza would loathe to call it formal. Taranza's etiquette tutor would have an aneurysm hearing those words. I do not want to see King Dedede giving a speech if this is his idea of formality.

"Okay! Now onto lighter things. Where dja learn to speak Dreamlandic? Ya sound flaunt." Dedede changes the subject with a jaunty wiggle, awfully casual after sentencing someone. That may be how Dedede is, with no sense of decorum or order to how things are supposed to be done. 

Taranza envies King Dedede’s sense of ease. If only he could be so easygoing, he would not feel so bad. Yet, Taranza reconsiders as he crosses his legs, unclenching his teeth. How is he supposed to hold himself responsible if the guilt does not sting? To feel unburdened would be to make all the suffering he caused meaningless.

"I, uh, actually taught myself Dreamlandic before coming down here." Taranza smiles nervously, drumming his fingers along the tabletop. He prides himself on his knowledge. Invading a country where he would be oblivious to its language is a stupid mistake. He could have used magic to translate for him, as Queen Sectonia did when she finally spoke to the Dreamlanders. But he does not cut corners. He is a fully-blooded scholar. He would have loved to become a tome keeper if he had not been so mesmerised by flowers.

Yet, he definitely should have paid more attention to the stories of Dreamland's exploits. Then perhaps he would have kidnapped the right person. Taranza wonders how things would have gone differently if he had taken Kirby instead. He shudders to think what Kirby would have done to him in the aftermath, or Aurelia forbid, they broke free mid-kidnapping.

"Wow! Thet's amazing!" Dedede compliments, grabbing a roll and biting into it. Taranza puffs out his chest. It has been a long since he has been praised, and he revels in it. Scouring old tomes and culture books from the fabled lowlands paid off. It fills him with warmth. 

"Why, thank you!" He smirks, flipping his silver hair. "I worked really hard to get it right-"

"But how dja do thet?" King Dedede interrupts, swallowing the rest of the roll in one go. It disgusts Taranza, faltering with a scowl. All the bravery seeps out of him, sensing the slight suspicion in the monotony of Dedede's voice.

I almost let myself go. Taranza composes himself. I forgot my place. How foolish.

"Old textbooks. Our kingdoms used to trade before Dreamland became a fable of the past." He replies bluntly, the passion he held slipping from his fingers. Dedede tilts his head, considering it. Then, finally, he nods with a hum, drinking his tea to wash down the bread.

"Huh, thet makes sense. It explains how stuffy ya sound."

"Stuffy?" Taranza repeats.

"Yeah, a little nasally, but that might be because of a stuffy nose. Getting used to different altitudes and climates can be difficult."

Taranza's eye twitches.

"Right, a stuffy nose, that's it." Taranza lies, barely keeping his polite smile from twisting into a sneer. Taranza, in particular, does not like being insulted, regardless of King Dedede's awareness of his rudeness. If this were anyone else, Taranza would have them wrapped in a spider web in revenge. 

The door behind him opens, but he is too busy steaming in indignance. It is probably another servant, someone unimportant. Taranza turns his head to look at them, annoyed at the chairs' height. One would think King Dedede would not keep such long chairs with how short the natives are in Dreamland-

Taranza turns his gaze back in front of him, though he cannot help but keep the danger in his sight through his back eyes. He almost does not recognise the newcomer, but when he does, he feels his every sense screaming at him to run. Only the dread of being noticed keeps him seated.

Meta Knight strides into the dining room, looking pissed off. It is subtler than yesterday, but Taranza has a sense for these things. Meta Knight's eyes shine with a dangerous glower, and his movements are sharp and jerky, lacking his lethal grace. He has no need for the pointy edges of his armour. Meta Knight is a weapon all on his own.

It is shocking to see the knight without his armour. He is dressed in a far too big blouse and cuffed trousers that look centuries old. It is a fashionable nightmare! Even the belt around his waist makes Taranza want to die. It is a damaged, filthy thing with a scuffed belt buckle. Its design is detailed with an important-looking emblem, but Taranza is not close enough to decipher it. Nor does he wish to be. But Taranza can note the pointed ears and frizzy hair tied into a loose ponytail. It is messy, though Taranza feels it is not because of a lack of trying. Meta Knight's blue hair looks like it has been hit by static electricity, poofing every lone strand. Like a woolly mite-sheep, ready for shearing. 

Yet Meta Knight's high-collared cape drapes over his shoulders, making Taranza realise that Meta Knight's clothing is strangely airy. With how formal the knight seems, Taranza expected more propriety. He supposes he should expect shamelessness by now after yesterday's display. It makes sense for two customless men to dress so bare. Taranza thinks snidely, letting his resentment get the better of him, ignoring Dedede's layered kimono or his grand fluffy robe.

"You." Meta Knight grits through his teeth. He does not raise his voice, yet Taranza feels the wave of anger bleeds over him. He recoils, reminded of why having these thoughts around this happy trigger knight is not so wise.

Only Meta Knight's attention is not on Taranza. No, Meta Knight has firmly focused on the King, glowering with righteous fury.

Dedede calmy bites into another roll.

"Oh, howdy there, Mety! Did ya hav a good night's sleep?" He asks, his smile widening none too innocently and carefully keeping his tone neutral as he wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Taranza shivers in disgust. If Meta Knight shares the same sentiment, he does not show it.

"You let me sleep in, didn't you?" 

"Hmm, maybe." 

"Dedede." Meta Knight hisses.

"Whut?! Ya looked so peaceful sleepin'; I couldn't possibly wake ya up. I would be a monster if I did thet." The king simpers, chuckling as he remembers the soft scene he left behind in his chambers.

However, Meta Knight is not amused, crossing his arms.

"You know why I wake up early in the morning." 

"Don't I," Dedede sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose right above his old scare, "Cut yourself sum slack, Meta. Everyone, includin' chur crew, needs sum time off to recover. You, in thuh meanwhile, can catch up on thet sleep ya lost stayin' up fahwar thuh whole conflict."

Meta Knight narrows his eyes.

"You knew."

Dedede rolls his eyes.

"Puh-lease, Meta! I would be a terrible pardner if I didn't notice how sleep-deprived ya are. Of all people, you seriously need some TLC." Dedede pushes himself from the table, dropping the goofy attitude. Looking concerned as he gestures at Meta Knight, demonstrating how tired the warrior looks with a hand wave. "Ya need rest, shugah bean."

Meta Knight inhales sharply at the use of a pet name. But he is not to be pacified, standing taller in his boots, a safe distance away before he caves to Dedede's good-natured care. 

"I can't rest. Reports must be made, and wounded soldiers and deserters must be accounted for. Supplies need to be restocked, surveillance needs to be tightened, and we can't forget about the chance of the Floralians retaliating when we think we have won. So much still has to be done." Meta Knight rambles, throwing his arms open in a manner that is too choppy to be elegant. Exhausted, yet active in the most manic way possible.

King Dedede frowns, empathising with his partner. He knows how stressful being in charge of people is. As does Taranza, but he keeps his mouth tightly shut tight, especially about the impossibility of Floralia invading a second time. But, tired or not, he is sure Meta Knight will not be happy to see him. 

"And they will be done. But yore is only half as efficient as ya usually are wheyun yore tired. So git sum rest, and we can go ovur repairin' an puttin' up measures tuh protect our country together." 

"But-!"

"No buts! I know ya luv mine, but you hav tuh calm down." King Dedede tuts, barely able to contain the laughter curling on his lips. The stress flees from Meta Knight's posture, replaced by good old frustration. 

"You- Argh!"  Meta Knight yells, stomping forward right up to the seated King. He points a claw in Dedede's face, nearly poking out the king's eye.

Dedede looks unperturbed.

"You're so lucky I'm in love with you, amor." Meta Knight grouses, moments away from grabbing Dedede by the collar and throwing him over his shoulder to the ground in a suplex. Despite the size discrepancy, Taranza does not doubt Meta Knight's capabilities. 

"Thuh luckiest man in thuh whole wide dawgone universe," Dedede replies, besotted. He gently takes Meta Knight's hands, cradling them in his. Then, he brings them up to his face, letting his partner's claws scratch against his beard, "I could not wish fahwar a better man tuh stand beside me. Nova blessed me by bringin' us together." 

Meta Knight falls silent, replicating the stony visage of a statue. The only sign that he heard Dedede at all is his ears turning beet red, and he exhales softly, voluntarily holding Dedede's face in his palms. Dedede wraps his hands around Meta Knight's middle instead, tucking the knight against him. 

"And I, too, thank the cosmos for letting us meet, mi vida. Not a day goes by when I take our wonderful life for granted. I would fight a thousand armies for you if it meant keeping you safe. I love you more than the stars covet the night and more than the moon loves the sun, reflecting your wonderous and brilliant light upon this glorious country." Meta Knight croons unabashedly, not shy in his love for the King.

"Oh, you romantic! Me too, Mety. I luv ya more than I could evur please chur intellectual mind. I would write you sonnets if only I could sit still and put in words how much I adore you." He squeezes Meta Knight tight, cooing throatily. It is a sound Taranza has not heard before. He is reminded as apparent as the differences are between Dreamlanders and Floralians, there are many more he is not privy to. Though, Dedede does not sound like a mammal or like the weird creature Meta Knight is. It is too baritone. If Taranza had to put a familiar sound to it, Dedede's sounds like a broken trumpet.

Meta Knight huffs, blushing harder but not deterred.

"You're plenty clever, sire. Don't self-deprecate at the-"

"-dinner table, I know." 

"-Ever, you dunce." Meta Knight flicks Dedede's nose, nicking him with a sharp claw. 

"Ow! Mety, thet hurt!" Dedede yelps. Meta Knight apologises silently by gently pressing his thumb over the bleeding scratch. A golden glow eliminates from his hand, magic not his own healing Dedede's skin. King Dedede pouts, taking Meta Knight's palm in his so he can feel the lingering warmth of magic. 

Dedede knocks their foreheads together gently, using his best impression of a kicked puppy.

"What am I going to do with you, your brilliance?" Meta Knight murmurs conspiratorially, only meant to be heard by his one true love right in front of him. Unaware of a special guest residing in this room who can hear him just fine.

"Well," Dedede starts, grinning, "-hopefully, ya will kiss me." He waggles his eyebrows, "I deserve recompense." Dedede puckers his lips, dramatically making kissing sounds.

Meta Knight rolls his eyes, blocking Dedede's mouth with his hand.

"You're a drama king, Dedede." 

"I'm your drama king." King Dedede bats his eyes. Meta Knight cups the back of Dedede's head, standing over him at the one moment he is taller than his king. His golden stitched cape flaps in the breeze. It is strange - the windows are not open in this windless room. 

"You are."

They stare into each other's eyes, oh so in love. Taranza considers it a miracle he has not been noticed yet as he seethes. Every vein in his body wants to burst at their sickeningly sweet display. They are so lost in their little world everything else fades away. It is effortlessly gross and infuriating! They are so happy, trusting, and just - he wants to puke!

It is dumbfounding. Taranza has always been a sucker for romance in every sense of the word. He swooned at the idea of being swept off his feet and giggled at the prospect of looking someone in the eyes as he went down on one to serenade them. Since he was very young, he has wanted to find love as true and pure as old stories. He had to give up those daydreams when he joined the monastery. But never did his heart waver because he loved his friend Sectonia as much as he loved the flowers in bloom. His silver moonlight bathed a heavenly kingdom in her splendour—his bewitching moonlight blossom. Taranza's feelings may have been forbidden, but he loved her like he loved the world. She was his world, even if his dreams did not line perfectly to be with her.

Taranza deflates, realising what his pet peeve with these two is. It is pathetic, and he chokes back the tears. But, he cannot show weakness, not now and ever again. He never wants to be hurt again.

"Fine, one kiss. But then I'll be joining breakfast." Meta Knight finally complies after Dedede's long and drawn-out pleading. He was too busy having a revelation than listening to their lovesick prattle.

Dedede cheers up, endearingly excited for what is just one kiss.

"Suits me!"

"Okay, mi Rey." Meta Knight snorts, undoing the clasp of his mask. Dedede sees nothing wrong with it, eagerly awaiting to gaze upon his love's face. Yet, he catches Taranza in the corner of his eye. Taranza stares back like a deer caught in the headlights. Wanting to be as far away from them as possible. 

Dedede's eyebrows shoot up to the roof.

"Wait, Mety! There is someone in thuh room with us!" King Dedede shouts, startling Meta Knight. The knight pushes his mask back against his face none too gently, whipping around with a crack. His eyes narrow as they meet Taranza. Meta Knight's gaze is poisonous.

"You - I- yo - Taranza." Meta Knight growls, pressing closer to Dedede as if he can protect the King by holding him too tight. King Dedede does not feel it, laughing. Taranza awkwardly laughs along. He wants to keel over and die.

Meta Knight hisses, far from entertained by Taranza's reaction.

"See? I told ya, yore tired." Dedede chimes in, patting his partner's arm. Meta Knight takes the que, letting go. He reties the strap of his mask, irritated. 

"Shut up."

"Hey! Thet's naw way tuh tawk tuh chur beloved." Dedede jokingly protests. Meta Knight turns to him, giving him a look.

"Cerra el orto."

Dedede frowns, squinting his eyes.

"I don't lahk thuh sound of thet." 

"No te debe gustar, cariño." Meta Knight mysteriously responds, turning back to Taranza. Taranza folds in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible, preparing for the same terror to overcome him as yesterday. 

But Meta Knight takes one deep breath and lets go. He averts his eyes, suddenly cold to the heated contempt he held so close to his chest. Not that Meta Knight is cordial, nothing like it. But he ignores Taranza as he sits on the opposite side, next to King Dedede. Sitting ramrod straight without a word. The exact posture Taranza anticipated from a trained knight. The Meta Knight from yesterday feels like day and night to the calm and collected man before him. 

Taranza feels all the more uncomfortable. He prefers the passionate hate to this icy silence. He is familiar with hatred. Meta Knight's silence is unpredictable. 

"See? We can all git along." Dedede chimes in. Meta Knight grunts a warning not to push it. King Dedede wisely reigns in his peacemaking attempt.

They are really in sync. Taranza notes, malcontent. Jealousy is such an ugly thing — all the more sad when mixed in with sadness and guilt. 

"Anyway, those are sum nice digs, Tazz. Did ya find those in chur room?" King Dedede segways, dumping his last roll on Meta Knight's plate. Taranza follows the motion, unsurprised that Meta Knight does not budge. He just sits there menacingly! He prays to Aurelia; Meta Knight does not possess laser eyes. 

"No, I made them myself. Unfortunately, my clothes were, um… ruined beyond repair. So I used the sleeping gown instead and added some adjustments." He answers absentmindedly, feeling under pressure solely from Meta Knight's icy gaze. If he thought he was cold when he woke up, he feels freezing now!

"Well, they're very snazzy! It's very clever of ya, Tazz. You make a good tailor."

"...thank you, your majesty." Taranza bites his cheek, not soaking in the praise as he usually would. It is impossible with the draconic warrior sitting across from him. Taranza took King Dedede's friendliness for granted. Meta Knight brings with him the reality of the situation. For a moment, Taranza forgot about everyone outside of this room he had wronged - the people who are rightfully angry. It is easy to forget with Dedede's laid-back attitude, but Dreamland is suffering, too, from his actions. He hurt not only Floralia but Dreamland and its people. Taranza feels like a monster. 

"As the kids say, it 'slaps'. Am I sayin' that raht, Mety?"

Meta Knight shrugs as if he would know better. However, Taranza has absolutely no idea what Dedede is referring to—or who he slapped and if he did something wrong without knowing. 

The room is silent as King Dedede mulls over his words, his eyes widening with realisation. 

"Oh… I just realised we didunt supply you with clean clothes or toiletries. Dagnabbit!" Dedede swears. It is relatively tame. Taranza has heard worse coming out of monks' mouths. But the loudness of it startles him. 

"It's fine, your majesty!" Taranza squeaks, standing upright to protest. Attempting to pacify the King before the inevitable explosion that is to follow happens, "The kindness you've shown me is enou-"

"Nope! Thus will not stand! It's unhygienic and poor hosting on mah part. I'm sorry, Tazz. Thet's mah mistake." King Dedede apologises with a hand laid on his left breast. From Taranza's limited knowledge of vertebrates, that is where his heart is.

Taranza gapes, falling back on his seat, bewildered beyond measure. That is not how this is supposed to go! I'm supposed to placate him and suggest something selfless to look reliable and non-threatening. What in Kore's darkest day is going on?! Taranza screams internally.

Dedede does not seem to notice Taranza's stupefied reaction, stroking his chin as he makes plans.

"I hav tuh git someone tuh come and git chur measurements. I doubt we hav anythin' lyin' around with chur size. It is a miracle that thus old nightgown fits ya at all." He says, squinting at Taranza's apparel, "Actually, thet might be one of mah old shirts. I hav to git one of thuh royal seamstresses tuh visit you-"

Taranza picks up his jaw from the floor, cutting in before King Dedede gets ahead of himself. 

"No! I can do it myself. I just need to brush up on my stitches," And maybe ask for a sewing machine. Hopefully, they have that. But, I wish at least they have heard of a loom before, he thinks but does not say. "I can make my own clothes and know how to take my own measurements."

King Dedede nods, looking slightly surprised at being interrupted but not bothered by it.

"Hmm, I'll allow it. But thuh hours spent makin' an maintainin' chur clothes will be part of chur labour hours. I won't budge on this." He sternly adds, ticking his finger against the grain of the wooden table, making true to his statement of not allowing any discussion. Though even if Taranza wanted to, he would not. Dedede's stern face reminds him too much of anger. He already feels like hiding and never coming out again.

"... okay," Taranza agrees with a mumble, exhausted from this exchange alone.

"Good! I'm glad we hav thet figured out too. Don't be afraid tuh ask chur supervisor or thuh royal seamstress fahwar help. Things might be different here; it is completely understandable if ya struggle."

"I will keep that in mind, your majesty," Taranza says, not planning to ask for help at all. He wants to please King Dedede, and if the king will drop it if he agrees, then so be it. He catches Meta Knight's eye, avoiding eye contact as he does so. If the knight detected the lie, he does not say. Just staring, not moving or blinking.

Taranza fidgets, sweat running down his back. Why does King Dedede have such a terrifying spouse?! He sobs in his head, wondering how he is supposed to win the King over when he is together with the personification of a guard dog.

As the conversation ends, butler Waddle Doo returns with a cart, bringing more breakfast. They are in the same category as Dedede's food, baked goods that are easy to store if only eaten half or carried in your hand. 

He also brings drinks, milk, more tea, and something sweet with a bitter after smell. Taranza wrinkles his nose. He does not know what it is but does not like it. Waddle Doo places the trays on the table, fiddling with a few spreads he brought. Almost purposefully lingering behind. 

"Thank you, Butler Doo, but we can take it from here. Send mah regards to Chef Dee an Baker Dee." King Dedede excuses the butler kindly. Butler Doo bobs his head, blushing with pride. His one eye lingers on Taranza before moving on, the mask on his face twisting with a hint of dismay. Taranza is not distraught enough to miss it. He can feel the animosity leaving along with the butler, leaving only Meta Knight with the fierce aura. 

"Dig in! I'm sure thuh kids will be here soon." Dedede says with open arms, trying to lighten the mood again. But Taranza does not reach for anything. He has no appetite. 

Meta Knight takes a Danish and stuffs it in his cape alongside the pastry from King Dedede. His eyes never leave the potential danger as he pours himself a cup of the weird sweet, bitter cognition. He uses a straw to drink, though not the one laid out for him. Instead, he pulls a bendy one from his cloak and sticks it in the eye hole of his mask. Sucking the dark and thick liquid through it.

Taranza suppresses his urge to pull a face, cringing. King Dedede simply face palms, exasperated, muttering his partner's name in his hands.

Kirby and Bandana Dee enter the room as King Dedede straightens his back, perking up.

"Bandee and Kirbay! Good morning, did y'all sleep well?" 

To Taranza's surprise, the tenacious duo look dead on their feet. Bandana is holding up Kirby, who seems not to have changed out of their ripped clothes from yesterday. Pink hair mussed from sleep with a poof ball nightcap falling over their eyes. Kirby looks far from the terrifying force Taranza had to deal with for seven straight days. They snore against Bandana's back, arms held loosely over the other's neck. Bandana Dee looks somewhat alert. But his bandana skewed on his head. His messy auburn hair is untied and hangs just over his shoulders. But at least he is awake. And he is adequately dressed in a sweater and shorts.

Taranza knows these two kids are mortal, but he expected, especially Kirby, not to be so fallible. Seeing them look so exhausted after a day's rest is uncanny. Everyone does, he realises. Even King Dedede, who acts fine, looks tired, and even if he cannot see it, Meta Knight is too. It makes Taranza wonder how bad he looks. He banishes the thought. 

Bandana Dee's eyes light up at being addressed, his mouth mask wrinkling with a smile. 

"Wahhāi-yo great king! Our sleep was-… uneventful." He starts excited with a waddle greeting, trailing off once he sees the guest sitting at the breakfast table. He is careful with his words, averting his eyes. Bandana Dee scampers to the other side of the table, jostling Kirby. However, the god child is dead to the world. Kirby is not going to wake up from being manhandled too roughly. 

"Thet's…nice?" King Dedede smiles, confused. Bemused by Bandana's sudden, withdrawn attitude. Until it clicks, he sighs long-sufferingly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The table is silent as King Dedede stops trying to make conversation, seeing how stressed Bandana is at the mere presence of their once enemy. It is awkward. Taranza wants to be as far away from here as possible. But the thought alone of jeopardising his fragile situation by being rude gives him hives.

He looks down at his cup, having forgotten he was holding tea. It is lukewarm by now, and a little bit has been spilt when he abruptly stood up. But otherwise, it is a half-empty cup with yellowish tea. Perfectly innocent. 

Taranza stares at his reflection in the tea, watching his mirror image warp and sway in his cup. For the first time this morning, his hands are completely still. His urge to drink it disappears, caught looking into its golden depths. The tea leaves settle, a message only set in stone once he drinks. Or fate if he were to believe in the occult. 

His hands clench around the cup. He does not drink it. Only Kirby waking up towards the end of the meal, breaks the silence, swallowing the rest of the food and the whole table in one big gulp. 

The rest of the day fades into a haze. Under King Dedede's insistence, Taranza took it easy. He did not have the energy to argue. But he did spend his afternoon in the infirmary because a royal physician sternly demanded from Dedede that though his actions were noble, Taranza still had to have his checkup. 

Taranza agreed to it before Dedede could argue about trauma. He does not want to hear it - Taranza is not traumatised! He is a little shaken, that is all. Taranza just needs a little breathing room. He will bounce back to his old self in no time! He doubts an examination will harm him. Taranza is sure Dreamland is not barbaric enough to use leeches. They are backwards but not that backwards!

Still, sitting in the examination room made Taranza realise how long it has been since he had seen a doctor. As the Head Gardener, he had access to many things, including the best medical care. But he never used it, too busy performing his duties and revelling in the people's love. So answering all the questions and doing all the tests they could on him was bizarre. Though professional, the staff almost seemed concerned for him. Even when his smile stretched too far, or he accidentally implied how more advanced Floralia was - they did not let it get to them. Criminal or not, they take health very seriously in Dreamland. 

Though Taranza could have done without the preying questions about his species, he knows it is to monitor his condition in case his health fails. But revealing such information has his horns buzzing unpleasantly. They would not be able to do much if something happened to him. They do not have his body plan, nor can they rely on his vitals as of now and forget blood transfusions. It is a good thing healing magic is a skill taught to every young sprout coming into their magic. He has been healing his own injuries for a long time. Though Taranza wishes it worked for pain too. Alas! He knows no such spells, and the painkillers here will not work on him. If only he had access to their herbal garden, he could mix something up - if they have similar plants like in the sky. However, he does not have that privilege.

They let him go with a clean bill of health and a basket of fruits and vegetables, telling him to write down anything that he cannot eat and if there is anything similar to him from Floralia. It was his homework, and Taranza wanted to scoff at how juvenile it was. What do they think of him - child? He is an adult in Floralia and would like to be treated as such. Sure, he is young for an adult, but still! He did not become the best of the best to be looked down upon.

Though he will not have to worry about someone towering over him, everyone in Dreamland is so short, aside from Dedede. Meta Knight is the tallest amongst the other Dreamlanders, but to Taranza, that is not much of a feat. Nonetheless, Meta Knight had clearly shown he did not need height to intimidate Taranza, and after witnessing what Kirby did, he will never underestimate short people again.

It is the next day when his sentence finally starts. The meeting with the supervisor was stressful as the Broomie seemed to be wary of him, not without good reason. But the first hour of the day was spent in a meeting with the other heads of staff explaining what went on doing chores with strained smiles and nervous fidgeting.

They are under the impression Taranza has never worked a day in his life. It is infuriating! He may not have liked it, but he was among the best workers in his rookie days. With his multiple hands and magic, the Cathedral and Holy Gardens were clean in record timing. It is one of the virtues that let him climb up the ladder quickly. 

When Taranza's supervisor finally leaves him alone, he performs the same tricks — summoning winds and plants to help him clean up. It goes by in a pinch. The corridors and halls are not as large or spacious as Floralia's royal palace or Moonlight Cathedral, so he has an easier time. He spends more time comparing the architectural styles and trying to place them from the vague memories he has from old history books than cleaning. He does not linger on the stained glass depicting a mystical fountain. It reminds him too much of that cursed mirror. 

The supervisor would leave him to it, giving orders to the other cleaners as nobody wanted to come close, which Taranza preferred, and by the time they returned, he would be done. The Broomie praised him for his work, but he felt her confusion. Wonder turned into fear when they stumbled upon him using his magic a few days later. 

Taranza did not know he had scared them until the next day, wondering how strange it was the supervisor did not dismiss him. Instead, he was assigned a different duty and took it without complaining. He is not the one to look a gift wheelie in the mouth. Cooking is not Taranza’s forte. But cutting the ingredients and ordering the food into containers is relaxing. But, he takes up more space than he thought. So, even though he works more diligently and faster than the rest - when the cooks and chefs vacate the kitchens because they see multiple hands handling knives, it hardly matters that he is good at it. He caused a disturbance and delayed the tight cooking schedule. Chef Dee had not been pleased.

When he was shuffled over to laundry duty, Taranza had realised the problem. As always, it was himself. He could spin tales of how stupid they kicked him out because of his differences or how better of an asset he is with his skills. But it would be pointless even to try.

Taranza wants to be angry; he wants to stew in the unfairness of it. But he cannot bring himself to believe in the injustice of it. Not when the supervisors seemed apologetic to him whenever he is exchanged hands. Not when he understands the fear in their eyes and not when he knows it is his fault he is here, to begin with. Would he also not be apprehensive of the stranger who hurt their monarch and is suddenly working alongside them with never seen before magic? Taranza knows if the roles were reversed, he would be worse. He would never consider giving himself a second chance. 

He stops using his multiple hands, tucking them in his loaned apron as he folds linen and cloth. Listening numbly to gossip, he cannot join. It is funny; he used to love this sort of thing. Galavanting with his fellow monks as they worked, sharing the latest news and rumours as the days passed. It made the time go by faster. Now, he just sits in the shadows, fingers cramping from tightening around cloth and eyes burning from keeping them shut too tight. 

It feels like hell; the worst part is that this is the easiest punishment Taranza has ever received. But he cannot find it in himself to reach out, even as the novelty of his presence wears off, and he is allowed to switch between tasks. So instead, the staff's fearful reaction plays in his mind, and he shies away, pushed deeper into a dark corner.

He takes his meals to his room if he can help it. Even during his first sewing sessions, he keeps to himself, pretending not to hear the whispers talking about him. It would be easy to strike up a conversation, clear the suspicion, and show his charming side. It is not the first time he experienced isolation from what he is. He is an Arachnid, a prestige until people remembered he could barely be considered a noble. He never went hungry, but he was never rich enough to be one of the elite. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, neither a person of the people nor an aristocrat. So, he had to play double time with his sociability, smoothing over ruffled feathers and playing to their wants. What a shame all that experience escapes him now. Taranza could have charmed the staff so easily. But he cannot find the energy to pretend to be okay.

He does not like being himself anymore, as if he is wearing an ill-fitting suit. It used to fit Taranza, but now it feels too tight. He is going to suffocate, and he feels like he deserves it. 

Taranza has his work-free days over the weekend. But those are spent glumly looking out his window, feeling like a prince trapped inside a tower. Ironically, the guest room is on the ground floor, and despite his species, Taranza is far from royalty. But he cannot bring it in himself to go out there and socialise even as he has the same privileges as a staff member in the castle. The same problems that permeate through his work will seep into those interactions; he just knows it.

It is funny. All those months spent glued to Sectonia's side, he wished to be free of his duties and make merry with the people again. He may not have understood their struggles, but he still enjoyed being with them. But, unfortunately, he can only bring himself to leave his room if it is for work.

The days go by, and everything stays painfully the same. Taranza would love to say that the days are blending together. But do not; they slog and trudge, and every step of the way, there is something Taranza that annoys him to no end. But he must shoulder it so as not to make a nuisance of himself. It is exhausting.

But no matter how much he tries to sleep, he cannot find rest. When guilt does not keep his eyes peeled, fitful dreams chase away any desire to close his eyes. He knows his health is suffering when even the supervisors ask him if he is alright. But he waves them off, not wanting them to give any reason to move up his psyche evaluation by a week. He knows he will not pass the assessment, but any time to himself before he is more closely monitored - is time saved.

On such a night, more than a week into his new life, Taranza cannot find it in himself to drift off to sleep again. He feels the bags under his eyes dig deep into his skin, on all of his eyes. But still, he does not listen to his fatigue, turning to the other side and hoping the change in position will help him fall asleep. Both sides of his pillow are uncomfortably warm.

His eyes track the slivers of moonlight streaming into his room. He does not think of anything as he watches the beam of light dim and relight, most likely blocked by a passing cloud, before shining just as bright. Taranza sighs, sits up and pulls the curtains back. Promising himself to take a peek and then go back to bed. But as he gazes outside, staring at the big beautiful moon in the sky - all the vestiges of sleep fade from his mind.

It is not healthy to spend his nights staring at the moon. But Taranza is at a loss for what to do otherwise. He remembers moonlight gazing when he was but a spiderling, excited for what the next day would bring. He stared at the moon when he was troubled, when he felt at his happiest and when at his worst. All those nights, I was the same beautiful moon. The same moon, Sectonia, and he partied underneath as they snuck away from her coronation party and into the queen's chambers. Sipping on brandy and cake right before he made the worst decision of his life.

Taranza scowls, kicking the sheets from himself. He pulls on his carefully stitched bathrobe and storms out of his room, thoughts a whirlwind of emotion. 

Perhaps running in the halls with patrolling guards is not wise when he is a convicted criminal. But Taranza does not care. For the past few days, he has been walking on eggshells. Finally, he cannot take it anymore! He knows it is stupid. He should endure it. His break will come eventually. But he cannot act any longer. He can suffer the consequences later. He just needs to be out right now.

Taranza lets his feet guide him, but he has a mind before he walks in front of a guard's view and alerts the whole castle. Using his pent-up magic to make himself disappear and stick to walls and even fly over heads. It is the most excitement he has had in days, and if it were not for the bitter mood he was in, he would giggle. As much as a paragon of good standing, he acted as he always craved mischief. It is almost nostalgic how good it feels tricking the guards is as if he is a kid again sneaking around for a snack or to play pranks.

The open design of the castle leads to the outside. He still is within the walls of the perimeter. He counts himself lucky the king never decided to put a magic limiter on him or a tracking bracelet. He will never know why King Dedede did not, but Taranza is not in the business of correcting idiotic judgments. 

It is different seeing the moon in person than through glass, as does feeling it on his carapace skin. Taranza breathes in and out, his irritation calming down. On his next exhale, he looks at his surroundings, curious about where he ended up.

He has not been in this part of the castle and is not surprised why. It is the castle's garden. Gardening is one of the few jobs the supervisors did not want to give him. With Floralia's connection to the appearance of the Dreamstalk, they must have assumed it was the Insectoids that wished it in existence, not the People of the Sky. He must have accidentally confirmed their beliefs with his magic of using plants to clean up for him. To them, it must have been like giving a hatchet to an axe killer, unaware that Taranza can grow plants everywhere. He did not study magic to be limited to the laws of nature! Being so magically gifted was one of the reasons he made it even so far as a priest.

But, standing in a garden again, even if it is not in Floralia, takes the breath out of his lungs. The flowers look so painfully familiar, almost petal to petal, to the gardens he used to tend to. Though, Taranza can tell from a glance they look smaller. The gardener in him worries for a second the gardeners here are not feeding the poor things correctly. Before he remembers that, King Dedede mentioned that the plant life in Dreamland is much smaller and tamer compared to Floralia's flora. Gardening is not a sacred duty for Dreamlanders as it is for Floralians. 

Taranza was aghast when he learned this. The thought of flowers and plants not being revered baffles him. Plants are what give people life! Feed them and nourish their body and mind. Taranza cannot imagine a life without them. But true to the king's word, the gardeners around here are not part of a church or are part of an elite group. They are just people - tending to flowers as a job, not a privilege. Taranza even bets that not every Dreamlander owns a garden. Unbelievable!

He wonders if it is the sky's inherent magic keeping the islands afloat and nurturing its plant life or, his religious side chimes in, it is Aurelia's blessing helping nature grow so healthy and strong, just as she takes care of her people. Tending to them like the fragile flowers they are. 

Taranza sighs and diverts his mind to something else. The thought of his goddess no longer loving him makes him choke back tears. He has no idea if it is because of his sins or because he is no longer part of the world she created. But he knows if Aurelia forsook him, he only has himself to blame. 

Now, as he stands in the gardens, he regrets not coming here sooner - even if it is not allowed. The night is beautiful, and the dewdrops glitter on trumpet flowers and daffodils' petals, as are the roses and violets. Taranza yearns to run his fingers through them and hear their doting whispers. But he stays firmly rooted to his spot in the middle, afraid of tarnishing the flowers' beauty by his presence. 

Instead, he observes and nitpicks the details. There is a marble gazebo, a pond with lotus flowers, and a miniature maze ahead towards the back of the castle. It looks nice and quiet, but Taranza is so used to the grandiosity of the Royal Garden of the Imperial Palace and the ancient flowers of the Cathedral - this garden pales in comparison. Still, he feels at ease just being surrounded by flowers again. 

But as his thoughts fall silent, so too comes the reminder of the very same king who owns this garden. Throughout the week, King Dedede has tried to invite him over for pleasantries, and Lady knows why he does. However, after that breakfast meeting, Taranza considers himself lucky that King Dedede never requested him to eat with him and his family again. Yet, that did not stop him from inviting Taranza for tea when crossing the hallways or asking if he wanted to stroll in the gardens. A prospect that would have excited him if it were not for the king's company.

Taranza groans into his hands. He has never met such a boorish person, and Dedede is a king! Everything King Dedede does seems designed to throw everything he knows into a blender and straight into the bin. Nevertheless, Dedede holds power, and Taranza can attest to that. Without his magic, Taranza would be mincemeat. But his majesty's behaviour makes Taranza wonder if the man was even born into royalty or not. There is no sign of past rulers in the castle, and the people do not speak of previous monarchs either. It is as if Dedede showed up one day and decided he must be king, and everyone went along with it. 

Though there is one portrait of a person who looks like the king, in the west hall, near the staff dining hall, hangs a painting of a lady draped in blue finery. Taranza only remembers little from the picture, as he was in a sulk after another failed task. But he does recall the uncanny resemblance to Dedede and her bright icy blue eyes. They may be related, but how, Taranza does not know.

King Dedede is a strange man. But from what Taranza has seen, he takes good care of his people, or his staff would not revere him so much. It saddens Taranza not to have seen the same loyalty in his fellow castle members when he worked in the palace for Sectonia. He does not know what King Dedede does to make his people love him or where he has failed Sectonia to make it happen for her. But regardless, he promises he will prove his usefulness so King Dedede will never consider him expendable. So he needs to grin and bear it. That is how he always did it. So why would it not work now?

Taranza forces a smile, feeling a twinge in his jaw.  Sectonia did always say her favourite quality about me was my smile.  Taranza muses sadly. He is sure he can charm the king just as he did his superiors back in the day. He must try harder.

In the darkness, something moves from behind a large clipped hedge. Taranza's back eyes focus on it, and on reflex, his floating hands prepare a spell. The only light is the faint fuchsia glow from said hands. Taranza learned a long time ago to do spellcasting without magic circles. Only the attacks that use them use large swathes of energy. It is another of the leg-ups he has over his peers. His skills did always lay in remaining undetected right before the strike.

But, Taranza lowers his hands the second he recognises the figure walking towards him, finally able to see them now that the foliage is not hiding them.

"Howdy, Tazz! Whut a surprise to find ya here!"  Speak of 'her' and lady death shall appear.  Taranza thinks with annoyance. The king grins down at him, looking annoyingly awake for what is so late in the night. He is surprisingly not wearing his royal robe, but he is not in a bathrobe like Taranza. But he is undoubtedly more dressed than Taranza is at the moment.

Taranza tries not to think about it, shamefully aware of his lack of proprietary. If he could blush, he would, but fortunately for him, his exoskeleton 'skin' does not allow that to happen. So instead, he wraps his bathrobe around himself tighter. 

King Dedede holds a thermos that looks pitifully small in his large hand. Taranza curiously stares at it, attracting King Dedede's attention.

"Oh, this is just sum tea. Ya want sum?" He asks, reaching down to give Taranza the thermos. It is so strange to see a king, especially a behemoth of a man crouching down to provide Taranza with, of all people, a thermos of tea as if Taranza could not have just held one of his floating hands up and accepted it like that. 

"No! No, thank you, your majesty. I'm fine." Taranza quickly refuses. Even if he was in the mood for tea, taking a luxury item away from a superior rattles his brain. If King Dedede had already held a cup of tea for himself, Taranza would consider it. But the whole thermos? No, thank you! Taranza has done enough damage to Dedede; Aurelia forbids him to tarnish his royal dignity too. 

"Okay." King Dedede retracts the offer, twisting the cap and pouring one out for himself. The cap-turned cup is but a small gulp for him as he knocks it back, sighing at the warmness of the tea.

Taranza expects the king to make conversation again, as he always does when he 'coincidental' comes across Taranza. But to the spider's surprise, the king decides to stay silent. Instead, staring ahead at the same view Taranza was admiring. 

They stand there looking at the garden in dreadful silence. Taranza hates it even more than King Dedede's chatter. At least then, he could distract himself from the fact he is standing in the presence of a man of the uttermost authority of this land. It is nerve-wracking, even if King Dedede is the one who granted him asylum in the first place. He could so easily take all the boons he gifted Taranza away. Such is the power King Dedede holds over him. 

King Dedede sighs. Taranza straightens with a crack in his back. That must mean bad news. Taranza recognises the pattern all too well. 

"Ya know, I used to be lahk you." King Dedede says softly as if the words are spontaneous. And they must be, Taranza realises as he keeps talking.

"I got on thuh wrong path and did a lottuh stupid stuff." King Dedede chuckles wistfully, neither longing nor despising the past. He looks at the garden but registers none of it, lost in his memories. 

Taranza doubts Dedede, and he are anything alike. The king is quite grating for one and foolishly kind. Nor is Taranza as privileged to learn from his mistakes and not have the consequences following right behind as King Dedede is. Taranza may have grown up with money but not enough to matter. Taranza and King Dededde are nothing alike; the thought is almost offending. But Taranza keeps his mouth shut. Insulting the king is a straight ticket to the dungeon. 

"But I realised I wuz goin' too far and failin' mah people. Though not without gittin' mah head kicked in a couple of times first. Ha! In thet sense, we are evun more similar. Kirbay shore knows how tuh wallop sum some good sense into people." 

 Except for Sectonia. Kirby couldn't get through to her.  Taranza grits his teeth. Why was the king spared but not his queen? He does not understand. Was she really that far gone, or did Kirby not try hard enough? No, Taranza cannot blame a child. It is all his fault. He should have tried harder.

"It may seem bad now and lahk you'll nevur forgive yourself. But it's alright; ya will git thayure. With hard work, all harsh lines fade in thuh sand-"

"Just - shut up! Why can't you just shut the fuck up?!" Taranza interrupts, sick of King Dedede's placating attempts. 

"I am nothing like you! You have no idea what I went through. You couldn't conceive the things I did for Floralia, for Sectonia. I did it all for them! And what do  I  get?!" He points towards himself, his movements so forceful it feels like his joints are rotating out of his sockets, "A country that wants my death and my best friend  dead !" 

Dedede backs away, seeing sparks fly at Taranza's outburst. 

"We are nothing alike. Get that through your thick-headed skull already, you overbearing nitwit! I don't need your pity, so piss  off!!"  Taranza cries, pointing all his index fingers at King Dedede. He has never felt so angry in his entire life! Not when he felt wronged by the world or the people or when he had to give up his coveted job to help Sectonia as her right hand. It flows out of him; he has never felt so free and out of control before. 

Vines burst out of the ground, winds fly under him, nearly tearing Taranza from the ground, and thunder and lightning roar to Taranza's ire. Fueled by nothing but turmoil. His magic is set loose. The whole garden reacts, singed by his lightning yet growing into taller, sturdier flowers. They form a dome above them, blocking the moonlight and the rest of the world. Replicating what Taranza feels - trapped inside a chasm of misery.

Taranza's chest goes up and down, heaving for the same breath he screamed in. His stormy eyes try to find Dedede, so angry he wants to lash out and just hurt,  hurt,  hurt! 

His eyes glow in the darkness, and he snarls like a wild animal wanting to sink his teeth into meat. But as good as his night vision is, it takes too long to adjust. Finally, Taranza summons a ball of light, lighting the dome in blinding light. 

King Dedede is easy to find. He observes the vines curiously, squinting. He looks curious. Probably comparing them to the vines, Queen Secotonia summoned to hinder him and Kirby. Luckily for both of them, no parasitic eyeballs stare down at him - waiting to attack. His eyes land on Taranza, yet his expression does not change, studying the wizard. There is no hint of fear, anger or battle lust like a particular knight. Just patience and understanding. As if he knows all too well what Taranza feels. 

Taranza falters and realises lamely that he is not angry at the king, even if he might have thought that for a split second. As if hurting King Dedede again would make all his problems disappear. It will not; it would just make things worse.

Taranza eases, his anger leaving as nothing but the realisation of what he did remains.  I lashed out at the only person willing to defend me. I really screwed up this time.  He nervously glances at King Dedede. His sentence will undoubtedly be much worse now.

"Are ya alright?" Dedede asks gently. It is stupid, but Taranza knows it is not about the words but the intention behind them. It gives Taranza the time to come to himself. Even if he still wants to snap and bite - he calms down. Feeling less like a feral animal and like himself again. He hates it. But by the Golden Light, he has no idea why he does. 

"Yes….", Taranza trails off. He shakes his head. There is no point in lying anymore, not after that, "Physically, I am, I suppose. But otherwise, I am not." He rubs his arms. He does not feel cold, and yet, he holds himself anyway. 

"Hmm, I'm glad yore alright - physically." King Dedede chuckles, giving a cheeky smile. He scratches his beard, looking sheepish.

"I wuz kinda waitin' tuh see wheyun would snap, as mean as thets is of me. Nobody stays  thet  polite fahwar an entire week without explodin'." His smile is strained, "Especially after all thet happened."

Taranza gasps. How could he forget! He attacked a king! The divine ruler of a country! He feels so ashamed he drops to his knees, kneeling before the king of Dreamland with his horns touching the grass. 

 The grass here seriously needs a trim . The thought enters Taranza's brain, though it leaves just as swiftly.

"I- your majesty, I am so sorry! I did not mean to do this. Please forgive this lowly being!" He cries. Taranza has no idea how much water he is holding up when he cries every day and night. But he does not care that his face burns with them. He will do everything to show how sorry he is.

King Dedede reels back, and Taranza hopes he did not offend him somehow. For all he knows, dropping to the ground to kneel in front of someone is a great affront, and he just made things worse. 

"No! Tazz - I mean, Taranza. Ya don't hav tuh grovel! Just a sorry is a-okay. Yore not in trouble." King Dedede quickly tries to reassure him. He bends down but stops short as he remembers Taranza does not like being touched. 

"How? How am I  not  trouble for what I just did!?" Taranza yells. No person in their right mind would let this be, and as odd as King Dedede is - he would be an utter idiot to let this slide. He lifts his head, praying to see what goes through this enigmatic man's thick head. King Dedede, a boisterous king and a sturdy wall of a man - looks distressed. If he were a bird, his feathers would fall out from the stress. It is a humorous sight, the conflict in his royal blue eyes and the pained pinch in his brows. Truly, fitting of a classic style comedy. If only Taranza were in a better mood, he would laugh.

"Well… See, it is as a special king's pardon, fahwar now. I'll explain it." King Dedede reaches back up, cracking his back. Taranza follows. As much as he wants to keep the position, it is uncomfortable, and it has been too long since he had kneeled down to pray. His body has become unused to it. 

Despite King Dedede's words, he takes his sweet time thinking of how to explain his utter idiocy. Taranza waits, clutching the ball of light between all his magic digits. It feels warm.

"Dreamland is not lahk yore home, and I don't know how Floralia does things. But Taranza, ya didunt lash out cuz ya wanted to hurt me. Yore allowed tuh be upset. Heck! I would encourage ya tuh do it again if it made ya feel better. But I fear yore guilt is going tuh eat ya alive if I were tuh do thet."

Taranza startles, realising they are still trapped in a dome of his own making. He calls the magic back down, feeling the rush of magic and adrenaline leave as he ends the spells. The night's air feels cool on his carapace, ruffling his hair. Magic takes a lot out of a person. Significantly when in distress - one's inner magic depletes twice as fast.

"Thank you," King Dedede thanks Taranza, though he has no idea why the king would. It is as frustrating as it is weird. 

Dedede continues, "Yore whole world changed in a matter of days, and thet is not mentionin' yore grief. Only a bad person would be angry at ya fahwar expressin' yourself. Shore, there's a time and place for everythang, but in thus instance, yore fine. Ya hurt nothing! There aren't any consequences tuh reap." He gestures to the garden, magically restored to its previous state. The only hint of Taranza's tampering is the smell of mulch and petrichor — the telltales of electro- and chlorokinesis. But the smell will fade by late morning. Only skilled mages could detect it if they went looking for it. Taranza always prided himself on his proficiency. So he is glad to see he has not gotten rusty, even if it came at a cost.

"See! Not a wink of whut just transpired. Magic shore is handy, ey?" King Dedede nudges the air. 

"What if someone heard me?" Taranza is not convinced, looking around nervously.

"There's a probability of thet, but I ordered the guards not tuh come lookin' if they heard anythang." King Dedede shrugs as if that is not the most obtuse thing Taranza has heard all week. Even stupider than the sentence he received for his grave crimes. Taranza wants to express how idiotic that sounds but refrains. If there is anyone who can take Taranza on, it is definitely the warrior king who can stand toe to toe with Kirby. It may not be as stupid as he thought. He hopes Meta Knight does not ignore Dedede's orders if he ever finds out about what Taranza just did. As the king's spouse, he is probably allowed to do that.

"And if thuh staff or someone outside thuh castle heard it, they would carry on as usual. Ya hav no idea how many explosions happen around here on thuh weekly. Hah!" King Dedede comments nonchalantly. Taranza is unsure if that is supposed to reassure or worry him. What the hell does Dreamland experience weekly that they are used to such loud and weird sounds?

King Dedede looks down at his feet. As ordinary as the garden seems, it appears as if the flowers have grown into new bushes. A detail nobody but the gardeners will notice. Dedede cocks his head, recognising the blossoms.

"These are-

"Morning Glories."

King Dedede looks shocked at being interrupted. Taranza scrambles to apologise. But Dedede shakes his head. Taranza knows not to try. The silence between them is not as grating as before. But Taranza still dislikes it. He wishes King Dedeede would break the quietness again.

"Mah momma's name is Gloria." But, Taranza's wishes are double-edged swords because of everything Dedede could have said - why did he convey such a random piece of knowledge?

"Okay?" Taranza is unsure of what to do with this information. Though, he does file the tidbit away. As much as flowers are not that important to Dreamlanders - they still sometimes name their children after them. Though, the name Gloria could come from the noun itself.

King Dedede looks back at him, mulling over something. He nods as he decides what to do, leaving Taranza in the dark about his supposed brilliant conclusion. Taranza hopes that all that is holy is actually something sensible. 

"Mah ma wuz a fierce woman, handsome too and strong. Thets tuh be expected, of course; she was mah, momma, after all. I had tuh git it from somewhere!" Taranza tenses. The use of past tense makes his hair stand up. 

Dedede sighs, and finally, Taranza looks at the king since the spider cast his eyes on the flowers. His face is downtrodden. Sadness hangs over his shoulders like a shroud. But, unlike the deep aching sadness inside Taranza, he somehow looks at peace. How can someone be at ease when someone so important to them died? It mystifies Taranza. 

King Dedede turns his head, looking Taranza in the eyes. Not even the pair of eyes most people think are Taranza's eyes - his actual front eyes that sit above his hairline. Dedede smiles. It is genuine, and, for the first time, Taranza has seen - vulnerable. 

"It's okay tuh feel hurt, Taranza. I don't know who Sectonia wuz tuh ya, but grief comes tuh us in different forms. It's natural to feel lahk life is meaningless when someone close to us dies." He snorts, grimacing, "I, for one, wuz  not  an alright guy after mah momma died. I became a right pest. If I could go back in time, I'd punch mah-self."

King Dedede’s face darkens. Taranza still does not believe a soft-hearted king like Dedede could match Taranza's own cruelty. But King Dedede must think of his past quite harshly if he looks murderous thinking about it. But Dedede lets go of that hatred, shrugging.

"But, we heal. It won't be tuhday or tuhmorrow and not evun next week. But one day, ya'll look back at thus period of chur life and see how far you've come." King Dedede turns back to the garden, taking a deep breath. Calmed down by the floral smell. He must be unable to smell the magic lingering in the air as Taranza does. 

"Ya don't hav to open up tuh me. Lords, I'm not qualified tuh be a therapist. But talkin' to someone about chur problems can help. But I understand if ya aren't ready for thet. But a distraction might help."

"Is that not what you've been doing, your majesty? Trying to distract me with these tasks disguised as punishments?" Taranza tersely asks, too rude to be addressing a king. But he has stopped caring, as King Dedede vaguely ordered him to, sneering at the gently swaying flowers in the moonlight. The sight of their tranquil existence mocks him. He never thought he would envy flowers, but here he is. Wishing he was them. 

Dedede bursts into laughter. 

"Oh, busted! I guess I wasn't bein' subtle, wuz I? It just ain't mah area of expertise." His eyes crinkle as he laughs, and Taranza is reminded that King Dedede sounds like a friendly grandfather. Taranza hates how at ease he feels hearing it. It is confusing, as he is still tight strung as ever. But a tiny part of him - the very same open and rude piece - appreciates the comfort even if he should not be allowed to enjoy it.

"Don't I have to face the music? What is the point of distracting myself?" Taranza asks. He would not have dared to be so vulnerable with anyone - not even his parents. He feels raw, left open in the wild for the wildlife to feast on his tender insides. It is terrifying, even though he knows he is the safest he has ever been. 

The king hums, stroking his beard. It is short and well-cared for, nothing like the bushy beards from the few stories Taranza read about jolly old men granting wishes when he was a child. But it is thick, and Dedede enjoys combing it with his fingers.

"Hmm, a distraction is not necessarily a bad thing. We sapient beings go crazy if we do not change our focus every so often. Facin' thuh music, as ya say, is only good tuh put chur reality into check. But lahk the sun is good for ya, too much exposure tuh it will get you fried. As long as ya do not get lost in the distraction and start losing chur sense of reality, everythin' will be hunky dory." He gives Taranza a thumbs up, grinning, "As I said - ya will get there eventually. Don't rush, just let yourself be, and ya will grow before ya know it."

Taranza stares at Dedede with wide eyes, "You are… surprisingly wise." he mumbles, surprised.

King Dedede blinks at him, a flabbergasted smile spreading on his lips. Uncertain if he should be flattered at the compliment or offended. He opts to be amused instead, chuckling.

"Thet is mighty kind of ya. Unfortunately, though, I can't take all thuh credit." He lowers the hand scratching his neck, eyes wistful, "I hav had many people helpin' me get me tuh where I am today."

Taranza nods. As a sociable guy as he is - he never really connected with people. But, from what he has seen, he supposes he has to give credit where credit is due. If King Dedede really became so great, as he said, because of the people around him, who is Taranza to argue?

 It must be nice to be surrounded by people who love you and who you can trust.  He muses. For once, his thought is not bitter or frightened. It feels nice to feel calm. Taranza missed it that he even forgot how it felt like. He stares lovingly at the flowers. He does not feel as envious as before.

"Do ya lahk gardening, Taranza?" King Dedede asks suddenly, making Taranza jump. When he processes the question, it takes everything in Taranza not to burst into laughter. Does he like gardening? DOES HE LIK- It is such a stupid question. Gardening is what got him to want to become a priest - what made him see the beauty in the world. He loves gardening with his whole heart. It broke Taranza when he could not garden in the Royal Gardens or the Moonlight Cadretral after his demotion into the Secretary of State. In theory, he would have been still allowed to care for his family garden. But he has not entered his family home since the news about his career change broke out. Taranza only sent letters and never read their response. Thinking he would have the time eventually once the chaos of Sectonia's new reign fizzled out. He regrets it now. What he would not do to get his hands on those letters. Though, knowing the rebels, there is no doubt they stormed the castle once Taranza left with Kirby and King Dedede. Taranza does not know what they will do if they find the letters. Most likely, burn them. But if they have even a shred of intelligence, they will be used to prosecute his parents. 

His parents must hate him. First, for all his heinous acts, escaping the country and then prosecution via proxy. Taranza wisely does not chase the thought. 

"Yes, I... I like gardening," He answers mildly, bursting at the seams to tell King Dedede of all the beautiful things gardening has to offer. But he does not, knowing he will not stop talking about it once he starts.

King Dedede hums.

"Would ya lakh tuh garden instead? I know social interaction is not yore thing raht now, and gardenin' is going to take a bit of teamwork with the other gardeners, but I promise ya you'll be left alone if thet's what ya want."

Taranza thinks about it. It feels like a no-brainer, but his natural suspicion still takes a moment to scrutinise it. It would be a dream come true. Gardening on this tiny lawn differs from his homeland's great greenhouse, but digging into the soil and raising flowers and other plants again would feel incredible. It is everything Taranza dreamed about when he became a servant of the state.

"Yes, I would like thet." Taranza smiles softly. Too tired to be excited but still happy at the prospect of becoming a gardener again. He would love to do it even if it is not in service of his goddess.

King Dedede nods, relieved. It is a subtle thing, but Taranza catches it. 

'I'm here if ya want tuh talk if ya don't feel ready tuh talk tuh a pro." 

"I…, appreciate the offer, your majesty, but I will stick to gardening in the foreseeable future. If you don't mind." Though Taranza appreciates the sentiment, he is not ready to take the step and talk about it. Everything is still too fresh, and as approachable as King Dedede is - for his position - Taranza still feels uncomfortable relying on him. All his instincts scream at him for being vulnerable. Nevertheless, this is the best he can do.

"Alrighty, baby steps." King Dedede laughs as if the joke is funnier than it is. Taranza gives a weary smile but does not dignify Dedede with a response. The king does not seem bothered by it, satisfied with their conversation. Taranza wishes he could be happy. Dedede makes grief look so easy. It is hard to imagine he felt the same crushing weight in his chest as Taranza does now. The same all-consuming thoughts tell him he is worthless and could have done something to save Sectonia. He wonders if one day he will be just like Dedede, at peace but forgetting the past in favour of self-healing. He is not sure if he can do that to himself. To forget is to disgrace his memories of his Sectonia, their childhood, and happy days as the Royal Gardener. How can he be happy when the people he has wronged are living with the consequences of his actions? Can he be forgiven for all the wrongs he did?

Only time will tell. Taranza looks up from the morning glories. He glances at Dedede and finds him looking ahead. However, he is not staring at the garden.

Taranza follows his gaze and gasps, seeing the first daylight touch this land. The green hills of Dreamland stretch far and wide, littered with lush forests and abundant nature. Taranza can only spot a few windmills and farms, but otherwise - it is untouched by civilisation. In the far distance are wild biomes like giant frosty mountains and ancient towers almost reaching into the heavens. Many more ruins and structures that look like temples take up curious space. It makes Taranza want to explore, his inner child jumping at the bits at the thought of discovery. 

The view is breathtaking. Taranza's room faces the mountain; during the day, he is too occupied with chores to look outside. But the sight, oh, if only a younger him could have seen it! He would have believed fairytales were real.  The stories were real.  He realises, feeling foolish. He already made the observation, but it rings true now that he can see so far and wide as if he can see the entirety of Dreamland at the top of Mt Dedede.

"The sunrise is beautiful, ain't it?" King Dedede comments. He must have seen the sight a thousand times, yet, just like Taranza, he is still in awe.

Taranza nods, a genuine smile slipping past. He feels jubilant. A tiny voice inside him tells him he does not deserve it. But he pays it no heed. This magical moment is too beautiful to listen to it. Taranza feels like he opened his eyes for the first time after a long nightmare.

He feels the wind on his face and, following in the king's footsteps takes a deep breath and grins wider. He is finally able to smell the flowers and the sharp alpine breeze. King Dedede looks down at Taranza, glad to see him so happy after these dark days. He offers the thermos again.

"Ya, shore, ya don't want a drink? I brought an extra cup if yore worried about hygiene." King Dedede says as he pulls a second steel cup from his pocket.

Taranza opens his mouth, but he stoops before he instinctively refuses. He looks at the sunrise again and back at the thermos. A cup of tea sounds lovely.

"Yes, thank you, your majesty."

"Up-pup! Call me King Dedede, please." King Dedede winks, giving Taranza the cup. Taranza blinks, confused. But he giggles as he remembers one of their previous conversations. The king did ask that of him, did he not?

"Okay, King Dedede, as you wish." 

King Dedede smiles brilliantly.

"Darn tooting!" 

He pours tea into Taranza's cup and the rest into his own. They stand again in silence, but Taranza finds serenity in it. He gazes at the horizon again, unable to believe his own eyes. It is everything a Floralian could have dreamed of. There are enough acres to grow food, stock, and other resources for the kingdom. But none of those thoughts plagues Taranza's mind. He is calm and nothing more, appreciating the natural beauty for what it is and not an opportunity for agriculture or personal gain. He knows he has an arduous journey ahead. But for now, he enjoys the moment.

Taranza takes a sip, letting the tea warm his throat. He snorts, holding his hand against his mouth to avoid accidentally spilling the tea. It is Yarrow. 

Chapter Text

Taranza sighs. It is a bright day, perfect for being outside and enjoying coffee. It is not too hot that drinking a warm beverage makes his exoskeleton twinge, nor is the breeze singing the latent praises of winter. It is a candid, late spring afternoon. Taranza walks into the balcony lounge and sinks into the first plush couch. He crosses a leg on top of the other - feeling content and calm. He knows it should not be strange, but after days of toiling in despair and nightmares, reminded of his wrongs at every turn - it is nice to be in a good mood finally. Even if he knows it is a fleeting moment, he savours it.

Taranza is alone, of course. The second he walked into the break room, everyone vacated. Even the balcony was empty when he stepped onto it. On a typical day, this would be depressing. But for once, Taranza feels giddy at having this relaxing place to himself. So he folds his hands on his lap and basks in the sunlight, letting his mind wander.

Things have been easier for Taranza in the following weeks. It is not perfect. The castle staff were reluctant to allow him in the garden. Taranza is not shocked by their distrust. Previously, they had not let him in any room with potted plants. He was only allowed near plants that were considered dead, like vegetables and fruits. Not that would have helped much if Taranza felt like destroying the trust King Dedede put in him. If he needed plants for his magic, anything that could blossom would be enough to start a catastrophe. Taranza has always been a believer in the principle of transforming the smallest seed into the most robust stalk. He could conquer this castle in less than twenty minutes if he really wanted to.

Taranza won't do it. He would gain nothing from it.

However, King Dedede's assistance broke their defiance, handing him over to the nervous head gardener of the castle, who goes by Gardener Doo. Taranza has yet to ask about the curious naming convention of the Waddle Dees and Doos but forgoes inquiring about it. As his supervisor, he must respect Gardener Dee even if he feels asocial. Especially the head gardener of all people! Sure, that title does not carry the weight it does in Floralia, but walking familiar steps feels good, even if it sometimes aches too much.

It feels like ages since he last cared for flowers. The freshness of tulips and violets brighten his days. As does the wildflowers growing beyond the gardens, far into the rolling hills beyond Dedede Castle, and the town further down the slope. Their scent flies into the corridors and the pavilion, letting him glimpse into another world he was closed off to until he looked outside and saw it with his own eyes.

Every time he is under the sun, Taranza daydreams. There are not many things to fill the monotonous work of gardening. He loves it. But he also admits that gardening alone is different from gardening with company. The other gardeners leave Taranza alone, shifty eyes glancing from the corner of their eyes and waiting for him to pull an escape manoeuvre or do something insidious to the plants as if Taranza would ever harm plant life! Not that they know that, but still! Taranza cannot imagine ending a flower's life so cruelly. In Floralia, flowers and produce are reaped with a prayer, as it is sometimes unavoidable when replanting or when they are to be used. But to poison them deliberately. Taranza feels ill at even the thought.

Taranza does not mind being left alone. Perhaps it is for the best he stays in social exile. He is not in the mood to make friends anyway, and although he was always the social sort, he was never the type to make real, long-lasting friendships. Sectonia was the exception. If he had been born a little higher on the social echelon, he would have been the typical socialite, enjoying the high life of court and drama. Or perhaps he would have been happier as a peasant. Able to empathise with the populace and build bonds born from hardships.

Taranza does not like to think of the past. It is strange. It feels so hazy, barely comprehensible, and yet he cannot help but remember everything in painful clarity at other times. All memories of Sectonia are ripped apart like paper, and like a fool, every mention of her name has him scrambling to put the pieces back together until he pulls them apart all over again.

Taranza opens his eyes, gazing at the horizon. The second-floor break room is at a perfect height to overlook the entire settlement near Castle Dedede and the surrounding steep hills leading to the mountain's peak. Living here so high up - for the surface folk - has made it so that no ground is even. Taranza is not sure if the castle grounds are naturally even ground or if Dedede had to build a foundation on top of it before building his castle. But the citizens of the town are not as lucky. Though, they do not seem to mind. 

Taranza leans over the couch and balcony railing. A gentle smile graces his face. The townspeople go about their day in peace. The atmosphere is lively and homey, with cute roundish buildings and a summery vibe. It is nothing like his home's cold and hyper-colour structures or the tall skyscrapers of the wealthier parts of Moonlight Capital. It looks right out of a cosy fairytale, with a watercolour-like colour scheme to match.

Something in Taranza yearns to explore it. After seeing the beautiful sunrise the other day, his love for exploration he had as a child has reawakened. But he cannot obey that urge. Taranza still feels so damaged, and so too are Dreamland and its people. The horrified reaction to his mere presence proves that him strolling into town is a poor idea. They only allow Taranza in the garden with someone else being there. Taranza is lucky to be able to take a break without someone looming over his shoulder to keep an eye on him if he returns to his old ways.

 Old ways, huh?  Taranza muses, looking up, far into the blue yonder. It is a cloudless sky, and Floralia is nowhere in sight. However, Taranza is not surprised by this. If Dreamland could have seen his home, they would never been taken off guard by the invasion. Not with one determined knight patrolling the heavens for foreign attacks. The only evidence of Floralia's existence is the debris from the failed invasion. Blimps guard the Dreamstalk as Dreamland cleans up the wreckage Queen Sectonia and Floralians' army caused. A giant airship with a familiar-looking mask affixed to the front stands out amongst the others.

Taranza shrinks in himself. The remainder of the cold knight has Taranza's hair stand on end. Although his interactions with King Dedede have improved, - that does not extend to the rest of his family. Taranza does not want to be near the bloodthirsty knight; luckily, Meta Knight shares that sentiment. On the off chance they cross in the hallway, Meta Knight steely walks past him - not even sparing him a glance. Taranza would feel offended if it were not for how relieved he feels once the knight leaves the vicinity. He is lucky it was not Meta Knight who chased after him when he kidnapped Dedede. Despite Kirby's determination, he feels that Meta Knight, with his righteous anger and flight, would have caught up sooner. 

Kirby is - Taranza is uncertain what to think of them. On days like these, he is neutral, merely admiring Kirby's prowess from a factual standpoint. But on darker, colder days, he loathes the pink child with every fibre of his being. They were a thorn in his side, ruining his plans and chasing after him as if it were a new fashion style. They killed Sectonia. His irrational anger has led to a few outbursts - small ones, but still. Every time Taranza sees Kirby unexpectedly, he is overcome with a surge of hot-blooded desire for revenge. He knows Sectonia was too far gone; he knows every little piece of her he loves had long since faded into the past, even before he started the invasion. But still - he wants to avenge her even if she no longer cared for him. He wants justice for his childhood friend, who he watched fade away in the throes of madness.

But Taranza, as foolish as he feels since his betrayal of Floralia, is not absurd enough to fight Kirby. The youth would interpret it as a spar with how airheaded they can be - but when they get serious, Taranza stands no chance. Kirby's power is passive and easily goes under the radar. It is why even though Kirby is one of the most powerful people Taranza has had the displeasure of meeting, he overlooked Kirby's power until it was too late. Those copycat abilities, or whatever they are called, are stupendously strong. It is impressive and frustrating all at once. If only he could feel scholarly around the kid and not vengeful. He is sure he would have an easier time being around Kirby.

Because as much sense everyone has staying away from Taranza, Kirby takes after their kingly father, always trying to spend time with him if they run into each other. It is exhausting as it is distressing. Taranza understands why King Dedede would want to check up on him, disguising them as just friendly chatter. But Kirby seems not to understand the concept of personal boundaries or that he is a felon that children should not want to hang out with! Heaven forbid, if something like this happened in Floralia, Taranza would have driven himself into a tizzy. 

Kirby is enigmatic in the worst ways possible. It is impossible to guess what goes in that dense head of theirs, and frankly, Taranza does not want to know. Maybe it is a cruel twist of fate that a child with the powers of gods wants to spend time with him - a disgraced holy man whose friend and love were felled by their stubby child fingers. The irony makes Taranza want to cry.

Taranza sips from his coffee. The coffee from Floralia and Dreamland are vastly different, sharing only a vague brown hue and a bitter aftertaste. But Taranza is starting to enjoy it even if he misses the food and drink from his homeland. Dreamland food is not bad, even if he still has to be careful of what he consumes occasionally, like drinking too much coffee. He blacked out once and does not remember anything from the encounter. But from how terrified everyone looked when he woke up, he swore only to drink two cups daily.

"Ah, Tazz! Thayure are." 

Taranza blinks, registering the voice before he turns around. King Dedede walks onto the balcony, closing the sliding doors behind him. He is dressed lightly compared to the last weeks, enjoying the pleasant weather the gods bestowed upon them. Taranza is unfamiliar with Dreamlland's fashion but can appreciate the deep pinks and greens of Dedede's robe regardless. It is undoubtedly very uplifting to look at. It reminds him of peonies with their dark green stems and soft baby-pink petals.

Still, Taranza's smile twitches. He hoped to enjoy his break alone. Thinking of the royal family, summoned the head of the house to him.  Kore really has it out for me.  He muses vehemently. 

"King Dedede, whatever can I be of assistance?" Taranza politely asks, as one does. He may be a criminal, far from his homeland - but Taranza knows his manners. Annoyed or not, he will not disrespect the king by dismissing him. The very notion has the hairs on his body crawling.

Dedede smiles, happy to hear Taranza's use of his name. Taranza tries to dismiss the content feeling in his chest at seeing King Dedede pleased.  It is nothing,  he tells himself.  I should not feel happy about being friendly. It is just etiquette, nothing more.

"Funny ya mention assistin' me," Dedede replies, his grin straining. Taranza's eyebrows crawl to his hairline. How curious. 

"Oh? Do tell? What can I help you with, my king?" As annoyed as he may be with the king, Taranza is polite enough to hear him out. Though even if he were to scrap away the pleasantries, he still would lend King Dedede a listening ear. For all the man has done for him, Taranza cannot be grateful enough. 

He pats the seat next to him, scooting to the side so the king can take a seat. But the king does not accept the invitation. Taranza frowns.  This cannot be good.  He thinks, swallowing a mouthful of coffee to calm his nerves. 

"Wayul, ya see Tazz - me and Meta Knight are going tuh be gone all tomorrow afternoon, and I wuz hoping thet if ya are not busy, ya could…" King Dedede trails off, pressing his hands together. His grin crooked, "-babysit Kirby."

"Babysit Kirby?! Pardon me?!" Taranza yells, unable to believe his ears. 

"Yeah, ya heard me correctly. Kirby needs a babysitter. I don't want them tuh be alone." King Dedede bobs his head, unaffected by Taranza's shock. 

"Ah, okay?" Taranza nervously smiles, bemused. Out of all children, Kirby seems like the last kid who would need babysitting. Well, next to Bandana Dee, Kirby is second place. But still, God slayers should be exempt from the social rule. Usually, King Dedede would explain his request. He has been adamant about being crystal clear with Taranza since day one. He is only upping the ante since their heartfelt exchange in the royal garden. But he is strangely silent, gauging Taranza's reaction rather than attempting to accommodate him. 

Taranza hates to think about it but dislikes how attached he is to King Dedede's reassurances. The king's face betrays nothing of his intentions. Even as he grins, it is empty. Like a businessman's smile, he is only smiling for pleasantries so the deal will go smoother.

Taranza dislikes it.

"My good man, you mentioned Kirby, but what of Bandana Dee? Does he not need supervision?" He tries a different approach. Though he could directly confront Dedede about this absurd notion, he fears invoking his wrath. For as friendly King Dedede has been the past long weeks - it is always the calm one whose wrath stings the hardest. Taranza knows that from experience. It would only take one ornery comment on a bad day to destroy the pleasant nature of their relationship. 

Dedede pulls a face, “Bandee? No way. Thet kid is too responsible to cause trouble. He will be down at thuh Waddle Dee community centre all day teachin' Wanyin and showin' the younger Dees some moves. He is thuh last person I hav to worry about." King Dedede laughs warmly as if Taranza's inquiry is that unbelievable. He casually leans against the couch. It shifts under his weight. Yet his attitude is anything but warm. Taranza feels on edge.

"And Bandana Dee cannot take Kirby with him?" Is it not his duty as Kirby's brother to look after him?' Taranza wishes he could say.  Babysitting Kirby - pah, the idea is lunacy!  But he keeps the sentiment to himself. He does not want to be indignant. The thought of children needing a caretaker beyond their toddlerhood days is absurd to him. Taranza knows Kirby is young - but they are certainly not that young!

"No."

"No?" Taranza repeats, puzzled.

"No, Bandana Dee needs time with thuh other Waddle Dees." King Dedede presses, looking fall intends and purposes - annoyed. Taranza is not sure why, but he will not challenge Dedede on it.

"Heard loud and clear." Taranza mumbles, not wanting to argue about it further. He can sense that it is a difficult subject. 

"Fine, I will  babysit  Kirby." He sighs, finally giving in. 

"Great! I will tell Kirby you're watchin' em' tomorrow." King Dedede beams from ear to ear - all the awkwardness melting away before the shining sun. That was his mission, and now that Taranza has agreed, all the tension disappears. Taranza smiles thinly - trying his hardest not to let his resentment show.  Well, there goes my perfectly predictable work day.  Great, he muses sarcastically - clutching the teacup in his floating hands so carefully. Only a popping vein a way from crushing it in his hands. 

Dedede lingers, glancing around the balcony for an escape before being reminded that he is a king and can dip out whenever he wants. The edges of his smile grow sheepish.

"Anwho, It wuz nice seeing ya, but I need tuh go now. I've a lot of things tuh pack for thuh expedition." Dedede says, his eyes trailing along the sky. Taranza does not need to ask where the expedition is taking place. Dedede is just being nice by calling it a trip instead of the recon that it really is. 

"So, until some other time.  Adios !" He departs as soon as he arrived, with nary but a wave and the heavy stomping of his feet, taking the peace he broke with him. Taranza drops the grin, breaking out into a deep grimace. It contorts his face, and he messages his cheeks, hoping to get his jaw to unwind before it gets stuck in a permanent frown. Knowing his luck, that will happen. He leans backwards into the pillows, no longer pretending to sit upright and be proper. Letting the cushions envelop his whole frame as he groans loudly into the empty sky - his cold coffee put back on the coffee table. He gazes at the sky, sneering at the sunny weather.

The sun does not feel so pleasant anymore.

The day is beautiful - even better than the day before it. And yet Taranza cannot enjoy it. He sits inside, gazing at the stark sunbeams filtering in the drawing room with longing. Taranza awaits the horrible afternoon he must spend babysitting Kirby. He yearns to sit outside in the sun with a good book, letting nature and the natural architectural beauty of his surroundings sway him. But his dream is a far-away wish from older times. Still, he would prefer having a regular labour day to this insulting task.

Upon further instructions - which Dedede relayed with a memo taped to his door - Kirby will meet him in the drawing room. Together, they could decide what to do next for the entire afternoon. Taranza would be relinquished of his duties once Dedede and Meta Knight returned from their expedition at twilight. A generous estimation, as from little Taranza gathered from Dedede's rambling on the note, that the last checks up on the sky debris and trunk of the Dreamstalk may take hours depending on how cooperative the other nations in Popstar are today. Plus, the possibility of the new representatives of Floralia showing up might take up more time. They could be up there until midnight arguing and signing papers. Taranza knows all too well how much of a headache bureaucracy can be.

Taranza takes a deep breath, holding it in his chest. It would be a lie to say he has not thought about how Floralia is doing after he left. He imagined it was anarchy, and with how vocal the resistance was during Sectonia's territorial reign, they must have made a mess of things. But what about now? After a month, some order must have been restored, even if there is no royalty to rule anymore. Some nobles must have survived and, knowing them reinstated themselves as the kingdom's new rulers. Would they erase the beautiful history alongside the death of Arachnids? His species hardly matters now anymore, nor does their ancestry to the divine god queen herself, Aurelia. Would they erase her, too? Would his country become a godless realm?

Or, the church could have taken over. They were on the rich side as they never interfered with Sectonia, giving her plenty of tributes in the hopes she would leave them alone. She did, surprisingly. Would they bring back peace to Floralia? As much as Taranza wants to believe the clergy saved the day, a nasty voice in the back of his head sings of corruption. He may have been the Head Gardener once upon a time, but he would be blind not to see the cracks. He ignored it, knowing he could do nothing about it until he was years along and had the favour to change things for the better. The demotion Sectonia gave him sank his plans in the waters. None of his rules ever stuck because of his early retirement. More than likely, as he fears the rebellion leaders are now leading the land - trampling on all that is holy and just.

Taranza exhales, his whole body slumping from it. He would rather not think too much of it. Floralia's unknown fate weighs on his mind.  Does it even matter anymore? I'm not a citizen anymore, nor do I deserve it for abandoning my country.  He thinks glumly.  I do not deserve the peace of mind I would get from knowing. Although I definitely deserve the despair. It is my fault it turned out this way.

Taranza's eyes wander, uncrossing his arms and observing the room instead of steaming in frustration. It is much nicer than he expected - almost as beautiful as the Imperial Palace used to be before Sectonia made her renovations. The furniture is more in line with what Taranza expected from a monarch like Dedede, with his grand throne and the few statues and portraits he has seen lying around the place during his cleaning days. The upholstery is on the finer side, more antique than it is gaudy. The floors are clean marble with a white rug underneath the couches, and an opulent coffee table sits between the couches.

Taranza glances at the snacks on the cake tray and fears the future stains on the pristine rug and sofa cushions. There is no way Kirby will be able to eat without spilling anything in this beautiful room. Taranza almost feels affronted on behalf of the cleaning crew as not so long ago. He used to be a member of their party. But the appointment has been set, and Taranza can only hope Kirby will listen to him and eat properly. 

Taranza refuses the thought of cleaning up after Kirby or, goddess forbid, cleaning his face like a toddler. The very notion makes him want to tear his hair out. 

I may be a babysitter for a day, but I am not a nanny - in Kore's Domain! This is beneath me!  Taranza huffs, standing up in indignation. The thought of being someone's personal assistant rubs him the wrong way. It reminds him of those days when he did everything in his power to please his superiors in the monastery to rise through the ranks. It rankles that someone like him, with his talents, would be reduced to such low tasks. It is one thing to garden and clean up a communal space, but to clean up after someone capable of doing that themselves? He despises the very thought!

 Isn't that what you did for Sectonia, though? Cleaning up her messes and being at her beck and call like a hound?  His inner voice pipes up, rising from its slumber to torment Taranza. 

 That's different! I was her trusted right-hand man. She could not permit anyone near her or her rooms. Nobody else was trustworthy enough.  Taranza answers inwardly and grumbles under his breath, greeting a persistent yet old foe. 

 Convenient for her, you mean, only having to boss one dexterous servant. Oh, so lonely and gullible. 

 That's not true.  Taranza huffs.

The voice only tuts. 

 Sure, you feel that way. But in the end, she threw you away, just like everyone else. Like disposable trash, she had no further use for you. Not when you failed her so miserably. 

Taranza's mind falls silent, and he, too, falls back on the couch, groaning in defeat. It is hard to argue against a voice that he has been with ever since he turned sides, growing all the stronger at witnessing the death of the woman he ended up devoting his life to when there was nothing else for him. Poking at every minor inconsistency or discomfort he experienced since he had to resign from being the Head Gardener and now, his worst enemy.

Doubt, a powerful voice that is supposed to help him, holds him tight around his neck, squeezing the happiness he found in past memories, coiling around his shoulders like a snake, choking the life out of him slowly.

But I am right; otherwise, you wouldn't be listening.

Taranza ignores it, straightening as the engraved doors to the extravagant drawing room open - silencing his inner demons.

"Poyo! Good afternoon, Tazzy." Kirby bounds from them, bubbly and bright as they heave the doors without letting them drag across the floor. It speaks of strength as Kirby easily closes the doors without struggling, skipping towards Taranza to plop down beside him.

Taranza scootches away, feeling uncomfortable being so close to the god killer. Kirby frowns, but does not comment on it. Taranza would be surprised if Kirby could be tactful. They are probably just sad he is not as happy as they want him to be. As everyone is who has to deal with him. He can hear his coworkers talking behind his back, and though most of their gossip is fear, often what is not said fills in the blanks. He is depressing to be around. He does not have the foggiest clue why King Dedede wanted him to babysit Kirby. 

If anything, Taranza's fingers dig into his arms. He wants to be far away from Sectonia's executioner.

Taranza plasters on a fake smile. It feels like clockwork with how many times he fakes being happy. It is a well-worn mask, polished for this new life but truly not that much different from the one he wore since forever. He cannot recall when he first put it on and does not care. It serves its purpose well, even if it hurts a little every time he puts it on.

He waits for Kirby to take the initiative. That is how his life has been. Wait, counter and spin the situation to his hand, letting others make the decisions and retrofitting them to his tastes. Throughout his stay here, there was not a moment if he did come across Kirby m that the child was not bothering him, constantly badgering him to do something together or share their snacks with him. He declined every time. Now that he has no choice but to spend time with them, it is unusual for Kirby to be so silent. 

They just stare from the corner of their eyes, heavy dark blue trained on him with an unreadable expression. It is shy of staring but just as unnerving, especially from the powerful cherub-like creature that fought tooth and nail to take him down. Kirby chews at their fingernails, and it is as intimidating as them squaring up their fists for a fight. 

"Alright! Kirby, what do you want to do today." Taranza awkwardly breaks the silence, unable to take the tension anymore. His voice is shrill, and he cringes as it bounces off the walls with an intensity that could break glass. Kirby does not seem to mind, thinking about their words long and hard. They comically cross their arms and tap their chin, staring at the ceiling. Their feet swing to and fro, and they hum deep in their throat.

Taranza watches it happen, wondering if Kirby's actions were always this practised.

"Picnic, poyo!" Kirby shouts not that suddenly. They pull a wicker basket out of their null space, looking mighty proud at the feat as they present it to Taranza. 

Taranza blinks, uttering a quiet ‘huh’. He did not know Dreamland did picnics with such primitive tools, too. However, the latter should not surprise him after living a month or so in Dreamland. In Floralia, wicker baskets were reserved for clergy because it was custom to braid them as a monk. They could only be sold, not made by commoners or noble hands. Children made smaller, grass-wicker baskets to hold offerings. Taranza uses dimension magic to keep all his stuff on him, especially for picnics. Not thet he had many of those, with his busy life. 

But he and Sectonia went on a picnic once - on one of the few days they could take a break from respective duties. He still remembers the colour of the dying sunset descending below the clouds as Sectonia laughed at his jokes - delicately nibbling on a tiny cake. Her musical laughter still rings in his ears.

"Oh… I suppose we can do that." He mumbles, clawing back to the present. He cannot get lost in the past lest he be tempted to stay in and drown in the following misery. His dreams never stay sweet. Everything always eventually rots. 

But, he looks down at his glances, grimacing.  Ugh ,  why did I wear my Monday's best? My clothes are going to have grass stains! They're impossible to clean out. Not even magic can save me.  He thinks, staring at his clothes - especially his gloves. He is already burning through the staff's supplies of white gloves - he does not want there to be more reasons why he is an outcast.

Kirby glances at his hands, bemused. As if reading Taranza's thoughts, they lift the cover of the picnic basket, allowing Taranza to see inside. 

"Oh! I brought a blanket; doncha worry, Tazzy! It wouldn't be a proper picnic otherwise, po!" They declare, beaming at their own thoughtfulness. 

"Ah. How surprisingly considerate of you." Taranza mutters, not having expected that. Kirby does not seem like the type after all. Still, it is a good surprise. 

"Hehe, he." Kirby giggles angelically- not registering the back-handed compliment. Taranza supposes it is for the best, even as it was an unintentional insult. Kirby being angry with him is the last thing Taranza wants.

Tarnaza stands up, dusting off his trousers.

"I assume that means we should get a move on. Are you ready to go, Kirby?"

"Yeah!" Kirby nods vigorously, jumping off the couch and landing seamlessly on their two feet. Taranza looks down at them, realising how small the child actually is. Many Dreamlanders are short compared to him, with an expectation of Dedede. But Kirby, at their young age, only comes to his sternum. In their overalls and beat-up red sneakers, they scream non-threatening. Taranza almost wants to cry. This kid took down a goddess, and from Dedede's talks, short mentions of their previous adventures and accomplishments, the bosses Taranza set up to fight, and Sectonia are not the only things Kirby has defeated. 

Aurellia give me strength.  Taranza prays. 

Kirby takes the wicker basket, swinging it from side to side. They stare at the coffee table, stars in their eyes at the snacks on top of it. 

"Oh! I'm going to take this food with us. Not like anyone else is going to eat them,  poy ." Kirby decides, shoving the finger food and packaged teatime biscuits into the basket - none too gently. For a second, Taranza considers reprimanding them like a child from Floralia. But the words fall silent on his tongue. He does not feel comfortable saying no or lecturing Kirby. Not when Kirby looks back at him with a sunny smile and rushes to the door. Capable of messing him up for simply looking at them wrong

"Eh, well, I guess so." Taranza's stomach clenches. He does not want to go anywhere with Kirby. But he already agreed to this. So he follows behind as Kirby waits for him at the door, shuffling on their feet. Brimming with excitement, Taranza can only associate with the young spirit of a child.

" Poyon !" Kirby giggles, reaching for Taranza's hand. Taranza retracts his palm, cradling it with two of his magical ones as he keeps his left side tight against his body. The sunny rays of the day feel cold as he watches the happiness slip from Kirby's face. They stare at him, unblinking. Kirby looks down at their hand in confusion. Only pink skin stares back at them, crossed with nicks, scars, and a smattering of freckles. They look back at Taranza, their brows furrowed. 

Taranza does not know what Kirby sees, but they nod, skipping ahead without a word. The shadows retreat back into their hiding places, but Taranza only lets go of his held breath when Kirby rounds the corner. He lays a hand on his chest, his stomach turning in knots. He should feel ashamed of his reaction, mortified even. But how can Taranza be ashamed when not even a mighty queen like Sectonia could stand up to Kirby? The very thought of Kirby touching him gives him the chills. 

Taranza brings his hands to his face, willing the trembling to go away as he closes them, his knuckles turning white under his gloves.  Kirby's hands killed Sectonia. This child slayed the queen and my best friend. The person I cared most for. I might combust if they were to touch even a single millimetre of my carapace; goddess forbids they nick a sensory hair.  Taranza thinks.  But I promised to look after them today.  As much as he wants to hide and cower, Taranza does not want Dedede to be angry with him. Or worse, disappointed. He can take anger but cannot bear the thought of King Dedede being disappointed in him.

He hurries after Kirby, steeling his nerves. Taranza fought Kirby once, and although they could have ended him easily, they spared him. Because as terrified as Taranza is, he knows there are rules to the madness that is Kirby. He just has to find them.

Kirby waits for him in the grand throne room. They smile upon seeing him, continuing along towards the main exit. 

"So, where are we going on this fine day." Taranza slots himself next to the youth, drowning out the stillness with chatter. Anything to fill the dreadful silence. Perhaps it is not scary for such one as Kirby, who impossibly smiles wider, still as innocent as a button. But it is to Taranza. Taranza sees people eye him warily. He closes his eyes on the back of his head.

"Outside!" Kirby answers, thanking the guards for opening the doors for them. Taranza only nods, not comfortable acknowledging them directly. He wants to think they opened the doors for him because of his class, as servants used to do back in Floralia. But he knows all too well that is not the reason. The door is simply too heavy, although Taranza could manage the feat alone with his magic - it would be a hassle for ordinary people. Taranza is born of diluted noble blood, but that hardly matters anymore now. Not as the bottom-of-the-rung criminal.

"Where outside?" Taranza tries again, his polite smile straining. He thought he was being clear. Apparently not so.

Kirby hums, dashing forward to twirl and dance under the archway to the front gate. Taranza surveys the courtyard, deciding that they must be picnicking here. And if they are not in the royal garden. It is an easy exit towards it - they can easily slip by the right and enter it from the side-

"We're going to Green Greens! It's a perfect picnicking spot." 

"Where is Green Greens?" It is definitely not in the castle unless it is a nickname. The possibility of leaving the castle behind hits Taranza like a sledgehammer. They are not slowing down, and it is clear from Kirby's enthusiasm as they near the gate - they are going outside.

Oh, it was not literal. We are going outside the castle.  Taranza muses hysterically. 

"Green Greens has rolling hills, endless skies, and nothing else but grass and flowers for miles unless you count the forests, Wispy Woods, Rick, Kine, Coo, Gooey and my house! But you won't have to worry about Whispy. You're peachy as long as you don't enter any woods or harm a tree." Kirby giggles, repeating the last word to themself. It is not a surprise, as they look hungry at the mention of food - even if it was by their own creation. 

Taranza does not know the people Kirby mentions, and he does not care for them, but rather the prospect that they are leaving the castle—the very same place he has been banned from leaving ever since his imprisonment. As kindly as they have treated him despite his wrongdoings, Taranza is still a criminal doing his sentence. He is not a free man.

He mulls over it, unsure how to break it to Kirby. Any other child would be disappointed and throw a temper tantrum. Taranza is equipped to deal with that, even if he would rather not. As much as he loves kids, he cannot deal with the messy side of child-rearing. He never had to, only seeing children at their best behaviour as a priest and when meeting royalty as a child himself. He was an only child, so his experience is limited. But he has heard horror stories of how catastrophic some kids can be. There is a reason, after all, why being a nanny is a job, much less why some parents stay at home to take care of their children rather than being at work all day like their partner might.

For Kirby, that might ring through tenfold. Taranza does not want to see Kirby at their angriest. 

"I cannot leave. It's a part of my punishment, Kirby. We shall have to keep ourselves entertained on the castle grounds. I am sure there are plenty of quaint spots for a picnic around here." Taranza says to the point. A child like Kirby must appreciate such a direct approach. As nonsensical as they can be, children need structure. Taranza cannot let his beliefs get in the way. Even though he is still very much of the opinion that Dedede and Meta Knight could have done more to teach Kirby manners and poise. Kirby barely looks like royalty, much less acts like it. He is ashamed, for Kirby's sake. 

Finding Kirby a future spouse will be such a hassle.  Poor King Dedede. For his majesty's sake, I hope Bandana Dee inherits the throne. He is such a responsible chap.  Taranza sighs.

Kirby cocks their head, bemused, They stop short from the gate. It is open with only two guards, keeping out everyone who is not supposed to be there. And no doubt, if Taranza were to cross that imaginary line, they would apprehend him. He would rather not chance such an encounter. It will be a mortifying experience, to say the least.

"You can leave," Kirby says.

"No, I cannot." Taranza counters snootily. Kirby pouts, giving Tarnaza an annoyed look. It is gone in a second but sticks in Taranza's mind. For as brief as it was, it is the first time he has seen Kirby disgruntled. 

"It's simple. You take a step, then two and viola! You're outside. As easy as pie, poyo." They say, demonstrating by placing one foot in front of the other. Kirby waves their hands, jazz hands style, their basket hanging off the crook of their elbow. They inch towards the entrance in a non-too-patient manner. 

Taranza scowls. Kirby does not understand his situation. 

"No! Not literally! I can't leave as per my sentencing. KIng Dedede forbids it.” He says sharply, indicating such by slicing his hands in the air, like a blade to a ribbon. He bristles, aggravated. 

Kirby blinks, dropping the jovialty.

"Did he?" Kirby asks. 

" Yes ." Taranza grits out. He is done with this discussion. It is one thing to entertain a child's delusions but another for Kirby to play with his lack of freedom. It makes Taranza's blood boil. 

But Kirby does not seem to notice how they angered Taranza despite his sour face. Taranza clenches fists to prevent him from accidentally letting go of his magic. He does not want a repeat of the garden incident. Even if, currently, he would love nothing more than to see Kirby flounder against his magic. Show them what happens if they continue to make fun of him. 

"Hmm, I'm sure he told me it was fine as long as I, Dedede, Bandee or Meta was with that it was fine. And I'm here, aren't I,  poy ?" Kirby says simply, not intimidated in the slightest. 

Taranza does not blink, coming down from the simmering heat that overtook him. He shakes his head, his eyes out of his sync as he composes himself. He stands up straight, dusting off the imaginary dust, and promptly folds his hands. 

"Oh, I… had forgotten." Taranza murmurs, coughing in one floating hand and willing the embarrassment to disappear. 

Kirby smiles, unbothered by Taranza's near outburst. They are not the type to linger or taunt Taranza about his mistakes. Kirby does not have a mean bone in their body. Taranza does not know what is more upsetting, whether Kirby's mannerisms are intentionally aggravating or the thought of Kirby being capable of such slyness. 

"That's alright. I also forgetful sometimes, hehe." Kirby giggles, already forgetting about the tense moment. They skip over the castle's threshold, waiting on the other side.

Taranza marches over to the gate and passes with no trouble. Still, he studies the guards. Not able to shake off the imaginary alarm bells ringing for breaking a rule. They stare at him, bored. The guards seemingly do not care, glancing at Kirby instead, who happily toddles away., leading Taranza down the sloping road. 

Taranza sighs.  This is going to be a long day. Better get it done with then.  He muses.

They enter town. Taranza's apprehensiveness quickly melts away to silent awe. He had only seen Dedede Town from the castle's balcony and the higher-level windows. To see it for himself up close rather than through a window is a different experience. Despite the name, the mountainous village is lively, more like a city than a town. The colourful buildings are cheerful, with round, kaleidoscopic roofs and cute elegant signs denoting shops and businesses. The citizens mile about jovially and calmly, doing their daily routine as if it is just another Tuesday. And Taranza supposes it is just another Tuesday for them. They do not know a criminal walks in their midst, staring at them with open wonder and curiosity.

Up close, the differences between the architecture of Moonlight Capital are striking. They look so simple compared to the gothic structures he is used to. But strangely, their simplicity is elegant. It is not as daunting as the carved arches or heavy crystalline metal Floralia uses. It feels like a breath of fresh air. Taranza's heels click against the cobblestone path, sticking close but not too close to Kirby. Their close proximity itches, but he also does not want to lose them in the crowd.

To Taranza's surprise, nobody recognises him. They stare with bemusement. But no fear. He supposes he looks odd, but he spots some insect-like people amongst the people here. Perhaps he does not stick out like a sore thumb as he thought he did.

How strange. I thought King Dedede would have plastered my face everywhere to ensure that people would know who to watch out for if I did escape. Or attack.  Taranza thinks, his gaze lingering on Kirby.  Perhaps they do not worry about me because I am with Kirby. 

Kirby's presence is a buffer as they greet and skip down the path. They never stay longer than a hello. The most distraction Kirby allows themself is to stare hungrily at food in window displays and whenever someone walks around with food in hand. They do not even stop for some commoners' glamouring to talk to them. Kirby simply shakes their head and continues downwards, determined to reach their destination. 

Taranza only pauses when they arrive at the shopping district, studying the fountain in the middle of a quaint little plaza. Cafes and restaurants surround it. But the crowning jewel is the stone structure of the fountain. He would chalk it up to it as just a fancy fountain with a magical staff-shaped stone, water pouring out of the star at the top. But he narrows his eyes.

He has seen the design of the fountain before. He is sure of it. Only it was not this greyish stone, glistening with droplets and fuzzy moss. The emblems are carved into the wide basin or not for decoration. It is a replica of something. But Taranza cannot recall what.

Taranza quickly hurries after Kirby once he notices they are gone, flying after them as he spots their pink mop all down the town's entrance gates. Dedede will have his head if he loses Kirby - even if they are competent enough on their own. Regardless, he cannot disappoint his king.

Tarnaza's thoughts halt as he catches up to Kirby, ignoring their sunny look.

My king…? Dedede is not my monarch. Sectonia is...

His head becomes silent, unwilling to ponder further than that disturbing thought.

The rest of the journey is uneventful. It is a very long trek towards Green Greens. It takes them all of noon and well into the afternoon to reach it. Taranza has no idea how Kirby does it every day when they finally arrive at the supposedly perfect picnic spot. Taranza would not bother to go to such great lengths for leisure if he were in Kibry's shoes. Although, with his teleportation magic, he never has to walk out this far again. He has seen this place now and mapped it out in his head. If he wants to ever return to this place, for some ungodly reason, he can. 

But the scenery on the way here took his breath away. Taranza knew Dreamland was big. He recalls calling it paradise when he first came here, high on victory and loss. But to see such great swaths of land up close, lush forests and acres of free grass - it sang deep inside of him. Floralia could only dream of such a luxury with their crowded islands. If his people saw this place, they also would believe the holy land was down instead of upwards into the heart of the heavens.

Taranza shakes his head. They are not his people anymore. Even if he were to consider himself still a part of them. No doubt they renounced him the second he fled. Perhaps much earlier, after he executed the rebellion's leaders. It has been much longer since he stopped enacting the people's will. Way before Dreamland and her heroes came on stage.

He desperately tries not to think about that as he curiously studies the ruins and temples afar, morbidly curious about what they once had been before nature overtook them. Taranza itches to explore, his inner historian excited to discover something new. But he is a dutiful man before he is a scholar, and he follows Kirby up the hill under an apple tree, overlooking the vast rolling plains Kirby raved about.

Taranza stares at everything around him, reminded of his first arrival. It feels like so long ago when he landed here with Kirby and King Deddede after that neverending night. The sight is no less magical. The breeze tousels his hair; he tucks a strand behind his ear, not needing to turn his head to look everywhere with his 360-degree vision. He breathes in deeply, smelling the wildflowers decorating the hill. Taranza peers up at the sky, unable to help himself. The Dreamstalk still blossoms, strengthened by archaic magic in a forever bloom. But he cannot see his beloved homeland. The clouds hide Floralia away from the earth. The fluffy clouds do not give in even on a clear blue day. Only the giant beanstalk denotes where it should be, a dead giveaway to anyone who knows what led it to take permanent residence in Popstar's skies. 

Kirby does not seem to care about Taranza's wistfulness, placing the picnic blanket, plates, cups and cutlery down. Still, they sit with their dirty shoes on the linen, plopping down with a bounce. 

“Po yo yon, pup oooplah! All set up!" Kirby sings, waving their hands excitedly as they finally take out the food - the main show. 

Taranza startles - so lost in his thoughts. He does not need Kirby's prompting, knowing that if he does not react fast enough, he will not get any food from the picnic. Not that Taranza wants to eat; he does not feel hungry right now.

"I know you like fancy schmancy stuff, so I made finger sandwiches. There is nothing fancier than finger food!" Kirby declares, clumsy fingers assembling the food they brought along on a plastic plate. Taranza cringes at Kirby's organisation skills but says nothing of it. He does not want to discourage the youth's efforts. He gingerly takes the offered plate, studying the finger sandwiches. They do not look half bad, if a little smushed and messy from Kirby's antics. He is more surprised at the prospect that Kirby made these. 

Taranza stares at Kirby's hands, noting the slight tremor. It is not from a past injury, as far as he knows, nor is Kirby nervous. Taranza is unsure if Kirby is capable of worry. But something in him tells him that Kirby is banned from the royal kitchen. 

"You made these?" He asks in disbelief. Cooking and baking is a delicate but rewarding art. Not necessarily a hobby, he expects from as unorthodox as a princex Kirby is. Yet, it is a wonderful trait to have. It certainly would make Kirby a hit amongst future suitors. However, Taranza feels bad that anyone trying to court Kirby would find themselves at the end of Meta Knight's sword before they could even attempt to court Kirby. 

Although without Meta Knight, Kirby is a force to be reckoned with. With time, their reputation will precede them. As attractive as the idea of a powerful royal spouse is, there is a fine line between the power to flaunt and to destroy. Their good qualities might not be enough to sway any royal prospectors to Dreamland's cause once Kirby hits their majority. 

Kirby cradles their plate close to them, their expression blank.

"Eh, well, poyo." They begin, an anxious grin creeping on their face, "Bandee made these before he left this morning. But I gathered the ingredients! I'm not allowed in the kitchen." Kirby bares their teeth in a half smile, not unkindly but not cheerful either. It surprises Taranza, and yet, he understands somewhat. Kirby's expressions are foreign to him, and their expressions are even stranger. But the flashes of awkwardness make them feel mortal. Relatable almost.

Taranza chuckles behind his hand, unable to believe he thought that.  It seems I was right. They are banned from the kitchen.  Taranza muses. 

"And fruits,  poyo ! You can never go wrong with fresh fruits and lemonade." They announce excitedly, already forgetting about their banishment of all kitchens in the castle. 

"That is true." Taranza readily agrees, taking the pitcher offered to pour himself a cup.

Taranza eats in silence while Kirby rambles. He only half listens as Kirby regales him with their adventures or the events of the past weeks. He cannot keep his attention on what Kirby says - caught in a stream of thought. He nibbles on his food, his appetite never returning. It has been lacking since everything went down. He is happy to be able to eat, at least without throwing up. 

He feels disconnected from reality, Kirby's voice coming as if he is underwater. Being here in the open, with nothing to distract him, gives him no reprieve from the alien and cold feeling that has been with him ever since he could process what happened that dark day. Every day, Taranza feels like he will wake up back in the Imperial Palace. As if this is a long, extended dream, and the next time he opens his eyes, he will be back where he belongs. At Sectonia's side, convincing himself, he is happy as he slowly works himself and Floralia to death. 

He is unsure if he could choose - which one he would prefer to be the dream. This strange land where he is a nobody criminal working off his punishment or the misery of being the state secretary.  At least Sectonia would still be alive. I was unhappy but didn't mind because she was still there. I could still have done something. 

Time passes in the blink of an eye. The sun is lower in the sky than when they started their picnic, and Kirby has long since polished off their share of the food. Not that Kirby took long to inhale all the food and the rest of the lemonade, but some of Taranza's share still sits uneaten on his plate.

He feels untethered from the ground. As if he will drift away if he lets go of the cord named guilt. He would call himself unstable, but it is a strangely calm feeling. Numbness, he is no stranger to it. But at the same time, another emotion clogs his heart valves.

Taranza grips his shirt, the slow thrum of his heart pulsing against his fingers. If his heart stopped right now, he wonders if he would even care enough to do something about it.

Kirby studies Taranza. Taranza did not notice, too caught up in his head, but Kirby had stopped talking long before Taranza stopped pretending to eat and drink. They watched and waited, wondering what to do. Kirby lays down on the picnic blanket, staring up at the blue yonder - reminded of their adventure high up in the sky and the horrible feelings that come with it. 

"Do you regret what you did, poyo?" Kirby asks suddenly. 

"Wha-what?" Taranza gapes at Kirby, not expecting such a severe question nor how easily it slips past them. 

"Do you regret what you have done?" Kirby remains unbothered, staring with deep blue ocean eyes. Deep and dark, threatening Taranza to drown if he stares too deeply - daring him to lie.

Taranza considers it. It would be easy to lie. No doubt someone put Kirby up to this. Using children to gain information is cowardly and disgusting. But the coldness inside Taranza subsides a little bit. From what little he knows of Kirby, they do not follow orders well. For them to be so direct and yet not waver - he does not think someone told Kirby to do this. The Dreamlanders are relatively simple folk. Even Meta Knight has a code of honour. He would not be so sly to use Kirby this way, and he hardly thinks King Dedede would, too. He is too good-natured to do that.

"... every day." Taranza answers, almost a whisper in the breeze. 

Kirby bobs their head. 

"Would you do it again?" They ask.

Taranza’s incisors dig into his lip. 

"No! I would never do that again! The pain I brought people was immeasurable. I pay my sins tenfold if I could spare people from my mistakes." He replies swiftly, so quick to absolve his guilty conscience.

Taranza looks at Kirby. Kirby's eyes are grave. 

"Hmm., that's a lie, isn't it." They say.

"...yes. I suppose that makes me a terrible person." Taranza sighs. 

"I don't think so," Kirby replies. Their soft tone infuriates Taranza.

"Why pray tell, would that not make me terrible?" Taranza huffs. 

Kirby takes a moment to think about their words, almost daydreaming. Taranza waits patiently. He does not mind the slow pace. It beats being interrogated. Kirby is terrifying.

"You still regret it, doncha? And you're doing your best now. I don't like what you did. But it's bad to be stuck in the past." Kirby explains, taking time to formulate their words. They seem to struggle to articulate, almost like they must translate their words before speaking. Their faces draw in annoyance when they cannot find the perfect word to use.

"I don't think you're terrible." They shrug. 

"I am horrible, Kirby. A monster!" Taranza harshly claims, venom in his voice, "You wouldn't understand. You're a child. When you're older, you will understand the pain and devastation I have caused, and you will hate me. Like everyone else does." Taranza yanks at his hair, turning away from Kirby. He stares in the distance, screwing the eyes on the back of his head shut. Unfortunately for him, he would perfectly know what Kirby is doing. Sometimes having eyes on the back of one's head sucks. 

"Don't put words in my mouth, poyo!" Kirby yells back, taking a moment to breathe and calming down immediately, "And I don't hate you." 

"As if you know what it's like to hate." Taranza scoffs, undermining the child. Pain comes with age. What does Kirby know, who is so carefree and young? Blind to the harshness of the future. Still filled with potential and not broken like Taranza. Oh, how he longs to return to the past to live without worries. Kirby is lucky, and Taranza despises them for it.

Kirby glares at Taranza and still does not rise to the bait. They keep to their spot on the blanket, drumming their fingers against their leg. The wind ruffles their hair. 

"I do! I hate people leaving behind trash and when people steal my food." Kirby gets a dark look in their eyes, their pupils nearly washing away the brilliant blue of their irises. Sunken into old memories. 

"And I have hated people before." They bite out, making Taranza open his eyes in shock and actually look at Kirby - truly look.

"Really? You out of all people?" He asks incredulously. 

"I still do sometimes…" Kirby murmurs, thinking back to the hot rage that consumed them—the dull shine of black hair and an identical face and red eyes. The almost unnatural instinct to kill and fight overtook all of their sense. Of a childhood friend who betrayed them, of how they came to regret slaying him to rescue Popstar from a stolen wish. 

"And I know that's wrong, so I try to do better. For their sake." Kirby averts their eyes, forcing their face to stay blank. They do not want to think about  them .

Kirby shakes their head, their eyes boring into Taranza.

"Do you want to be forgiven?" 

Taranza stares at Kirby, shocked by the rapid fire of grave questions a child should not be capable of. It comes so out of the blue that Taranza feels his mind going topsy-turvy.  Are all Dreamlander children like this? No wonder they are so terrifying . Taranza shudders.

"O- Of course I want to be forgiven! What kind of question is that?!" Taranza laughs awkwardly, "What kind of person would not want to be forgiven?"

"Well,  poyo , it just sounds like  you  don't think you deserve to be forgiven." Kirby exhales, sitting upright. Their gaze focused far into the distance, unseeing. 

"What." Taranza simply utters, flabbergasted at the ancient look in Kirby's eyes. Far older than time or space, than their tiny body that cannot be older than twelve years old. 

"Forgiveness is a process," Kirby says, their fingers twiddling with the stems of the daisies. It takes them a bit to fit the stems into the small holes, and each time Kirby misses, annoyance passes over their features. Taranza recognises it and, for a second, fears for the flower fields' destruction. But instead of getting angry and rampaging, Kirby takes a deep breath and tries again. Before long, a daisy chain the length of a bracelet hangs from their fingers. They continue the same process, failing and trying again even if it would take someone else less time to achieve the same results. Maybe even neater results. But that does not seem to be the point, "- for everyone involved. You can't force it because then it means nothing,  poy . It takes time."

Kirby smiles gently. It is the first time Taranza has seen a bittersweet expression cross their face. Kirby always seems to have only two emotions, three if you count hunger as an emotion: joy and anger. But now, Taranza is awed at the melancholic veil that befalls Kirby.

Kirby hums with a little 'poyon', finishing their daisy chain. Kirby gestures for Taranza to give them his wrist. Taranza obeys them, quizzically eyeing the strange child. Not able to help the jolt of fear spiking in his chest. But Kirby just ties the daisy bracelet around his bony wrist.

"Tadah! What do you think?" They grin brilliantly, rivalling the dying sun. Taranza wrinkles his nose, feeling the flowers with the pads of his fingers. He cannot feel their texture, but it does not look half bad. Some petals are a little crooked, and the pollen stains his gloves. But Taranza does not mind it for once, lost in an old memory. He used to do this, too, as a child. How long was that ago?

Taranza cannot remember.

"It's… nice. Did you say your prayers before plucking the flowers?"

Kirby pauses.

"... what is prayer?"

"Uh, wha- you can't be ser-! Okay, one thing at a time," Taranza takes a deep breath, "In Floralia, when you cut, pluck or uproot flowers to plant them somewhere else, you say a quick prayer. They are like words that are supposed to invoke protection and gratitude."

"Oh, like magic!" Kirby cheerfully exclaims.

"Ehhhhh, yeah, sure. It's like magic." The inner priest inside Taranza feels like dying. But then again, Kirby is a child. He supposes to them it would seem like magic. He will teach Kirby about prayer and religion when they are older. If he were to teach them now about divinity and creation, he is sure Kirby's head would explode. Although, he wonders. To a god killer like Kirby, would religion even matter?

He will have to talk with King Dedede about it. Taranza feels that introducing Kirby to his religion would be a bad idea. Especially after all the doubt plaguing him. As much as he prays to Aurelia still, and with all the good he has done, how did he wander onto such a corrupt path? He is not sure what to believe in anymore. But that does not change his views on tradition and his people's customs. They will always be his, if he likes it or not.

"What do you say ?" Kirby prompts, and Taranza obliges.

"OH! Uh, it's rather simple. Well, It's in Floralian, but the words are 'thank you for your fruits of sacrifice; we shall not squander the gift of life nor take more than we need'. It's important to respect all life. Flowers and plants nourish us, and we shall repay back in kind. Always show your respects when gathering or using resources. Especially after hunting game."

"Game? Why would I be hunting for a game? Is it a special edition of a video game?" Kirby asks, befuddled.

What is a video game?  Taranza wonders, but he shrugs. That does not matter right now.

"I will explain to you when you're older. Just be grateful for every meal you have. You get to live like this because of what came before." Taranza's wording is not the best, but Kirby does not seem bothered by it, mulling it over.

"Makes sense, poyo. I wouldn't like it if someone did not appreciate the work I put into something." Kirby concludes.

"That's a good way to think about it." Taranza nods.

"Goody!" Silence overtakes them. But Taranza is not sated.

"Kirby… what did you mean with your words?"

"Hmm? With the flowers?"

"No, about forgiveness."

"Oh! You just don't sound, uh…. You don't sound like you're ready to forgive yourself. So, being forgiven by someone else wouldn't matter." Kirby shrugs. They pause, thinking over their words again.

"Not that people should forgive you, for your sake! You must work towards forgiveness, not wait for others to forgive you. Or you get stuck waiting for a long time." They add, nodding firmly, looking proud of their nugget of wisdom. Perhaps any other day, Taranza would be in awe of it for a child like Kirby to know so much and be so wise. He would not believe it if he were not sitting here, witnessing it with his own ears and eyes. But this is today, and he feels wrong in his body.

"But don't I deserve to suffer? It's karmic justice for everything I did." All Taranza feels is frustration, for as much as he agrees with Kirby, something broken and ugly protests. He stands upright, his arms jerkily gesturing to the air as his hands try to illustrate his crimes. His horns buzz, frazzled and upset.

Kirby cracks open an eye, assessing the situation. They relax, not feeling the telltale start of a battle breaking out even as highly strung Taranza seems.

"I don't know what karma is,  poyo . But I do know nobody deserves to suffer! Even you, Taranza." Kirby says. Taranza whips around to look at them, incredulity plastered on his face. Too lost for words at how ridiculous Kirby sounds. 

"You regret your actions, and that's good enough for me. You're already doing everything to become a better person. There is nothing else for you to do." They continue. Their sentiment is so simple it boggles Taranza's mind. He sits back down on the picnic blanket, thinking long and hard about Kirby's words.

"Repent and move on. Is that what you're saying?" Taranza asks to clarify, wondering if it really can be that straightforward.

"I don't know what that means, but I agree with the moving on part!" Kirby hums, a little giggle slipping past their lips. They lean over to sit upright, tapping their cheek, "That's a word I will have to ask Bandee about. Although Meta is more likely to know… Hmm."

They pull out their cellphone, scrolling through their contacts. 

"I can also ask Fluffu." They glance at the horizon, noticing how far the sun has dipped, slowly changing to twilight colours rather than the trusty blue of day, "Or maybe not."

Kirby turns around to look at Taranza. He never noticed, but Kirby does not look him in the eyes. At first, he chalked it up to Kirby, not knowing his white eyes are magic and unseeing, just like everyone else thinks. Only his golden eyes function like actual eyes. But their eyes flicker to stare into Taranza's gaze at his temple before focusing on his horns instead. It is a curious tidbit he files away for later. 

"I'm alright not being forgiven until you're ready, or never." Kirby murmures. Unbothered and carefree, having come to peace with what Taranza cannot comprehend. It bewilders him.

"What are you talking about? It should be me who asks for your forgiveness. You didn't do anything wrong. I am the one in the wrong here! I kidnapped his majesty, I used him like a puppet, I led people to their deaths, I didn't save Sectonia! I destroyed everything around me!" Taranza shouts, holding his breath and only letting go of it as his chest burns.

"Poy. I took someone precious away from you. I would not be so kind as you are if one of my friends died." Kirby speaks truthfully—a spark of anger at the possibility of that happening invading their peaceful attitude. There is no telling what Kirby would have done. But Taranza can guess that if one of their loved ones died that day, Sectonia would not be the only confirmed death that day. 

Kirby blinks away the thoughts, giving Taranza a stern look. 

"You do think I did wrong," They argue firmly, slamming their hand on the ground. It does not shake as Taranza expected. Kirby is unlike Dedede, whose muscles and strength can make the ground shiver. But it makes them no less powerful, "but I don't mind that." 

The breeze cards through their hair, but Taranza cannot feel it. His lip curls, biting deep into the flesh of his cheek.  I hate you.  He thinks, flooding with anger. But he looks at Kirby and their serene face. To their undisputable youthfulness and sincerity. He feels his anger redirecting its course, targeting the only person he has left to blame.

Himself.

"It should not have been your choice to take her life. I hate this; I hate that Secotonia is dead and Floralia is in turmoil. I hate that you, a child, made that decision. " Taranza sighs, biting back tears, "But I do not hate you, even when I want to. I really want to hate you."

But the tears slip by anyway. Taranza cannot do anything to stop them. 

"You're just a child. A powerful and incomprehensible child but still a child. I shouldn't have made you do all of that. I shouldn't have followed Sectonia so blindly. I should have stuck up for myself and my people." The thoughts spill forth, and what he has been thinking and blaming himself comes out in droves. The tears burn against his carapace skin, staining his shirt. The snot dribbling past his nose is disgusting, and his collar is not saved from it when he wipes it away. He does not care. 

"I should have seen sooner that the mirror corrupted Sectonia. Maybe then, this would have never happened." He mumbles to himself, forgetting the pink child seated beside him, staring in alarm and yet understanding. They know of the mirror he speaks of. It has been missing for a while.

I am made Sectonia this way. It is all my fault.  But he does not dare to say it. He is sure that Kirby's mercy will disappear in the blink of an eye when he does. He is a monster, and nothing can change that. 

Taranza cries, loud and ugly, holding himself tightly as he shakes. His horns and hair fizzle, coating the hill in a blanket of magic. Kirby keeps to their spot, a hand reached in comfort. But they do not initiate contact. They have seen others do it, and though their knowledge tells them they should, they listen to their gut. If they were in Taranza's shoes, they would not want to be touched right now. Kirby backs away, giving Taranza the space he needs. The spider wails, a dam flooding from the numbness he kept locked up tight. Even as time passed, the pain became no less potent or bitter. Ignoring it has made it stronger, and Taranza pays the price. 

Taranza does not register when he stops sniffling, only when everything else is silent and staring at his hands. His gloves are ripped, revealing the hairy claws and hands underneath. He takes a long and hard look at all six of his hands. He curls them, coming to terms with their unblemished nature. 

It happened; he is not the man he once was. He is nothing but a guilt-ridden magician, broken and lost. 

He lifts his head; the effort makes him wince, but Taranza still pushes through, watching Kirby through a curtain of frizzy bangs. A curtain of silver, sparking with residual magic. And somehow, Kirby sits there, unbothered. Seemingly untouched by what is a shock to an ordinary mortal. Taranza chuckles humourlessly. Of course, they would be unaffected by his outburst. Taranza glances at Kirby's arms, expression sour at the silvery branches of an old lightning scar.

But Kirby is not completely invincible. 

"You never needed a babysitter, did you?" Taranza spits out, disgusted he let himself be played. Kirby ran through Floralia, tearing the place in half and defeated the strongest person he knew at the time. They are not some kid that needs to be looked after 24/7. He did not want to argue with King Dedede. But right now, after seeing this mature side to Kirby - there is no way this kid needed supervision. Even if they did, there is no doubt in his mind if Kirby really wanted to get rid of him, they could do so effortlessly. Peacefully, too, as they have shown they are capable of it. 

"Hmm?" Kirby hums. They scratch their cheek, seemingly not knowing what Taranza is talking about. Taranza groans, not understanding why Kirby acts like this. Until he remembers, he needs to be more transparent with his words.

"King Dedede, he requested me to babysit you today. I thought it was odd, but I had not thought much of it," Until now. Although saying the last bit would no doubt upset Kirby. 

"Ah, that's how Dedede did it," Kirby shrugs. "I only told him I was sad you were avoiding me." They scratch their cheek, their cheery voice suddenly despondent. 

"I would have let you alone. But you looked so sad. I wanted to cheer you up." They say, so simple-minded. 

"Why?" Taranza questions, gobsmacked. 

Kirby blinks, giving a sunny smile.

"Because nobody deserves to be sad!" Kirby declares, determined. They thrust their fist in the air, heroically posing and giggling as they fall back down. Taranza shakes his head, not fighting the smile on his face. It curls bittersweetly. 

"I can think of a couple of people that deserve to be sad," He says. More than a couple, but Kirby does not need to know that.

"That's sad." Kirby frowns, wearing their emotions on their sleeve.  What a poor, reckless child. I pity them.  Taranza thinks. He wonders when Kirby's kind-heartedness will stop. Will it vanish as they grow up, realising that the world is not as bright as it looks through their bright eyes? Or is it in their character to trust and see the best in people? Only time will, and though Taranza thinks of them as naïve, he would prefer to stay on their good side. 

"Is it sad?" Taranza queries anyway, curious why Kirby thinks that way. It is foolish, but Taranza wants to listen anyway. Nothing will change, so why not? He has had enough of silence. 

Kirby bobs their head, taking their time - searching for the words to explain. They open their mouth with a big inhale, and for a moment, Taranza fears their supernatural power. Only hypernova mode does not activate. Only their words reach his ears. 

"You think you deserve sadness and others to be sad too." Kirby pouts, the cogs in their brains turning. Taranza can see the steam blowing out of their ears - thinking hard.

"Don't you think people do what they do because they're sad,  poyo ?" Kirby asks. Taranza moves in to correct Kirby. There are many reasons people do the things they do. But he takes a moment to consider it. 

Taranza supposes truly happy people would not make others miserable. If Sectonia had felt comfortable being herself, she would not have made such a drastic heel turn - changing herself and the kingdom. Those bitter old people on the council would not be as catty as they are, and people would not be so harsh on others if they felt content. In the simple words of a child, if those who hurt people were happy, they would not have felt the need to inflict that hurt on others. 

"If I could - I would take all the sadness in the world and chuck it in space! This way, people would not get hurt anymore." Kirby says, making a motion of chucking a ball in the air. They chuckle, perhaps realising how silly the thought is. Although knowing the sprout, Taranza bets more on the notion that Kirby thinks they are capable of it. The laughter is more of a nervous response. 

Taranza soughs. On that, he would have to disagree. 

"Those are some big aspirations. But don't you think people also learn from sad experiences?" He taps his fingers on the picnic blanket, closing every but one eye, wondering how such an intelligent child suddenly became simple-minded. Except, Kirby is a child. It is only natural for them to think this way. No, he is astounded at how emotionally mature Kirby is. The sudden confession of their dream is a slap in the face.

Taranza is conversing with a child. He knew that in the back of his mind and even said it as such. It is an interesting perspective. 

"Like?" Kirby presses, daring Taranza to think of one good, sad thing. But Taranza is not deterred, able to think of many instances where people found the power to take back their lives or flourish from a bad experience. However, explaining it to Kirby is another thing. He does not have the energy to explain his proverbs and metaphors nor the lingual skill to translate them. He thinks about King Dedede, who told him was not a good man back in the day, even as Taranza finds it hard to believe. He snaps his finger. 

"Well… King Dedede, for example. He told me he… when the late queen passed away, he became ruthless, but even if it took him a while, he reformed himself and became a better ruler. It is not that his mother dying made him the good king he is today! But he moved on, learned and prospered."

"Hmm, I suppose. Dedede was…" Kirby trails off. Unconsciously, their hand wanders to their left elbow, scratching at the lighting scar. Kirby's eyes are misty, the rest of their face blank. Their nails scrape against the mark. They give no indication if it hurts or not.

"- well, I like the present him!" Kirby grins. It does not reach their eyes. Taranza does not linger on the mystifying reaction. It is not his place to dig deeper.

Kirby withdraws into themself, caught by an old memory. Taranza lets them be. The silence drones on as the wind no longer howls in his ears. The valley is silent and yet no less beautiful. It burns orange in the evening light, mesmerising Taranza once more. He touches the daisy chain wrapped around his wrist. Surprisingly, it curls around his fingers, the stems and petals having grown from his burst. He caresses it with the pads of his fingers, nudging the bulbs like a pet.

Tarnaza hums. He may not be able to hear flowers anymore. A gift he squandered once he renounced his priesthood. But he still loves them unconditionally. He brings his hand to his mouth, kissing them softly. 

"Thank you" he whispers. Grateful for the gift Aurelia bestowed on the world and him. 

"Taranza?" Kirby breaks the silence. Taranza glances over with calm eyes. 

"Yes, Kirby?" He answers.

"Please be kinder to yourself."

Taranza frowns.

"I… I'm not sure I'm capable of that." He looks over the grass, imagining himself immobile on the grassy knolls. Unoving and yet unbothered, ignorant to the world and of strife. He finds nothing wrong with it and knows he should not think this way. Taranza expects Kirby to interject that he can always be kind to himself or give words of encouragement. But Kirby stares off into the purple-red sky, eyes unseeing.

"Sometimes, I don't know how to be that either."

Oh.  Taranza leans back, overcome with unexpected feelings of camaraderie.  I guess we are not so different after all. 

"How about… if I try to do better, you do too. No moping for either of us!" Taranza grins, wagging his finger in an act of cheerfulness. Kirby stares with big eyes filled with stars. They nod eagerly.

"... poyo ! Let's do that! But that also means no forcing ourselves to be happy either, mister!" They tag on, springing upright with an excusing finger pointing Taranza's way. His mouth hangs open in surprise, a protest dying on his tongue before he can defend himself. Taranza knows all too well it is too late for façades. So he does not try, shaking his head. 

"Fine. How did you know?" 

"I know a fake smile when I see it,  po !"

Kirby and Taranza laugh. The quietness is much more comfortable as it envelopes them again. Kirby is a much more quiet child than he expected, but Taranza does not mind it. Oh, he knows he will not always get along with them. But this is nice. 

"Kirby?"

"Hai?"

"I am… happy- pleased that your fathers raised such a bright child. Your future rulership will be prosperous." Taranza compliments, being sincere for once. In Kirby's example, he offers an unorthodox thank you. he feels grateful for Kirby uplifting his spirits but would rather die than admit that truth. 

It is silent, but it is a peaceful silence. And yet Kirby looks puzzled, their face contorting into many expressions before settling on bewilderment.

"Who?" Kirby asks finally after wrecking their brain. Taranza does not expect it, cracking his eyes open.

"Your parents? King Dedede and his husband, the consort prince, Sir Meta Knight? Do you not call them father? Or is one father and one dad?" He asks genuinely, curious about it himself. As improper as the pair is, it would be a good match if Meta Knight came from a noble house. Still, he does not see how they even got together. A king like Dedede would want for nothing. What did Meta Knight or his family possess that a king would wish to? Clearly, Dedede is the one in charge, so Meta Knight is the consort. Most places have the king's name, and the castle is modelled with him in mind. Dedede's mother's portrait hangs in one of the halls - King Dedede's rule must be from birthright.

Or,  and Taranza thinks bitterly.  Is it truly just love?  He feared it when he first saw them together, being all sweet on each other. But the more days he spent here, the more he realises that there is truly nobody who could force Dedede to marry.  It is good for them! But why could I not have had that? Why is Dreamland this paradise where contracts between noble houses and the royal family are unneeded and heirs are not demanded?

Taranza bites his tongue, changing the direction of his thoughts. 

It would make sense if King Dedede preferred not to be called something so formal as father. It would be pretty in character. For Meta Knight, though, he seems refined, even if his etiquette around King Dedede is improper. He would prefer a barrier of formality, Although if Taranza had to make a guess. He would say it was King Dedede's idea to adopt Kirby. They get along so well like two peas in a pot. 

But Kirby just looks more confused.

"Dedede and Meta are not my dads. They're my friends!"

"Whut? How-" Taranza sputters, his eyes wide as dinner plates. No, that cannot be! He has seen the way the four of them interact. They must be a family. Sure, Kirby refers to them as their friends, but that must be their quirk. There is no way an adult would be a friend with a child. Adults are too busy to be friends with kids. It is just not possible! 

Kirby is quick to interject, not letting Taranza finish his thought. 

"I don't know what a con-sort is, poyo, but I do know Meta is not a prince."

Taranza flinches. No, that cannot be right either. Perhaps Meta Knight simply did not want to get in King Dedede's way. It would explain how, despite absolutely loathing Taranza, Meta Knight cannot order his execution in Dedede's absence. It should relieve him. But the other possibility of that statement has Taranza scrambling. 

"But they must be husbands-" He tries to reason. Because nobody is that sappy and happy and not married! How can any couple be together without the sanctity of marriage-

"Nope,  poyo ! They have only been together for a year or maybe two. I don't really remember - time is difficult to keep track of. It was after a tournament if I remember correctly, and we were all competing for the yummy-"

"THEY'RE NOT MARRIED??!!!!"