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It was just a typical day.
A typical exhausting day in the Pitt.
So, as usual you went in search of some caffeine. With a side of social media scrolling...
It just so happens that what you're confronted with is the sight of your friends.
All having fun.
Without you...
Doing something you suggested weeks ago.
An idea that was quickly brushed aside.
Your boyfriend, Dennis does his best to turn your frown, upside down...
Notes: Hurt/Comfort, exploring being left out, Just two people in love. Dennis comforting you. slight secret relationship. Reader works in The Pitt no specified job 💕
Word Count: ~3.8k
Your eyes flickered around you. Scanning, checking for anything that requires your attention…
Today had been hectic.
Which is to say that it had been like every other day in the Pitt.
Nothing out of the ordinary. Which meant that at 3:38 pm all you could think about was getting a coffee to pull through the rest of the shift.
No one was shouting your name…
So now seemed like a good a time as any to slip away into the break room. Just for a moment, just for a brief respite, just a little recharge.
It really wasn’t meant to take too long.
You were only taking a moment to sip on a coffee that wasn’t ice cold from sitting out too long.
Just a little something. A little pick me up to stop your eyes from fluttering shut.
You should’ve known better than to open your phone.
Should've known better than to open instagram.
But it was instinctual.
A bad habit you had yet to crack.
And–
There you see it.
The photo.
Smiling faces.
Beaming grins.
Laughter and joy encapsulated in a frozen moment.
–It felt like the photo was mocking you.
A lump formed in your throat. Chest tightened. A frown crawls to settle upon your features. Stomach twisting uncomfortably.
There in that picture. In that photo. And all the other stories from your friends unable to stop yourself from clicking through, tapping on each and every one of their names tagged in the picture.
You are flooded by videos and photos.
All filled with the faces of your friends. Happy. Smiling. Surrounded by the apple orchard you had suggested going to just a few weeks ago…
You were so excited by the idea.
So excited when you had brought it up the last time you had all met, but it had fallen upon deaf ears…None of your friends had seemed interested whatsoever.
Brushed aside.
Even questioned why you’d think it would be fun to spend a day walking through trees and picking apples that definitely would have bugs in or on them…
So you had let it slide at the time.
Swept it under the rug.
You understood that not everyone had to enjoy what you did.
Relationships were all about compromise.
That was how you had rationalised it at the time.
Even if you thought going apple picking would’ve been fun. To spend some day in the sunshine, plucking apples straight from the branches and then to spend the afternoon enjoying a hard earned lunch surrounded by the sprawling orchards.
But they had dismissed the idea completely when you had brought it up.
It had seemed fun in your mind.
And judging by their photos–it was.
Sculling your coffee, letting its bitter notes coat the back of your throat. Welcoming the burn whilst it temporarily takes your mind off of the discomfort settled in your chest.
Hastily shoving your phone back into the depths of your pocket…if only you could do the same as the memory of your friends blatantly excluding you…
Taking in a sharp breath.
You wipe the frown from your face, plastering across a wide smile. Trying your best to conceal the swirling thoughts that cloud your mind that weigh you down.
But the smile doesn’t reach your eyes.
There’s a distractedness to your movements.
Not enough to impede your work…
But enough to submerge you into a fugue state.
Unable to understand why?
Why your friends excluded you…
Why your friends ignored you…
Why your friends went off without you…
Sure–
You understood that your shift work could sometimes get in the way.
Could sometimes stop you from being free most of the time. But…That didn’t mean you didn’t have time, that you couldn’t make time.
Each time you were around them. They were always just nice enough to you…Never outwardly rude…But never explicitly kind.
Around them you never quite felt there.
Not yet lonely–but not quite fulfilled…An emptiness would settle inside, as though you were watching your friends around you have the time of their life.
While you–
You felt stuck.
It made you question yourself.
Made you question why they didn’t want you around.
Why was it that you…were not wanted…
With each question that popped into your mind. It felt like a pin prick, a sharp needle pricking at your heart.
Seemingly each prick alone was not fatal.
But overtime.
These little pricks make your heart begin to bleed. Begin to ache…
You thought you were doing so well.
Doing your very best to hide the way it weighed you down.
However–it seemed you couldn’t hide it completely.
“What’s up with you?” Santos asked, sliding herself beside you whilst you typed away at a computer.
Barely lifting your eyes at her you continued your work, even as she ducks down to try enter your vision.
Letting out a soft mumbled, “Nothing–just tired”
She hums, in vague acceptance.
For a moment you thought she’d let it go.
Thought she’d leave you to yourself and to stew in your thoughts…
Unlucky for you.
Santos was more intrigued than you’d hoped.
Folding her arms over her chest, she raises a brow in question, “No, don’t give me that–this morning you seemed fine, your usual happy self, and now–now you seem a little off?”
Lifting your eyes for a moment, you lean back in your chair, “I don’t know what to tell you Santos–aren’t I allowed to be a little tired? Is that a crime?”
She shakes her head, “The tiredness isn’t the problem. You’re just you know–missing that spark in your eye. So I’m wondering who pissed in your cocopops?” She continues to probe.
Swivelling back to face the computer, you shrug, “I’m fine–I just,” you sigh, brows furrowing in annoyance.
“Nothing’s wrong–well, maybe, no–I just. I saw something I really wish I didn’t”
Leaning down, “Now we’re getting somewhere”
“Santos–I really don’t want to talk about it,” Avoiding her eyeline, “Don’t you have some IV to insert or whatever else”
She leans back, drumming her fingers on the desk, “Fine–be closed off”
You scoff muttering under your breath, “Says you”
Her eyes narrow at you.
Now this. This was unlike you. Sure you both had bantered before…but you had never been so explicitly rude.
It just wasn’t like you.
Eyes softening just a bit, before she nods, pushing away from the desk.
Turning quickly, regret flooding your features, “Santos, wait–”
But she was gone.
Turning back you mutter angrily, scolding yourself beneath your breath, “Way to go–no wonder your friends left you out…”
A bitterness seeping into your mind.
Unaware that across the ER.
Santos had cornered Whitaker.
Tugging him aside, “What–” just out of sight from you.
She presses a hand to his lips, “Shhh,” her eyes scanning behind her, checking to see if you had noticed.
All clear.
She turns her gaze back at him. Letting her hand drop from his mouth. His eyes furrow in question. Wondering why she was being so weird.
“Now you–I don’t know what’s up with Y/N but you need to figure it out before she makes a kid cry from the way she’s frowning, have you seen her! She’s so distracted. I’ve never seen her like that,” Santos exclaimed.
A worry seeps onto Dennis’ features, his eyes flicking over to you.
You did seem off.
“And what do you want me to do about it?”
Santos lifted a brow, crossing her arms over her chest, an ‘are you serious’ look sent his way.
“Don’t even try–I know you two are a thing,” she huffs, before pushing him into your direction, “Now go find out why your girlfriend is in a funk”
“Uh–” the panic in his voice comes out as a squeak. Before clearing his throat, “How’d you know?”
“Seriously?” she offers a deadpanned expression, “Huckleberry, you’re literally the shitiest liar I’ve ever met. Now stop stalling”
He nods, feet carrying him over to you.
Ready to ask you what was going on.
Ask you how you were.
To check in with you…
But just as he comes up to you, you’re pulled away.
And each time throughout the rest of the shift, every time he tries to approach you–you slip away. You’d duck and avoid him.
For whatever reason. Unbeknownst to Dennis.
…You were avoiding him.
Every time he'd tried finding you–
Someone else needed you.
Or...
You'd suddenly remembered something.
Or...
You'd gone the opposite direction.
He'd noticed.
Of course he had.
Sighing, he watches while you grab your things, once more averting your gaze. Rushing to grab your things and simply bolt from ER.
He’s shaken from his thoughts while Santos shoves his shoulder, pushing him towards your direction.
“Go on–” she juts her head, forcing him into your direction.
“She doesn’t want to talk to me,” Dennis claims.
She clicks her tongue, “Don’t you want to find out why?”
He bites his lip, before he nods his head, stumbling over his feet while he rushes out to follow after you.
“Y/N!” he calls out, stopping you short whilst you’re about to cross the road. Your feet stuck in place. Unsure of what to do.
Outside, the evening air felt cool against skin that had spent twelve hours beneath fluorescent lights.
Neither of you spoke immediately.
The quiet wasn't uncomfortable.
Just...
Careful.
Eventually Dennis reached over.
Not grabbing.
Not insisting.
Just...
Brushing the back of his fingers against yours.
Waiting.
Brushing his hand against yours, standing by your side. Just letting you know he was here for you. His brows dip in concern. Before softening slightly when your fingers curled around his–
Only then did he intertwine them.
Gentle.
Like he was asking permission every second, he said quietly, "I was worried about you today…"
Your lips pulled thin. Words stuck in your throat.
"I've never seen you like that,” he said, before breathing in deeply, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
Another silence. While you contemplate his words. Contemplate the meaning behind them.
Contemplate what would happen if he knew…
Then–
"I think–" Your voice cracked. Your facade fracturing ever so slightly, "I think my friends don't actually like me."
His head turned immediately, "What?" Stunned by your admission.
You swallowed, "It sounds stupid."
"It doesn't,” he shakes his head, hand gently intertwined with yours, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back of your hand.
You laughed bitterly, "It kind of does."
"No,” he said clearly, “If it made you this upset, then it can’t be stupid–what happened?–Only if you want to share it–you don’t have to”
You inhaled shakily, "I was having coffee."
He nodded, coaxing you to continue.
"I opened Instagram."
He already hated where this was going.
"And they all went apple picking."
His brow furrowed, "...Without you?"
You nodded, before adding, "I was the one who suggested it,” You stared down at the pavement, "I thought it'd be nice. I thought we'd pack lunch. I thought we'd walk around. I thought..."
Another shaky breath, "And they all acted like it was the dumbest idea they'd ever heard."
His hand squeezed yours.
"They laughed. They said apples probably had bugs. They asked why anyone would want to spend all day outside. So…” You gave another tiny shrug, "I let it go–I figured not everyone likes the same things."
Your voice grew quieter, "But...when I opened instagram I saw that they–that they all went”
You couldn't look at him now, "They all went together, and–” vision blurring as you let out a shaky breath, "I wasn't invited."
Your throat tightened. Shame swelling up inside you that you were so upset by this.
By such a seemingly small thing.
But it had overtaken your mind.
Had shaken you entirely.
"And the stupid thing is–It isn't even about the apples."
Dennis stayed silent. Simply listening. Simply letting you speak. Air out your thoughts and how it has made you feel.
"It just–made me realize I'm always..." You searched for the word "...there but not–included."
"They're nice enough,” you defend them, despite how harmful their actions were to you, how inconsiderate they really were, instead twisting their actions to somehow be your fault, "I don't think they actually want me around."
"And today..." A laugh escaped.
Broken.
Cracked.
Vulnerable.
It made Dennis’ heart ache to see you so torn up.
"I started wondering if maybe there's just something wrong with me,” those words fill the air, and before Dennis can interject you ramble on, those thoughts that had built up inside finally spilled out, "What if I'm just...too much, or boring, or annoying?"
Your breathing unsteadies, “What if–"
"Hey,” His voice was so soft it almost disappeared into the evening air, his hand squeezes yours, stepping before you, his other hand grabbing yours to ground you into this moment and pull you out of your thoughts, "No."
You blinked, "No?"
"So they ignored your idea."
You nodded.
"They dismissed something you were excited about."
Another nod.
"Then they went ahead and did it without inviting you."
"...Yeah."
He frowned, "That hurts."
You blinked.
He hadn't questioned whether you were overreacting.
Hadn't suggested they probably meant well.
Hadn't said maybe they forgot.
Just–
That it hurt.
Your eyes filled properly now, you try to claim, despite the tears starting to fall down your face, the physical proof of your pain, “I’m probably just being dramatic–"
"I don't think you are,” he said, so full of conviction. You can’t help but begin to believe his words…
A bittered laugh slips past your mouth, "I spent the whole afternoon wondering what I'd done wrong."
Dennis reached up slowly.
Brushed the tear away with his thumb.
"I don't know your friends,” He chose every word carefully, "So I can't tell you why they did what they did. But, I do know you...You’re an incredible person"
He smiled sadly, "...And if someone consistently makes you feel unwanted...that's a horrible feeling."
Your shoulders sagged.
Like you'd finally been given permission to admit how much it hurt, "I hated that it upset me this much."
"You care about them,” he says understandably.
"...Yeah,” you agree.
“Then of course it upset you,” He rubbed slow circles across the back of your hand, "I would've been devastated."
"You would?" You look up to meet his eyes.
He looked almost offended, "You are not alone when it comes to feeling like this"
Your heart swelled from his sincerity. From the pureness of his sentiment. Letting a small smile lift at the corner of your lip.
"There she is."
"What?"
"Your smile,” His smile softened, "I missed it today."
The way he said it wasn’t condescending, it didn’t make your skin crawl. It was purely a fact.
Heat bloomed in your cheeks.
You looked away, "I hated snapping at Santos."
“Don’ worry–I’m sure she didn’t take it to heart,” Dennis tried to soothe you once more.
But you shook your head, “I’m better than that–I know better than to take out my feelings on others–”
“We all have our bad days”
You swallowed, "It just made me think that, ‘No wonder they left me out.'"
His expression broke, "Oh..."
"So then I thought–If even I don't like me… Maybe..."
He shook his head immediately, "No."
"Dennis–” you tried to argue.
"No," he said a little more forcibly, trying to break through, he stepped closer. A hand lifting to cradle your face, so gentle, whilst making your eyes meet his, "You don't get to use one bad day as evidence against yourself."
"Because I really really like you,” He smiled sheepishly.
That earned a watery laugh, to slip from your lips, "I’m pretty sure you said you loved me” quirking a teasing brow towards him, letting your head lean into his hand.
Unfiltered adoration flooding into your eyes.
Whilst his filled with such pure love.
“I love you,” he nods, smile beaming widely. The words still giving him a thrill each time he said it, “And it’s very hard hiding that from our colleagues–today all I wanted to do was give you a hug and tell you everything was going to be ok”
You nod, smiling shyly from his admission.
"I'm pretty sure half the ER knows,” you add.
"...Probably,” He sighed dramatically, "I really thought we were being subtle.”
Not that he’d mind. Not that he wanted to keep you and him a secret…you just wanted to keep this to yourselves for just a little longer.
“I’m pretty sure Trinity definitely knows,” you say quietly.
“And you’d be right–she literally pushed me towards you to make sure you were ok,” he confirmed.
You both laughed.
Really laughed.
The ache inside your chest eased.
Just enough.
Dennis looked at you, "So..."
"What?" You tilted your head in question.
"Can I take you somewhere?"
You frowned, raising a brow, "...Tonight?"
"Yeah,” he nodded eagerly.
"I don't know..." You felt exhausted, "I kind of just wanted to go home…"
“I won’t make you go, but I really don’t think you should be alone right now. I’d be a terrible boyfriend if I let you go home alone without making sure you ate,” He smiled, "Please?"
"...Where?"
He grinned, "It's a surprise."
Whatever you had in mind. Whatever you thought Dennis was planning. Completely flew out of the window.
When, twenty minutes later you were sitting in a tiny family-owned restaurant tucked into a quiet side street.
Nothing fancy.
Red-and-white checked tablecloths.
Warm lighting.
The smell of cinnamon and pastry filling the room.
You looked around, "It's cute."
He smiled, eyes never leaving yours, just glad to finally see the glimmer return back to your eyes, "I've wanted to bring you here for months."
"You have?"
"They have the best homemade apple pie I've ever eaten,” he explained.
You stared at him.
Realization slowly dawned, "You remembered."
"Of course I remembered," he nodded as though it were obvious. As though it were only natural he remembered the things you said. Paid attention to the things you liked.
Your eyes watered again. Biting your lip, offering a grateful smile. Moved by his consideration and thought.
This time...
For a completely different reason.
Dinner came.
Conversation followed.
Easy conversation.
About patients.
About the recent book you were reading.
About Santos and her completely clocking onto you both.
About a little old lady who'd flirted shamelessly with Dennis that morning.
By the time dessert arrived–
Your shoulders had finally relaxed.
The waitress set down two steaming slices of apple pie.
Golden pastry.
Soft apples.
Vanilla ice cream melting slowly over the top. With little flecks of vanilla bean
Dennis slid one toward you, "There."
You looked down at it.
Then back at him.
"You know..." He said quietly, looking down at his slice of pie, beginning to break it up, "I don't know why your friends made you feel invisible."
He sighed, saddened on your behalf before lifting his eyes to meet yours, reaching across the table "But–I never want you to wonder if you're wanted."
Your throat tightened, "Because you are, so, so much. And every minute I spend with you, I am so grateful for it all. Because you’re amazing in my eyes and I never want you to think that you don’t matter–because you do. You matter a lot to me, to Trinity, to the people in the ER. To a lot of people–maybe not your friends. But–are they really your friends if they leave you out?”
Your chest tightens, so moved by his words. Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, “Thank you,” you murmur softly, “I love you so much”
He smiled, "Love you too, now eat the pie before it goes cold"
You laughed so suddenly you nearly cried again, "That's your big romantic speech?"
"I panicked," he joked.
"It was adorable," you cooed, starting to dig into your pie. The ice cream gently melting upon the warm pastry.
He grins, "I was going for profound."
"You landed somewhere between profound and grandma,” you teased.
He nods satisfied, "I'll take it."
You took your first bite.
Warm.
Sweet.
Filled with cinnamon.
You closed your eyes. Humming in delight.
He leaned forward eagerly.
"...This is incredible."
A wide smile spreads across his lips, pleased to be able to bring you a little slice of joy after such a shit day.
The apple orchard.
The photographs.
The ache.
It hadn't vanished completely.
Healing rarely happened that quickly.
But sitting across from Dennis–
Watching him grin because you'd liked the pie–
Those memories began losing their sharp edges.
Not because he'd erased them.
Because he'd reminded you.
Someone could make you feel chosen.
Wanted.
Noticed.
Seen.
And much later.
Long after your late night dinner.
Long after he'd walked you home. Insisting on carrying your bag. A true modern day gentleman, soft and considerate of you.
Long after the city had settled into silence–
Dennis is nowhere to be found in his shared apartment with Trinity…Instead, he lays beside you.
Curled beneath your blankets. Settled cosily into your bed.
One arm draped loosely around your waist. Not holding tightly. Just enough for you to know he was there.
His chin rested lightly against your hair, "You okay?" he whispered.
You nodded, "Better."
"You sure?" He asked once more.
You turned slightly. Nestling back against him. Turning to face him, you smiled into the darkness, "I think I just needed someone to remind me I wasn't hard to love."
Dennis's arm tightened almost imperceptibly.
He pressed a slow kiss against your cheek. Slowly pepper them across the softness of your cheek, before reaching your lips.
"So..." he murmured sleepily against your lips, between each kiss he placed upon yours, "...next weekend."
"Mhm?" you sigh in content.
"We're going apple picking."
A tiny laugh escaped you, arching a brow, "Just us?"
"Just us,” he nods, voice dipping low as it reverberates from his chest.
"And we'll eat too many apples. And probably get lost."
"Almost definitely," you agree.
"And if there are bugs..." He sighed dramatically, "I'll protect you."
You laughed quietly, “My absolute hero,” The sound muffled against your pillow.
For the first time all day–
The heaviness inside your chest finally loosened.
Not because the people who had hurt you suddenly mattered less.
But because, wrapped safely in Dennis's arms, you no longer felt invisible.
The memory of your friends fade…
Replaced by the way Dennis made you feel.
He never made you feel unseen.
Unheard.
Unnoticed.
He made you feel desired.
Wanted.
Noticed
And unquestionably loved.
You were undoubtedly, the apple of his eye.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little story! Honestly it sucks being left out, especially by people you consider friends (even extended family) So I'm sorry to anyone whose ever experienced this (cause trust me, I get it) it literally sucks, and it's even worse when it makes you wonder if it was something you did...sometimes people are just assholes and are better off being let go from your life. I took a little creative liberty to make the activity be apple picking (thought it was a sweet idea) Anyway, hope you enjoyed the comfort of Dennis simply being there to understand your feelings about this, not fully pushing you to forget how you feel or dismiss you but simply there to understand. (Just know that Santos when she finds this out is on a quest to take down each and every one of your so called friends) Let me know what you thought ✨
Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕
If you enjoyed, consider checking out my Dennis Whitaker x Former Army Medic!Reader Tread Lightly Series
Or check out my overall Pitt Masterlist here
They had always been good at fighting impossible odds.
They just weren’t very good at remembering the little things.
At first, it was easy for Name to brush it off. They were heroes. Gotham needed them. Emergencies happened.
But eventually, “maybe next time” stopped sounding like an excuse and started sounding like a promise nobody intended to keep.
Bruce had promised—promised—he would make it to the father-daughter dance at school.
Name had spent an hour picking out a dress because Alfred said Bruce had secretly asked what color would make her smile the most. She even practiced dancing in the manor ballroom while Alfred pretended to step on her toes.
She kept looking at the gym doors every few minutes.
Every time they opened, her face lit up.
Every time it wasn’t Bruce, that smile faded a little more.
The dance ended with Name slow dancing with one of her friends dads because they felt bad for her standing alone.
Bruce arrived home just after midnight, still in the Batsuit.
“I got caught up.”
Name only nodded.
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t.
Dick had volunteered to take Titus, Ace, Alfred the cat…
“…and Tiger too,” Name had reminded him while handing over the cat carrier. “She has her annual checkup at two.”
“Already got it handled, kid.”
He’d come home three hours later.
Titus had a clean bill of health.
Ace got new treats.
Alfred the cat had somehow charmed every employee into giving him free toys.
Dick walked inside smiling.
Name looked behind him.
“…Where’s Tiger?”
Dick froze.
“…”
“…Dick.”
He’d forgotten.
Not delayed.
Not rescheduled.
Forgotten.
Her cat had sat at the vet’s office for over an hour before they finally called Wayne Manor asking if someone was coming.
Dick had never felt guilt hit him so fast.
Jason promised he’d read the first chapter of the mystery novel Name had spent six months writing.
She left it on his nightstand.
A week later it hadn’t moved.
When she asked what he thought of the twist…
“…There was a twist?”
She quietly picked the notebook up and left his room.
Jason didn’t even realize what he’d admitted until the door shut.
Tim constantly borrowed things from Name’s room.
Phone chargers.
Headphones.
Hoodies.
Pens.
Books.
He always meant to give them back.
Eventually.
Name stopped asking.
One day Tim walked into her room looking for a charger.
Everything was gone.
Every single thing she’d ever lent him had been returned overnight.
A sticky note sat on the empty shelf.
“Now you don’t have to remember.”
Steph accidentally spoiled the ending to Name’s favorite TV show because she’d forgotten Name hadn’t watched the finale yet.
Cass missed Name’s art showcase because she’d mixed up the dates.
Duke forgot Name’s birthday breakfast because he’d been up all night on patrol.
Damian criticized one of Name’s paintings without realizing she’d entered it into a city-wide competition.
Each mistake was small.
Each apology was sincere. (gtfo my villa)
Each hurt stacked on top of another.
Then came the plays.
Name loved acting.
It wasn’t a hobby.
It wasn’t something she was “trying out.”
It was her thing.
Every semester.
Every musical.
Every lead role.
Every supporting role.
Every curtain call.
She always saved seats.
One for Bruce.
One for Dick.
One for Jason.
One for Tim.
One for Cass.
One for Duke.
One for Steph.
One for Damian.
Sometimes even one for Alfred.
Every program had their names written neatly across the top.
Reserved.
Reserved.
Reserved.
Reserved.
Reserved.
Reserved.
Reserved.
Reserved.
The seats stayed empty.
Every.
Single.
Time.
There was always a reason.
Joker escaped.
League mission.
Justice League emergency.
A robbery.
A patrol.
A meeting.
Traffic.
“I thought someone else was going.”
“I completely lost track of time.”
“We’ll definitely make the next one.”
Name stopped saving seats after the fifth play.
No one noticed.
That was freshman year.
The breaking point came after opening night of the school production of her senior year.
Name had landed the lead.
Months of rehearsals.
Late nights.
Missed sleep.
Costume fittings.
Lines memorized until two in the morning.
She never asked them to come.
Not this time.
Because she already knew.
Still…
A tiny part of her hoped.
When the curtain rose, she glanced toward the audience.
The entire Wayne family section…
Was empty.
Not one familiar face.
After the show, everyone crowded around congratulating her.
Flowers.
Teachers.
Friends.
Parents taking pictures.
Name stood alone backstage, holding the bouquet the drama club had given her.
Alfred arrived nearly forty minutes later.
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss.”
She smiled softly.
“It’s okay.”
Alfred knew that smile.
It wasn’t okay.
The next morning…
Name wasn’t angry.
She wasn’t yelling.
She wasn’t crying.
She simply…
Stopped.
No more waiting in the cave after patrol.
No more asking about everyone’s day.
No more movie nights.
No more leaving snacks in the fridge with names written on them.
No more sitting beside Bruce during breakfast.
No more hugs.
No more teasing Damian.
No more reading with Cass.
No more helping Tim organize evidence.
No more sparring with Dick.
No more listening to Jason ramble about books.
No more late-night rooftop talks with Duke and Steph.
She was polite.
Kind.
Respectful.
But distant.
Like speaking to coworkers.
Bruce noticed first.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“…Sleep well?”
“Mhm.”
No conversation followed.
Dick knocked on Name’s bedroom door.
“Movie night?”
“I’ve got homework.”
“You always make time for movie night.”
“Not tonight.”
The words weren’t cold.
That somehow hurt more.
Jason held out her favorite candy bar.
“Peace offering?”
“You can keep it.”
“…You sure?”
“I’m not really hungry.”
She walked away before he could answer.
Tim discovered she no longer texted him reminders to eat.
Or sleep.
Or drink water.
He hadn’t realized how much she quietly took care of everyone…
Until she stopped.
Damian found Titus curled up outside Name’s room.
Usually Name let him sleep in her bed.
Now the door stayed shut.
Cass hugged Name from behind.
Normally Name melted into every hug.
This time…
She gently pulled away.
“I’m studying.”
Cass watched her leave.
Something inside her cracked.
Eventually Alfred gathered everyone.
The dining room was silent.
Alfred placed something on the table.
Eight play programs.
Every one of them.
Each with reserved names written neatly across the top.
Bruce.
Dick.
Jason.
Tim.
Cass.
Duke.
Steph.
Damian.
Untouched.
Unused.
Then he placed one final item down.
A small stack of father-daughter dance photos.
Every picture showed Name smiling beside teachers…
Friends’ dads…
Or standing alone.
Never Bruce.
Alfred looked around the table.
“I believe Miss Name stopped expecting your attendance long before any of you noticed.”
No one spoke.
Because there wasn’t a single excuse left.
Only regret.
For the first time, they realized Name hadn’t given them the cold shoulder to punish them.
She’d simply stopped expecting the people she loved to show up.
And somehow…
That hurt far more than if she’d screamed at them.
→ not canon-compliant ⋆ no current romantic love-interest ⋆ reader is nonchalant about a lot ⋆ gender-neutral ⋆ reader is around 17 years old ⋆ reader is not a hero ⋆ just a lot of expedition ⋆ not proofread
♫ currently playing: Miracle - Paramore
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D I R E C T O R Y
chapter 5 <- you are here -> chapter 7
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Something felt.. off?
Just earlier that day, you had been talking and reconciling with Cassandra over your lack of a bond and now you were hanging out and watching movies with your friends.
She kept checking over you, making sure you were warm with the balcony door open, and sharing her share of the popcorn if you wanted it.
Your texts with Dick earlier still haunted your mind, it felt like.. maybe you were rushing things, forgiving and forgetting, everyone always says that it what you should do to be the bigger person.
Never had you subscribed to the idea of being that, considering that you never expected to make up with your family. You were happy with Alfred, Isla and Oliver, plus Duke was kind too, it was a plan of yours, move on.
They left you behind, so you wouldn't wait for them, why are you entertaining forgiveness in the first place? Was there anything to forgive? They ignored you, but was that enough to hold a grudge?
Were you being unreasonable after all? Was it such a bad thing for them to worry about you? To care? It wasn't a crime but you're treating them like it was treason..
Your own brain spiraled, the movie became noise and the projection blurred, the scene between the main character and the romantic interest distorted. It took only a couple of seconds for Cass to notice, it only took one more for your friends to as well.
"Hey- what's wrong?" Isla placed down her bowl of popcorn on the side table, walking behind the couch to hug you from behind, arms draped over your shoulders and brushing your collarbone.
Oliver turned on the lights and shut off the movie, not talking, just moving away Cassandra— as she let him— and sitting by your side.
"Was it the movie? I know the couple dancing in the rain was cliche but Jesus.." he joked, voice quivering as his hand hovered over your own before settling over it, the soft pressure of his hand on yours.
Shaking your head you sniffled, "I don't.. I don't know how to say it!" Isla cradled you a little bit closer to her chest while Oliver nodded silently.
"Then don't! It's okay, uh.." he glanced over at Cassandra before leaning into your side, in a hushed tone he said— "do you want her to go?"
You shook your head back and forth carefully, not wanting to hurt Isla who was right behind you by knocking into her. "Don't want her to know me like this.."
Even if you didn't see it, he offered a smile before standing up, hand sliding off of yours and into the air while he walked over to Cass and quietly spoke to her. You don't know what was said but she just walked up to you, hugged you and then left with her phone in hand.
Just before walking out the door, she looked at Oliver, "Please take care of them." She said, then leaving out the door, it clicked shut and you sobbed, soon followed by guilt.
You were plaguing them, Isla and Oliver, they'd been taking care of you for the past week. All you've done is stained their belongings with your tears like you deserved to do so.
"Fuck.. I can't- I'm sorry" you heaved, chest rising as high as your neck before deflating, your hands reached up to hold Isla's forearms, "I think I'm making a mistake-"
"Mistake? What do you mean?" Oliver said, placing a glass of water on the table and sitting beside you.
"I-" you tried to speak, but your throat choked up, whenever you tried to get a word out you wailed, if you took a breath your throat let out gravely rumble. "I don't- know what.. how do I-"
"We don't need answers, it's fine.." he said, hugging into you gently, you let your hands drop from Isla to your legs, nails dug into the flesh of your thighs while sobbing.
That night, neither Isla, nor Oliver got any answers as to why you had cried twice in one day.
Only thing you remember was them clearly looking at each other over your head, only seeing Oliver and curved brows with a pained look in his eyes, while Isla held you a little closer.
─── ´ˎ˗
Cassandra walked into the manor, shrugging off her jacket and handing it to Alfred as he greeted her, "Master Cassandra, the family is already in the dining room, please do head forward."
She nodded, walking over to the dining room with her phone in her pocket, the second the light from the chandelier hit her so did Stephanie as she grabbed her arms.
"Cass! You never answered my text, what happened!?" She shouted, hands gripping her shoulders while Cass smiled.
"Everything's fine." Leaving out the part where you had two breakdowns and choked over your own tears.
Damian frowned from his seat, "Fine? What's fine." He questioned accusingly, fork stabbing into his vegetarian sides, Bruce from the head of the table raised his brow with the same questioning look as usual.
Cassandra lead Steph to her seat before taking her own, and picking up her fork and knife, Tim being the only person who wasn't occupied with what she was taking about, and continued to eat.
She cleared her throat after taking a bite, "I saw them, they're doing well.." she didn't need to say a name, there's only one person she could have been talking about.
Bruce's hand clenched around his drink, and Damian had slammed his fork down, it clattered against his plate. "Cain, I expected this from Thomas, but you're just-"
"Just what Damian? Say it, I dare you!" Steph spoke up, not letting him say anything cruel about Cass that anyone would regret.
"And why am I catching strays??" Duke said, bits of his food stained his sweater as it fell off his spook in his surprise, still levitating close to his mouth.
Damian snarled, "They disregarded everything we have been working for! We are busy, they do nothing all day, and yet they're upset, it's a tantrum and you both are indulging them!"
"You're literally throwing a Tantrum right now!" Steph retorted with her fist raised, shaking it in his direction with her now extended pointer finger.
"It is not a tantrum, it is a reasonable response when you're all making excuses!"
Bruce stood, his chair skidded back against the carpet, his presence accentuated by the shadow castes by his character from the hanging lights. "Everyone, stop shouting."
His voice broiled over the typical tone he used for family disputes, it seemed like there was more emotion behind it than usual.
Tim looked up from his plate, fork prodding at his food, gulping at the heavy atmosphere. Vision blurring with dark spots peppered over his plate, frantically trying to blink them away, Bruce looked over the table all the meanwhile.
"All of you need to stop." He said, the reverb in his voice heavily affecting the atmosphere of the table. Duke leaned in his seat, back pressed tightly against it, sucking in his lips with his eyes narrowed, not used to family fighting time really..
Bruce sighed, raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, "I don't understand what is going on here, but you are all old enough to tell me I stress of arguing with each other."
"I mean, Damian's twelve-"
"Stop speaking Brown!"
"Both of you, stop it!" He shouted, palm slamming against the rim of his chair, "Damian, explain now."
Damian sat straighter in his chair as the attention drew to him, "Father, it's come to my attention that both Cain and Thomas are traitors."
"Traitors is a bit harsh kid-" Duke was cut off with the single steak knife suddenly thrust into the wood of the table. It splintered under the pressure, the stab mark shot outward like it was an explosion, Duke quickly raised his forearms to block an splinters.
"DAMIAN." Bruce shouted, looking at him with a glare filled with disapproval, then to Duke, "Don't interrupt, continue Damian."
Damian glared at Duke before looking at his father, "Like I said, they are traitors. They've been seeing that person-"
Cassandra said something under her breath, quiet but still coherent enough to be heard. It was your name, and it threw Damian way off the edge of whatever cliff of patience was left.
"CAIN." He threw his throwing starts at her, to which she swiftly jumped out of her chair, easily avoiding them, at this point Bruce gave up even trying to diffuse the situation, not carrying how much mahogany was destroyed in the process.
"Stop it Damian!" Steph shouted, running over to take Cassandra's side more metaphorically and literally. "But also, you seriously should explain!" Her voiced whispered over to Cass.
She didn't reply, but did nod as she pushed her chair back up from off the ground. Tucking it into the table with a few stars were caught, she plucked them out and threw them back at Damian.
"I went to see them, to reconcile, Duke has too, that's all." Bruce narrowed his brows and sighed, his head slumped forward as his eyes met the ground and shut tightly.
"Damian.. there is nothing wrong with that."
"But father-!" Bruce's hand raised, palm faced towards Damian that left no room for arguing, even if there was— he wouldn't be there for it, the tight leather of his shoes tapped against the carpet and walked out, Alfred following behind him.
The others stayed silent, Damian was seething. Fist clenched, feet pressed to the ground like they were trying to destroy the earth itself, Cass and Stephanie left quickly, arms intertwined with one another while they escaped to Cassandra's room.
And Duke just picked up his plate and slowly backed away, not wasting any food, just running away to somewhere else in the house before Damian decided to create a tornado and suck him into it as well.
Because of you, his father yelled at him.
Because of you, he was a damn fool in the eyes of his father.
Even if he wasn't, he was.
─── ´ˎ˗
[ME]: cant make it, im sorry
GRAYSON: no worries!!
GRAYSON: just, text me when you can!
GRAYSON: please?
[ME]: okay
You sighed and placed down your phone, curled up on Isla's pull out bed with the blankets wrapped tightly around you.
You've never felt so exhausted, emotionally and physically.
─── ´ˎ˗
He pumped his fist, "yes!" He cheered, it wasn't a no, and you didn't just say 'k' that's gotta mean something right?
Or maybe he was overreacting and being too optimistic, either way it didn't matter, not when in five minutes after putting down his phone, he'd get a rather agitated text from Damian.
All Dick was doing was stretching, planning to patrol as Nightwing that evening before a meeting with the Titans, so when he was doing calve stretches in his doorway, and the incessant ringing of his phone?
It seemed the night wouldn't go so smooth.
He sighed and walked over to where his phone was discarded, picking it up and answering after a single glance at the contact name, "Little D! What's up?"
"What is up? What's up is that-" And Dick sat down on his bed, knowing that tone meant that a rant was incoming, and that he'd be there for a minute. He listened as Damian's voice rattled through the phone, going on a tangent of how the family was traitors or something, and how you were somehow to blame.
"Little D calm down! I'm only getting bits and pieces here, give me a little context!" He said.
"I am giving you context Grayson. Pay attention more." Damian replied, clearly agitated from being interrupted.
Dick cleared his throat, "Alright! I'm sorry, please recap it for me, alright? Swear I'll follow this time."
From across the phone, he heard an exasperated sigh, followed by Damian then continuing his tangent from earlier but just a touch slower, by the end of it, Dick finally had a clear-ish picture.
You made up and Duke and Cass— which he had known, Damian found out and had a quote, 'small dispute' which was likely incorrect and heavily downplayed by the kid.
"Alright.. but Damian is it such a bad thing for them to make up? I mean, family right?" He said, foot tapping against the ground.
"Of course it's bad! Thomas and Cain are conversing with the fool who incited trouble!" Dick winced at the loud noise and sighed into the speaker.
"Okay Little D! Got you, calm down! Look, I'll stop by tomorrow so just relax, we can talk then, I got patrol soon anyways." From his phone the boy grumbled before hanging up with Dick took as agreement, he shrugged back his shoulders and stretched before dressing in his costume.
Setting off in the night.
─── ´ˎ˗
Damian scowled, putting his phone down before headed to the Batcave, readying his sword he bent his legs before shoot off the momentum from them, attacking the target and stabbing it, he was so much more irritable than usual lately.
And it's all your fault, you were the only variable that could have caused such a change, and you need to take responsibility.
You wouldn't understand it, you weren't allowed to upend everyone's lives because of your tantrum! Damian didn't find that fair in the least.
You decided not to pick up the mantle, you chose to stay pathetic, never would you in your life understand what he and the others have been through. Late nights sacrificing your time and energy to help people who would never be able to thank you with your name.
Losing people, losing yourself.
He thought you were selfish.
─── ´ˎ˗
Oliver's eyes kept glancing to the door of Isla's room, shut tightly as her mom cooked nearby in the kitchen. At the table, he and Isla sat face to face, picking at the skin underneath his nails while Isla's beaded bracelets clacked against the surface.
Her mom stirred the pot of curry that she was preparing , the steam creating condensation on the back wall. Isla looked at Oliver, her face was tense, jaw tightened so much that it tugged at her neck, veins briefly showing.
Glancing at her mom, she suddenly stood up and gestured for Oli to followed, walking out onto the balcony, behind her Oliver closed the sliding door and leaned against the railing while Isla sat on the cold garden chair on it.
".. I don't like this Oli—"
"Isla, we shouldn't interfere, this is their life and their family, whatever they want to do they should do."
"Their family hardly pays attention to them! They've had an easier time sneaking us into their damn house than getting their family to come to one parents day! Year of watching them become so used to it they stopped caring!"
"Isla, they aren't you, they don't run off of anger."
"I don't run on anger!" She shouted, hand harshly grabbing at the small outside table with old ash stains from cigarettes. "Even if I did, I always have a good reason!"
Oliver watched the uneven legs wobble with the weight of her hand, sighing with exhaustion. "Isla, we love them— they've call us their family more than once, I know why you're like this way but it's not-" his hand brushed through his hair.
"If they want to fix their relationships with them, we cant stop them and even if we could, I don't think we should!"
Her hand clenched into a fist and banged against the table, "I know! But if- they trust them, and suddenly their family turns their backs on them- they don't deserve that!"
"Isla.. they aren't, I'm sorry okay but they aren't your dad." He said, taking a seat on the floor of the balcony, leaning his back against the door, "Just because you aren't close anymore doesn't mean they have to draw that same boundary."
"Easy for you to say Oli, your dads not a fucking criminal!" She shouted, suddenly punching at the railing as it rattled, "he didn't run off to metropolis and get himself arrested!"
He winced at her shout, it happened years ago, her dad and mom divorced for unknown reasons when you three were around ten, she didn't think much of it. Her parents still loved her and while she cried you two were stuck to her side so she wasn't alone.
She visited him biweekly in metropolis, everything was normal, but even if things were okay for a time, they didn't stay that way.
It was two years after the divorce when she found out he had been arrested on the week when she didn't visit, forced to serve three years in prison for fraud and theft. It shook her world, not because he committed a crime, but because she never thought her dad could be a person who would lie.
Straight to her face when she'd make bracelets for him, rainbow, sunset, she'd present them and he'd accept it like they mattered the most in the world. But then he got arrested, he didn't even have to, he had a stable job, he managed to afford a nice place for him and her, the only motivation— greed.
The things she'd spend nights making for him, that she thought he treasured above all else, turned out to be nothing compared to the value of money.
He got out a year early thanks to good behavior, had parole and chose to live close to the outskirts of metropolis to avoid the looks he'd get from people. His visitation rights were reconstructed after Isla turned fifteen, she'd barely seen him before that, only agreeing to see him besides he was still her dad.
It's only once a month, and she can refuse anytime. What did this have to do with you and Oliver though?
You didn't tell them about your family until they asked, which was only around the time you were all thirteen. About how your family treated you, it didn't help when Damian came later and acted like you were less than him, even going out of his way to insult you constantly.
It was something the more privileged classmates of yours would joke about, until Isla shut them up. Obviously as people grew they began to mind their own business, but after he own betrayal with her family.
And only really having her mom, you and Oli? Her defensiveness went up tenfold, she was friendly with basically everyone, but when it came to your family, she despised them.
One of the reasons she constantly praised Red Hood was because of how he dealt with the people he deemed bad, those corrupt, he didn't hold back using his fists and she didn't either.
Of course, she didn't know the darker details of his work because the media was often covered up, but irregardless. Oliver and you knew all of this, she held it for the past two years to her chest.
Watching you suffer? They didn't just stick by your side because they were good friends, it was because Isla understood it, and Oliver saw it before, neither wanted you to be alone like you've been for a long time.
He stood up, hugging Isla tightly at her side while she still gripped the rail, "I don't want them to forgive people who don't deserve it."
"But Isla, I mean.. you've seen Duke right? You're overprotective, and it's sweet, I'm sure they appreciate it but wouldn't it be easier for both of us to try help them mend the problem?"
She groaned and threw her head back, "I don't want them to get sucked into the problem that's all—" The sliding door swished open.
"Love you too Isla" you said, smiling as you shut the door behind you, walking over to sit on the ground by Isla's leg.
Oliver couldn’t help the muted chortle he hid behind his hand, "How long have you been listening?"
"Not long, just since the overprotective part.." you replied, hugging Isla's leg as her hand let go of the railing to rub you on the head while the other hugged Oliver back.
You kept talking, leaning against the cold leg of her chair.
"Y'know I'm grateful, and I think.." you sighed, "It may or may not make sense but I'm gonna try and explain it."
"Go ahead" Oliver said, smiling down at you two.
Your head nodded forward, "right.. I think, I'm just really stressed out with everyone, part of me thinks I'm overreacting and should get over myself, the other part never wants to forgive them."
Isla wanted to argue, but she didn't.
"Like, it's been less than a week right? But so much has happened, the thing I'm scared of the most is that I fight them so much on this that they give up eventually, I don't want people to give up on me, it's not a nice feeling, ever." You sniffled, the cold air entering your sinuses.
"I don't even think I'd cry if they gave up on me, I'd expect it to be honest, think I'm just scared. Like how you're scared of the dark or something even if you know nothing's there, I'm not equipped for all this.." your words ended with a long exhale.
Suddenly you felt weight beside you on the ground, looking to your side you see Oliver and Isla sitting down, Isla grabbed your hand and held it, "y'know… I hate your family, but I love you more so, if you ever wanted to.." she glanced at Oli, "we'd help you if you wanted it fix things, like he said."
You looked up at her and smirked softly, "Says the person who threatened Duke ten times last time we hung out!"
"Oh please!"
"They aren't wrong Isla-"
"Oli' you're supposed to be on my side!"
The three of you laughed together, sitting outside and sticking to each others warmth until Isla's mom came out to get you three for dinner, she was nice enough to let Oli stay until tomorrow.
You three clambered inside, the four bowls filled with the piping hot curry placed nicely on the table with fragrant basmati and chutney to share. You've eaten over so much that her mom knew just how you three liked your meals, you sat down, using an old stool as the fourth chair because there were only three for the set, and enjoyed the dinner together.
The warmth of the food trailed down your throat and into your stomach, your chest warmed with the steam as Isla laughed at Oliver who just told a joke, her mom chatting with you three about things like school.
As the moon reached higher in the sky, you ignored how it rose with time, and paid attention to the moment. You had time to make a choice, and it wouldn't be alone, you smiled and looked around the members of the table, the tepidity of the bowl in your hand made your palm red.
It was warm, comforting, and it was all you currently wanted.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
wrote this chapter quicker than I thought I’d have, it’s a lot of other characters rather than reader since I feel like they need a break until I think about how I write their character thanks to some input I’ve gotten.
giving Isla a little bit of backstory since I’ve already mentioned a little about her, it’s really just to give a little insight into why she is protective, next chapter with have reader back.
I don’t like this that much, it was written rather quickly but, I just want to say I’m very sorry for it.
→ ongoing ⋆ no current romantic love-interest ⋆ non-story compliant storyline ⋆ reader is nonchalant about a lot ⋆ gender-neutral ⋆ reader is around 17 years old ⋆ reader is not a hero ⋆ relatively boring ⋆ not proofread which means it’s not very good
♫ currently playing: Body and Mind - Girl In Red
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D I R E C T O R Y
chapter 4 <- you are here -> chapter 6
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Cold hands pressed into your arm, shaking you awake, fingers sinking into your skin. A recognizable voice rung in your tired ears, only just now becoming aware to the world.
Your eyes wrinkled, shut tightly from how bright everything suddenly was, trying to peer open. Suddenly the light disappeared, replaced by Oliver's frantic silhouette, "Wake up!"
"Oli..?" Your voice scratched out, groggy from sleep, "The hell is going on, something tells me it's too early for this..” but your words seemingly went unnoticed.
"Okay, don't panic!" He said, clearly in a state of panic, his silhouette dancing across the room with his hands shaking, stuck in a position where they looked like they were supposed to hold something but ended up cramping.
Clearing your throat quickly, you coughed out the next few words in an attempt to calm him down or at least get answers, "Oli, you're panicking."
His hands gripped your shoulders gently, still trembling. "Cassandra is outside right now! " he chuckled nervously as he glanced out the crack in the doorway.
It was inevitable for you to wake up instantly, you rapidly sat up, forcing your senses to arise to attention, eyes wincing at the bright light with specks of dust flying through it. The blanket which fell heavy on your lap, and the sounds of voices in the kitchen area.
You stood up without wasting a second, holding onto Oliver while standing on your wobbly legs until they became stable seconds later. Ignoring whatever nervous mumbles he had, you quickly rushed out the door and winced at the even brighter light from the sun.
Burning, the way it hit the countertop and semi-blinded you, "Shit-" you stumbled forward, catching yourself on the edge of it. Off to the side by the balcony door, Cassandra gave Isla a certain look, the kind that says ‘really?’ without any words.
Isla glanced from you, to Cassandra, back and forth, sucking in her cheeks and biting them with her lips puckered as if she had sour candy on her tongue. "So that.. is actually a clone I created of them, and I stand by my word that they aren't here!"
You looked over at them, particularly at Cassandra who analyzed everything as usual, her voice was calm, or rather monotone really as she greeted you. "Hello, clone?" Her chest huffed out a little bit of laughter, the soft fabric of her shirt flowing as she moved.
"You can laugh-? Stupid question, of course you can, sorry; but what are you doing here?" You asked, brows furrowed heavily with the corners of your mouth dragged down, she adjusted her posture, as collected as ever.
"You never replied to my text last night, so I came to see you." She said, pointing at her phone which stuck out from under a magazine on the table. It was ridiculous to you.
"Now you see, usually people would kind of, just wait? But I see your point." No actually, you didn't. God forbid you needed a day or two, this family is exhausting for people who hardly acknowledged you.
She soughed, "can we speak alone?" her eyes sharply looked at Isla, then to Oliver who stood behind you in the doorway of your mutual friends room, the soft light of her curtains swayed behind him.
Isla shook her head at you, grimace serpentined with frustration and worry; not wanting you to handle this alone, but you shrugged back your arms, the feeling of your clothes pressed against your skin, "Yeah, sure, Isla, mind waiting with Oli?"
“Ughh.. fine!”, standing up with loose limbs, she sauntered over to Oliver, pushing him frailly into her room before tilting back her head to toss you another concerned look.
Her brow raised, questioning you once more wordlessly, 'are you sure?' was the message it conveyed, and you, in response, bobbed your head assuredly, at the confirmation, she walked in and shut her door.
You walked towards Cassandra, taking the place where Isla previously sat, her warmth still radiating off the wooden rim where she held it with one hand. Taking the chance to brush your hand against the miscellaneous sugar and salt packets on the surface of the table.
"So, what is it? No offense Cain but I don't see why we need to talk, I don't owe you anything, and you don't owe me anything." Words hit her like douse of cold water, but no tell showed itself on her face.
Her nails curled into the back of her hand on her lap beneath the table, "Stephanie, she feels.." she wasn't good with feelings, you saw it, it's why you never pushed her when you first met.
"I know, Stephanie feels bad— guilty maybe, but unless she talks to me herself that's not your message to deliver." You weren't mad, there wasn't enough expectations in the first place to be upset about, honestly?
Cassandra frowned, "She wants to, but she hesitates."
"So?" Her eyes shot to you, a bit surprised by your words, quickly you backtracked. "I mean, I'm sorry, didn't mean that in a bad way, but I don't know what to do about that?"
Truthfully, Cassandra knew what she wanted to ask of you wouldn't work, that you wouldn't just forgive Stephanie because she asked, it didn't work like that. It was something she learned after being around others more and more, they aren't people in a fight, actions are predictable, someone's feelings aren't.
You watched as she internally pondered what to do, partially feeling bad, and another part of you couldn't give a care in the world. Your hand tapped idly against the edge of the table while you waited for her to talk.
But after minutes of absolutely excruciating minutes of silence, watching her shift in her seat which was so foreign to you since she never fidgeted, maybe you needed to speak for this to be over quicker. It felt like those times you're meeting with someone one on one when you're twelve, and they wait for you to talk but you just don't know what to say.
Clearing your throat you leaned back against the chair, "Cassandra, I'm not mad y'know, just want everyone to leave me alone, it wasn't a problem until everyone decided it was and even then that wasn't my fault." You straighten up to match her posture, "I've seen a lot in that manor, and I've seen a lot of people come but the only person to go besides Jason which he really had no control over was myself. Difference being not a single person cared, and I'll let you in on a secret, after years I didn't either, not to sound dramatic." Though you knew you did.
Your body was tense, waiting for a reply that didn't come, you decided to just keep talking until something you said spurred her next words.
"I 'disappeared' for a day, not even that, and everyone blamed me the second I got back. I stood in that cave because for some reason Bruce can't bother to have a regular conversation outside of it, everything needs to be tied back to vigilantism. Normal families just talk in the living room, or the dining room if things are really serious, trust me I know."
You took breath, "Oliver has had plenty of family talks and I've just been there sitting awkwardly.. if this happened earlier, like when I was younger I definitely would've agreed to making up instantly because I'd be so desperate for family" you began to ramble a bit, it was stupid but she didn’t interrupt.
"But we aren't family, I accepted that a while ago. Tim even said it himself, which was insane because he is arguably one of the most stable out of all of you! No offense-"
"None taken.." she said, your eyes enlarged just about before grinning, you angled your body to hers, moving closer making chest touching your wrist which still held the table.
Cassandra noted as the small grin across your lips formed, "Finally, you said something! Look, I'm willing to compromise here regarding this entire situation.”
"Compromise? You're strange, and sound a lot like Tim sometimes." She observed how your eyes widened, brows sprung up with disbelief. You coughed, trying to hide your laughter which was an amusing sight to Cassandra as she waited.
“Me and Tim alike, hm?? Don't know what to make of that but thanks, anyways back to compromise." The sureness of it all and the way the conversation kept moving like a tipsy ride made the tenseness in the air loosen.
"What do you want?" You charitably, perhaps pulling out the therapist card was a little bit of a low blow but there was one thing you should've clarified that night.
Bruce wasn't the only one who needed therapy.
Cassandra spoke warily, every word felt like it had a million more behind it. "I'm.. unsure, is that a bad thing?"
You leaned towards her side of the table, not intrusive but just sharing, "No, I'm unsure too, I don't know whether to forgive you guys or not, I want to, but I don't think I should yet, and it's fine, yeah?"
Slowly, she shook her head forward, hand resting on the table, the faint dig of her nails visible on the back of it. "For what it's worth, I think you're apart of the family, you always have been." She added, gently, testing if that was the correct thing to say.
You chuckled and leaned back in the chair, shaking your head softly then looking to the right, focusing on the outside of Isla's balcony. "You don't have to lie Cain.”
"I'm not." She said with the same tone she used during missions, one that means no questions asked, "If.. we were ever to lose all of our memories, and everyone reunited without you, I'd feel like someone's missing, I'd know it."
Her head looked downward to her thighs as she continued, "It sounds like excuses, even if it is I mean it.. when we met, you were nice, I needed that."
"…" you stayed quiet, processing her words, quite metaphorical for her. After long moments of silent, Cassandra slowly looked back up, suddenly flinching at the sight.
Your face vacant with muscles relaxed, only to be ruined by tears following down the slope of your cheeks and onto the table.
Cassandra stood up, her chair clattering behind her as it screeched across the floor. Swiftly joining your side with a tight feeling of guilt in her chest close to where her heart was located, "I'm sorry- I didn't mean to.."
"No, you're all good- I'm just, hearing that from someone who's.." you sniffled and inclined, trailing your hands over your face, picking up your tears at the same time. "Duke is great, but he's new, it's easier for him to accept me but- from someone whose been around for years, that's.. I don't know, I'm not in the right headspace right now!" Your attempt at a chuckle coming out tearfully as a wail, hands grabbing at your shirt while you grounded yourself with deep breaths.
She scanned over you, seeing you talk like this was normal, something everyday. Clutching at your chest while hardly even sobbing, as if your feelings were stuck in your chest and you couldn't get them out. Her hand reached down to yours, and held it, her thumb rubbing over the padding of your palm.
You set your teary eyes on her hovering figure and instinctively held back, your fingers curling around her hand, cautiously as to not hold her too hardly, and without wasting time she hugged you to her chest. "I'm sorry, I'm your older sister.. have been, and will be always."
'Dammit..' this was too much for whatever time it was, 'stupid, sister, whatever..' you thought, somewhat in denial for how much had happened in less than an hour.
You chortled, "Sister hm..? Sounds weird to say, but thanks Cain.." nuzzling your head into her shirt, whatever leftovers of your tears being absorbed by it.
"Cass." She corrected feebly, scared to ask that of you.
But the familiarity didn’t scare you, "… Cass, thanks.. uh, hey you do know this doesn’t mean we’re entirely alright, to be clear?” You said, she looked down at you with a soft look in her eyes.
The soft yet playful curl of her lips with the laugh that slipped through the slip between them lightened the air, “I know, but thank you for the chance.”
Right, the chance. It was so easy to somewhat mend things with Cassandra, but that’s only since she never really did you wrong, not the way the others did.
Will it be harder to accept the others? Are you capable of doing so?
─── ´ˎ˗
From her room, Isla watched with soft eyes through the crack in her doorway, beside her was Oliver watching the scene with you two.
Isla smiled lovingly at the sight, "I'm happy for them.." she said to Oli while nudging him with her elbow.
Oliver needed to bury his head in a pillow to hide his tears of happiness since he had a tendency to cry loudly.
And yet from across the city, in a whole other area, someone did not share this sentiment.
─── ´ˎ˗
Stephanie waited by her phone for an update from Cass, trilling through her lips whilst her arm aimlessly dangled off the side of her bed. By the morning, the first thing that happened when she woke up was seeing a message from Cass about how she was going to talk to you.
No clue how she even had your address, and now all she could do was wait for her to reply. Uncertainty stirred in her chest as she waited, the sound of a grandfather clock in the hallway ticked slowly.
Then of course, someone had to interrupt.
"The heck—??" She said, sitting up quickly and looking towards the very loud noise, only to see Damian standing there, looking even more agitated than usual. Stephanie reeled back quickly.
".. so, how are you doing? Wanna tell me why you’re in my room-" evidently not as he interrupted.
"Where is Cain." The end of his words growling with a snarl as he expected an answer. How did this kid know Cassandra went off to see you? Probably Tim, or maybe he just has a sixth sense like Bruce does for these things.
She smiled, eyes squinting at the little kid in front of her, "No clue! Y'know who knows though? Tim, probably, you should ask him! Actually wait, no, BARBARA, she definitely knows!"
"And why would Gordon definitely know." His eyes narrowed, why was this kid so suspicious of everyone today?
Stephanie huffed, "Because us girls stick together? Duh?" Damian grumbled under his breath, repeating it quietly in a mocking tone of voice before walking over to sit down beside her.
His foot tapped impatiently, but Steph really had no idea what she was supposed to say. She hardly even knew how to answer Cass’s text, let alone the little demon of the manor.
She prayed to no one in particular for a sign, for someone to just come in and intervene, it'd had been how long since she last texted Cass again? Her mind filled the silence, zoning out with only Damian to bring her back into awareness with his classic 'tt's.
'Cass… I swear you better not take too long!!'
─── ´ˎ˗
Away from Gotham, in Bludhaven, Dick sat with his phone in his hand, thankful that he had gotten your number from Barbara. Though it's worth noting that she did say 'don't mess this up' so that was most definitely, totally reassuring.
He never knew you two were close, he didn't know a lot about you other than the little things. Like how when you were younger he'd notice when you got a little trim on your hair, or wearing something new he didn't recognize.
He thought that was enough, that it was a sign that he cared because he noticed, yet to you that wasn't good enough. He wasn't annoyed, or angry at you, no matter what anyone would have believed.
More like he was disappointed he wasn't who you needed him to be, he knew how standoffish Bruce could be, it was one of his many flaws. So he tried to step up in some aspects, but even then, after he ran off to Bludhaven and after some certain events he wasn't there for Bruce, Tim was.
Tim was that stability that he never was, part of him was too envious of his younger brother for being what he wasn't. Dick wasn't a perfect man, but he tried being a good brother, seems he failed at more than that.
The way you looked that night, you reminded him so much of himself when his parents had died. He was depressed, but thanks to his surroundings he managed to get past it, yet what about you?
Your mom was gone, and no one was there for you.
And to think he lost your number on top of everything, the one thing you ever gave him because that's the only thing he had accepted from you. Not the hangout sessions, not the questions you had for him, but your number because he thought it was substantial, your needs above your wants despite knowing how important both are.
His thumbs hesitated, flared beside the outline of his phone with your contact on his screen, your name wasn't even changed because he preferred to use nicknames that you didn’t have, he didn't even have a picture of you to change the plain, empty icon. Eventually he pressed onward, the sound of the keys popping into words from the speakers, ‘just keep it simple’ he thought, but what would be enough?
[ME]: wanna go out for lunch? I wanna talk, think that's okay?
He didn't expect such a quick response.
[NEW NUMBER]: k, where and when? My friends r coming too btw, idc if you say no to that, its my condition
[ME]: no trouble!! they can obviously come! I was thinking maybe a trip to the park, ?? Whenever is fine!
He hissed as his canine tooth pierced into the bottom of his lip, was that too enthusiastic? Did he sound too fake? Why did you want your friends around, did you not trust him?
[NEW NUMBER]: k, weekend works, Saturday or Sunday just txt me which park,
[NEW NUMBER]: oh btw Cass and duke might come
Dick blinked at the screen a couple of times, you made up with Duke and Cass already? And when did you start calling her by her nickname and not Cain, he didn't think much of it until now because he believed it was one of your quirks like how Damian calls people by their last names.
Did you call them by their first names because you didn't think of them closely enough to call them otherwise?
[ME]: awesome!! Sunday it is! Got some work on Saturday !
[NEW NUMBER:] okay, anyways, ttyl? Bye
[ME]: sure! bye!!
'That was so dry..' he winced at his own thoughts, perhaps you usually just talked like that? But your words from that night echoed in his head, proving him wrong.
"I’m not mad, just sick of your shit" you had said with such hatred in your voice. "I was here with you from the start, but it didn’t mean anything" but it did matter. He mourned Jason with you didn't he? There was a time when he couldn't face anyone yes, but that- there's no way you meant it.
Before he knew it, there were tears he couldn't stop, ripping down the skin of his face and staining it wetly. He's such a fuck up, too much so, he'll make it up to you, promise, and if he doesn’t?
He just hopes he can.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
A/N: That’s chapter five. I do have an order of characters I want to fix their relationship with reader, the current being Duke then Cassandra, but can you guess who’s next?
This is really repetitive, and badly written, so I’m sorry for that. I think Cass and Duke were the easiest to fix things with because of how little of a part they played, they definitely played a part but it wasn’t as big as the rest.
Reader is a self-aware to a degree, that might not sit with some people and it’s okay, I apologise. Them calling Cass sister is going to be a plot point later, that’s why it was mentioned, usually it wouldn’t have been otherwise.. as for why I made Dick a bit self-deprecating, it’s mainly because he genuinely believed he was a good brother, so unlike the others who were aware of their mistakes, he wasn’t.
There’s a part of me that wants to make reader more immature, since they’re only 17 but what does everyone else think?
I want to once again say thank you to everyone who’s following this series and supporting it, also to announce for those who missed it, we now have as series masterlist so if you’d like then take a look.
→ trying my best ⋆ no current romantic love-interest ⋆ non-story compliant storyline ⋆ reader is nonchalant about a lot ⋆ gender-neutral ⋆ reader is around 17 years old ⋆ reader is not a hero ⋆ this'll probably be very boring ⋆ not proofread
♫ currently playing: To Regret - Mother Mother
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
D I R E C T O R Y
chapter 3 <- you are here -> chapter 5
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Was it his best idea to stalk around outside your school the next day, waiting for the opportunity to catch you doing whatever and confront you? Well if you asked Damian he’d say yes, of course!
On the other hand, if you were a normal person you’d say no, what the hell compelled someone to do such a thing.
It’s pretty obvious who.
─── ´ˎ˗
“Remember, if Isla clenches her fist it means she is probably about to hit you, and just be nice and polite and I’m sure Oli will like you too, okay?” You said, coaching Duke after school before your friends came out, making sure it didn’t do anything to warrant a punch to the nose.
This did not encourage him anymore, Duke even just breathing around Isla made him a target, you told him that Oliver and you would make sure she didn’t hit him, so that was.. vaguely reassuring.
Neither of you noticed the figure perched up on the nearby ledge of the entrance, listening to your every word with a worsening glare aimed at you both. ‘Thomas, that traitor..’ he thought to himself, hand clenched on the edge to prevent a fall.
Soon your two friends joined you and Duke, ‘one glaring at Duke like he owed them some kind of favor, and the other shaking in his boots like a coward’ is how Damian’s thought train basically went.
“Hey, I’m Duke” he greeted with a hand out, the shyer one of the two shook his hand, responding in kind.
“I’m Oliver, it's nice to meet you properly- Isla, no!” He said, grabbing her clenched fist while looking at Duke with an apologetic smile, not missing the nervousness in his eyes.
Isla shook him off, glaring at Duke through the narrow slits of her eyes, “I want it to be known-” she began, “- that I don’t like you, and I probably never will, just get that straight."
Duke gulped at the threat, which was funny because Isla chose to fully deck herself out in rainbow beaded bracelets and charm necklaces. Rattling around like an instrument, surely if she shook her fist you'd hear the little jingles from her handmade jewelry.
"Noted.." he said, voice tinged with uncertainty as he took a step back from the duo, closer to you, "Am I safe yet?"
Your face tensed as you considered it, "Uh, if we go out for food and you pay I think we'll be good."
'Ah, a bribery I see..' Duke thought, nodding as he touched his wallet through his right pocket, "I can do that!"
From above them Damian scrunched up his face, "tt.. coward" he whisper under his breath, watching your little group walk towards the bus stop— the bus of all methods of transportation, are you serious?
You four pushed your way onto the bus, squishing through the crowd to whatever free seats were available, to your dismay there was only two with an empty status, so Isla and Duke bit the bullet and sat on the ground.
She didn't mind, neither did he, what he did mind was the elbow being jabbed in his side. You and Oliver laughed as they pushed one each other back and forth, slowly Duke became more comfortable with pushing back after you and Oli encouraged them.
You cackled behind your hand, entire body shaking with laughter, it was after that single moment when your body angled itself against the window to keep still when you took view of a very, very familiar vehicle.
One of the many vehicles that came courtesy of Wayne Manor, you flipped back around to the others eyes wide with suspicion, hastily you whispered to them.
"Guys, don't panic but I think someone from the manor is following us.." Duke's brows raised immediately, perching on his knee to glance out of the window.
"That.. definitely looks like something a Wayne would drive" he said, observing the car that drove closely by the bus, "a certain one at that."
"You know who it is?" You questioned, leaning over his shoulder while simultaneously using his back as a shield, out of fear Oli had entirely hunched over in his seat clutching his head.
Duke hummed in thought before nodding, "Yesterday, Damian saw me when I got back to the manor, maybe he got suspicious?"
"Dammit, I always hated that one.." you snared, it was a lie actually, found him annoying— most definitely, but you never hated him. Yet.
Isla clambered over you three, looking out of the window, her earlier playfulness evaporating instantly. "If that's someone from your family I'm gonna burn down the manor, Damian you said?"
"Isla, I love you and what you're willingly to do for us, but tone it down, I like you outside of prison bars." You said, still watching out the side of the bus at the sleek car which likely cost more than your tuition.
Part of you already somewhat knew that if someone was in the car, then they probably spotted you and the others watching them. But that didn't mean you couldn't act oblivious.
You grabbed Duke and Oliver's shoulders, pulling them back with Isla slumping into the ground off their backs. "Okay, here's the plan—" everyone began to listen intently, "—we do nothing." Isla's protest began very quickly, you shushed her, pointed finger shushed against her lips, "LISTEN, I mean we act entirely normal, like annoyingly so, he's obviously spying for something to let's make it so he doesn't find it."
"You really just prefer to be petty, don't you?" Oliver said, giving you a not-so-disapproving look, small tilt of his lips meaning he was definitely going on with your little scheme.
"Is this normal?" Duke asked, looking at the evil grins you three gave each other, Isla turned to him with her finger pointed at his face, "If you go along with this, we'll be alright, and I will stop trying to hit you."
"Done." He said, no hesitation, you giggled to yourself, the thought of a hero— the signal— being wary of Isla, was hysterical.
Soon after the bus came to a stop, you four waited for the crowd to start moving before heading out with them. No, you weren't provoking Damian, he was the one choosing to subject himself to your antics without thinking clearly.
"Where's he?" Isla whispered as you four walked down the street, your steps out of sync, Oliver the slowest with hesitation.
Duke clicked his tongue, the best at seeming natural apart from yourself. "Knowing Damian, he's pretty good at being sneaky—" leaving out the part where it's because he was born and raised an assassin "—we just have to stick to the plan."
"The plan being hardly a plan at all" you corrected, "all we do is act all cool, like we usually are!" Isla chuckled under her breath, hand grabbing onto the side of your bag.
"Like we usually are?" Her tone was amused and partly sarcastic, playful as her steps fell into sync with your own.
"I'd say we're pretty cool, right Oli?" you turned part way to him, he nodded, still a bit tense but there's no reality where he'd back out.
"Hey, what about me?" Duke asked, walking up to you and Isla with his mouth down turned at the corners in a frown, borderline pouting.
You couldn't help but laughing, surprised you still had any laughter left after how much you'd been giggling that afternoon. "Yes yes, you're obviously included too now Duke, welcome to the group."
Isla pinched the skin of your arm with a frown, head faced away from Duke, frowning very clearly to you, you patted her shoulder and kept walking, Oliver catching up to you three as you started talking.
Your words were easing into the air, not forced, even Duke mixed in perfectly well with your banter despite this being the first time he was apart of your group.
─── ´ˎ˗
Meanwhile, Damian was feeling his patience ticking down like a bomb as he watched you four walk down into a greasy Batburger, taking up one of the booths beside the window and picking up the germy menus.
He winced at the look, watching you and your friends so happily peruse through the diseased filled pages, scowling as he continued to observe.
"What are they doing.." he snarled, soon you left the table after a short game of rock-paper-scissors, you being the one who loss.
From where he peered around into the window, Damian observed a few things, one of your friends looked like a scared wet-cat half the time, and the other— a random girl he'd seen around school, was much more bright and lively, reminding him of Stephanie. Duke seemed to banter with her despite acting like he was scared of her earlier, and it made him even more confused.
You came back to the table quickly, holding a long receipt that he couldn't read from the distance. "Spending fathers money on such.." he was unable to even think of a word for the gross food you were going to consume.
Sliding next to the girl, you started talking with the group, and it annoyed him— how much you were having fun. Laughing so hard your fist had to hit the table repeatedly, legs kicking into each other from below as you four bantered. Damian zeroed in on you specifically, he watched everyone the same, you weren't special.
But when he saw you well, you were always so.. 'chill' as Dick would've said, back when he first arrived at the manor and he threatened you, you quite literally just said "welcome" with a sword to your throat.
That's when Bruce stepped in and scolded him for doing so while you walked away to some part of the house, later he found out that you weren't that much more than but a footnote in the family tree. So he didn't bother with you.
Until you decided to lash out at everyone that night. It was the most emotion he'd seen out of you in all the time he'd known you, which was only a year or so, give or take.
Watching you laughing with your friends and Duke like a bunch of children— it was too foreign. That's when his pocket buzzed, quickly taking out his phone from it he looked at the alert from Tim, a simple 'ready for patrol tonight?'
He scoffed, it was insulting, he was always ready. And that's exactly what he sent before going back to his stalking, or rather recon of you and Duke with these strangers.
After ten minutes your group had gotten up and came back to the table with two trays full of food, a couple of bat burgers, some jokerized fries, all the things Damian sworn against since the day he was born. The way your face crinkled as you took a bite, you… irked him for a reason he couldn't place.
Thirty minutes later he watched you and the rest walk out to the bus stop and decide that he wasn't going to get you doing anything today, whatever that anything was.
So he got back into the sleek black car which was definitely garnering a few looks because who drives this kind of car near Batburger of all places. Tapping the back of the drivers seat, he said "manor" before brooding out the window.
─── ´ˎ˗
Duke glanced around the parking lot, not a single sign of Damian present, "Think he's gone yet?" He asked, looking at you three, Isla looked around, not seeing any sign of him.
"Maybe?" She turned to you, "Did we succeed or what?" Isla joked, tugging at your ear playfully while Oli sipped on his drink.
You smiled, "I think we won for today?"
They cheered, Isla squealed and hugged you tightly, Oliver whooped and jumped into the air with a hand in the air before stomping back down onto the gravel, Duke chuckling at the enthusiasm. He looked up at the sky, clouds slowly disappearing against the soft blue, a sign that it was going to get dark. Nudging your arm he tilted his head, pointing at the bus.
"We should get going?" You questioned, in response he nodded. Isla frowned, bottom lip pushing out the front of her lip in a pout.
"It's only four though?"
"Four thirty" Oliver corrected.
"Right, four thirty, why are we leaving?" You took a look at Duke and sighed, you had to come up with an excuse quickly because you were not explaining that your friends favorite heroes were the family they hated. Also it wasn't your secret to spill.
You cleared your throat, "Well you see, unlike my dinners, the rest of the family usually eats together. And sometimes Alfred serves it early so, Duke's gotta go otherwise someone will ask questions."
"Oh…" Isla replied, fists clenching as Duke began to back away, her anger broiling up again. "I see, you better be going then… Duke." The way she said his name sent a shiver down his spine, he looked at you quickly.
"Are you-" he was cut off.
"I'm staying with Isla." You said, no hesitation with your arm looping around her own, stepping back a little to stand beside Oli.
"Gotcha, I'll see you uh.." he was going to say tomorrow but; well it was Friday. He fumbled over his thoughts, "next week?" His words filled with uncertainty.
Part of you felt bad, so you pitied him. "Yeah, probably, I'll text you if we have plans to hangout though." As awkward as he was, you all actually had fun from what you saw, Isla pulled at your arm, shaking her head like Duke couldn't see her. Mouthing an over exaggerated 'no' to you.
But Duke smiled, brightly so. "For real? I'm holding you to that!" He said before running off while waving with his hand behind his back, "see you guys later!"
Your mouth curved up, 'I knew he was cool' you thought, before turning to Isla and Oliver. "Hope you don't mind, but he seems cool right? Better than stalker Damian."
Isla still frowned but Oli smiled, "True, Isla don't act like you having fun" he said, messing up her hair as she flung her arm around to get him to stop.
"I guess! I still don't like him a hundred percent alright? But if you invite him, I will try my best to be fine with it!" She declared, hand raised high into the air, the blue sky gradient with the colorful beads of her bracelets. "Anyways, let's go to my place!"
Her hands grabbed your and Oli's hand, pulling you both along, running across the streets of Gotham and down to a different bus route that headed to her place.
And you chuckled a little with every step, Oliver smiling shyly at the passersby who watched with amusement at the three teens running freely around the city.
─── ´ˎ˗
"Damian? Why're you sulking more than usual?" Steph asked, poking fun at him and his solemn while her legs laid off the side of the couch.
He grimaced, "what are you doing here. You don't even reside here." Steph chuckled, sitting up, using her legs to pull herself forward to sit of the arm rest of the sofa.
"I live here half the time Damian, I live here." She deadpanned.
"You can't live somewhere half the time.. you either do or don't!" He refuted, clearly irritated, any other day he'd just walk away while grumbling. But something made him much more irritable, and Steph immediately tied it to you.
"This wouldn't be about that night right?" Steph asked, hesitant because she did not feel like fighting Damian today, it was too early, and she was not in the mood.
Safe to say she didn't get an answer, he just growled at her— mentally she giggled, thinking he was acting like Titus— then headed to his room, bag heavy on his back. She watched him disappear, nail tracing against the stitching of the leather sofa.
Huffing out a breath, she flopped back down onto the cushions, groaning. Her phone buzzed against the table, she turned her head lazily to it, hand reaching up and slapping the screen to turn it on. Picking it up, she unlocked it and raised her brows. Just a single message from Cass, about you.
CASSANDRA: I texted them.
She shot up, eyes shot out of her sockets with absolute disbelief.
[ME]: WGAT. WHAT
[ME]: SAY YOUR KIDDING
CASSANDRA: I'm not?
[ME]: WHY DID U DO THAT, Cass, I love u, but WHY
CASSANDRA: Last night, you texted me that you felt bad.
CASSANDRA: So I reached out, they haven't replied yet [STICKER]
[ME]: U can't brush this off with a cute sticker Cass
CASSANDRA: Dick does it whenever Bruce texts??
[ME]: I CANT RIGHT NOW, BYE
CASSANDRA: OK, coming over tonight anyways
[ME]: SHUSHHHH
Yeah, sure. She was venting to Cass about feeling bad for how she ignored you, and she may have brought up wanting to fix things but that didn't mean she wanted it to happen!
It was just one of those things that you say you'd do but never actually follow through, Stephanie did not realize how bad that sounded at the time.
Cassandra did, and she acted, no time to backtrack because that’s neither how she was raised nor trained.
─── ´ˎ˗
"Oh shit..?" You said, hand clutched in your phone as you sat by Isla on her bed while Oliver sat nearby on her beanbag. She looked at you with worry.
"What? Did something happen?" Her words caught Oli's attention, both now turned entirely to you, waiting for an answer.
You grimaced at your phone before turning the screen to them, "Cain texted me-" "CASSANDRA?? THAT CAIN?" Isla screamed, grabbing your phone to read the message.
CAIN: I took your number from Steph's phone.
CAIN: I'd appreciate it if we could talk, me, you and Steph, reply when you see this please.
"How formal.." Oliver whispered, hand raised to his chin, bottom lip resting on his pointer finger. "I mean.. are you going to..?" He asked carefully, looking at you while you looked like you just ate the sourest lemon.
"Ugh.. I probably should, but I don't feel like it." You wallowed in the avoidance of it all, so badly you wanted to just step away from everything.
Part of you was convinced you had that right, the right to walk away from the people who didn't care. To Damian whose first words to you were threats and degrading comments about your self worth. To Dick who acted around you more than he did with the press, or how he would ask you three questions like clockwork before ditching. To Stephanie, who gave up trying to connect with you, and Cassandra who didn't try in the first place.
To Tim, who never even considered you someone to listen to despite being the one who’s always supposed to hear everything, the informant second to Barbara who couldn’t hear you. To Jason, who wasn't the same person he was before, who you tried to understand but purposely kept confusing you. And to Bruce, the man who took you in because he had to, who never wanted to be anything more than the man who provided yet never cared.
But then, there was the part of you that resented that logic. To be like them, and walk away without even trying to fix it, you hated it, you thought you deserved better— and you did. Not to apologize to keep the peace after breaking it, but the idea of even being remotely similar was grimacing.
You were always one who could compartmentalize what other people couldn't, to put the pieces together that the other threw away, and kept them safe for the day they might ask for them back.
When you were a kid, before Isla and Oliver. That loneliness, watching things that you hoped the others would be interested in even if you hated watching, from horror to romances, documentaries to sitcoms. Hoping they'd walk by and at least take two seconds to pay attention, not even to you, just to see if they would.
When you spoke about your day, when you kept quiet, no matter what you did, no one questioned, no one asked, no one cared. It was so embarrassing how hard you used to try, thinking about it made you tear up.
And before you realized, your sides were squished by two bodies, Oliver on your right, Isla on your left, hugging you tightly while your salty tears dripped down the curves of your cheeks, some leading to your lips, making you taste it, and the rest staining Isla's freshly cleaned blanket. "Fuck" your voice croaked.
Your friends knew not to ask, or pressure, because this has happened before. Times when your emotions came back to you, not because you lost them, never. You felt happy, angry, everything but never could you burst out into tears by choice, that mental reset of crying until you suffocated.
When your cries tightened your throat, and your face turned red, those times became rare, and when they hit? Fingers twitched and tensed, shoulders stretching forward and backward, ear ringing.
You wailed loudly, leaning into Isla, sobbing into her shoulder. Senses picking up what was happening around you— Isla's room door opening, Oliver trying to explaining you were not hurt, leaving and shutting the door behind himself while Isla rubbed your back gently, her bracelets rolling over your skin satisfyingly.
Time wasn't a concern, at some point he came back with a cold glass of water, just waiting patiently by your side, hand on yours to comfort you silently. After you managed to calm down, breaths still shaky, you sat up.
Back aching from having been hunched over, you looked at Oliver who pressed the glass against your cheek. The coldness was refreshing from how warm your skin was, you took it from him, relishing in the condensation around the surface. You drunk it slowly, still hiccuping over your breaths, Isla left the room and later came back with a brand new fluffy blanket, from the laundry room, warm still from being dried. She draped it over you, rubbing your shoulder and hugging you, Oliver quickly scrolled through his laptop and put on your favorite movie.
If asked, you couldn't answer whether or not anyone even spoke after that or if you three just relaxed into the quiet. Nothing but the sound of your favorite script, the rattling of Isla's window and the faint buzzing of her space heater in the living room.
That night, you stopped thinking, and simply rested in the presence of people who cared. You'd decide what to do when you were in the right space to do so.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Another chapter finished, released this a bit earlier than intended so I apologise for any mistakes. I had a bit more I wanted to write, but I figured if I did then it’d be put out much later which I wouldn’t want after how much I made you all wait before.
→ badly written ⋆ no current romantic love-interest ⋆ non-story compliant storyline ⋆ reader is nonchalant about a lot ⋆ gender-neutral ⋆ reader is around 17 years old ⋆ reader is not a hero ⋆ rushed towards the end ⋆ semi proofread by @twohoursearly
♫ currently playing: It’s Cold Out Here - Modern Baseball
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D I R E C T O R Y
chapter 2 <- you are here -> chapter 4
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In the manor, the windows were strong enough that even the harshest of storms wouldn’t shake them. Isla’s house wasn’t like that, her windows rattled and the sounds were shut out by old walls sturdier than most modern construction.
On the way to her house you gave her a short message, no details, just asking if you could stay over. She replied that she already set up a spot for you, along with that stupid sticker she loved to spam in chat.
Now here you were, quietly scrolling on your phone while Isla periodically kept checking up on you from her bed. You laid on the pullout beneath her; you felt bad for staying over but you really needed a pause.
You couldn’t go back to that house right now —if ever— so what’s the plan now? You put your phone away to the side with your charger and began to rummage through the backpack you filled in a hurry with clothes and the necessities.
Only things like your wallet, half of your school books and your charger, if you needed the rest of your books you supposed you were just screwed.
Isla tried to talk, but it was clear you didn’t really want to, so she just went to the kitchen, heated up some leftovers, and handed them to you before going to sleep with her unicorn sleeping mask on.
If you were being honest a part of you wanted to block the entire family— granted you only had half their numbers, but Duke would be the exception to that.
He sent you a single message an hour after you left.
Duke: I’m sorry for not trying harder, if you ever need a nightlight on a walk, I’m here.
No, you didn’t reply, and the message didn’t give you as much comfort as it might’ve before all of this happened, but you liked that he was trying.
You had blocked Dick and Bruce’s numbers earlier because you were annoyed at all their excuses, only keeping Duke’s and Alfred’s. You had Stephanie’s too, but it was lost somewhere in your contacts.
Everyone else? You never had their numbers to block in the first place, and that’s okay. God there was so much to do now.. first of all you really need to avoid everyone, probably not healthy but neither is getting stabbed which you know all of them are fully capable of.
You don’t think they’d do that but it’s better safe than sorry.
Lying on your back on the old mattress you looked up to the ceiling, the glowing stars on Isla’s ceiling that hid the damp spots from past leakage. It was only around a year ago that you three fixed it, only took three weeks and thirty videos to learn how to do so— as well as Bruce’s money because that was not cheap.
You felt the quiet rumble of a chuckle in your throat to the roof of your month whilst recalling it. The warmth of that small core memory was enough to lull you to sleep.
─── ´ˎ˗
His heart ached, a weird feeling. It didn’t hurt, it stirred and wouldn’t settle like water. Even if it did stop, the smallest drop of guilt caused a ripple in his chest right after.
Duke ignored the knocking at his door, Stephanie asking for him to come to breakfast without receiving an answer. He’d been up since five am, tossing and turning before eventually giving up on sleep as a whole.
Slowly the knocking stopped before being followed by steps becoming more and more distant.
He sighed and turned to lay on his side, phone in hand— you still hadn’t replied. If it were any consolation he’d have told you all he thought, how you were family, and how he was sorry.
But he knew it was pointless, if that was enough then you would have replied. Maybe he’d see you at school?
You had no classes together, but you’d see each other at lunch and during hall breaks. There was only one thing consistent about your schedule and it was who you spent it with: two people he didn’t know the names of, and who were probably housing you right now.
He’s no Tim; he can’t figure out where you are by any means just through the little things he’s noticed. But he’s smart enough to know that you’re with who you’re supposed to be with right now. It hurts knowing that place isn’t here, with everyone at the manor.
Yet he can’t blame you.
So instead he’ll get up, try his best to hide his dark circles, and get dressed before eating breakfast with half a mind, ignoring Steph and Bruce’s concerned glances.
─── ´ˎ˗
Cass watched the three leave for school, Tim walking out with a distracted ‘bye’ head downturned to his phone. Damian didn’t say a thing and Duke was clearly preoccupied, but he tried his best to smile at her before stepping out the door.
“… this is about last night” She said to Steph, still sitting at the table with her elbows on the table now alone after Bruce left, hair tucked behind her ears carefully to prevent it from touching her breakfast.
Looking at Cass, Steph sighed, pushing back her hair and leaning back in the chair away from her breakfast. “Yup.. dammit..” her hands lowered to rub her shut eyes, the pressure of her palms soothing some of the dryness.
Without a word, she felt the familiar presence of Cassandra at her side, a hand on her shoulder, head falling to the side landing on her hand with a dreary look. “I feel so bad Cass; I don’t know what to do about it..”
“It’ll be okay.” She replied, and maybe it would.
But maybe it wouldn’t.
─── ´ˎ˗
“Are they.. dead?” Oliver asked, watching you rest your head on your desk, blankly staring out the window without a care while Isla sat behind you.
She shrugged, lifting her shoulders high enough to touch her earrings before dropping them. “Rough night” she replied, leaving it at that, not wanting to speak too much for you.
He nodded, taking his own seat next to you while placing his bag on the back of it. He gave your arm a gentle pat, likely meant to be encouraging before taking out his text books. Great, first class of the day being science and you don’t have your science book. Oliver had to awkwardly manoeuvre himself to share his, even though you insisted he didn’t need to.
And after that, class wasn’t much better. There was English, social studies, history, and physical education— which you only have one book for, your social studies book you never took out of your bag.
When lunch came around you just sat outside with Isla and Oliver in your usual spot by the entrance, her mom was kind enough to make you a separate lunch since you didn’t have one from Alfred.
It was basic, in a plastic container with small packs of cookies, chips and a sandwich. If she found a twenty dollar bill on her counter though, you weren’t gonna admit it was yours.
Your two friends were clearly worried, but you still hadn’t told them everything. Only that going home probably wouldn’t be your best choice mentally— you had to specify that because otherwise Isla would’ve gone full physical assault on the Waynes.
So when physical education came around by the end of the day you practically gave up trying at all, walking around the field instead of running and sitting against the fence instead of doing whatever they were making you do that day.
The teacher called your name, yelling at you to stop acting out and join everyone, but you just shrugged and looked to the side dejectedly in an attempt to make her feel kind of bad.
And it worked! She said as long as you brought a better attitude next time you could skip out today! It made you feel a bit icky to manipulate someone by acting all sad, but last night brought a whole load of new issues, so if anyone deserves to act out, it’s you.
‘that’s problematic thinking..’ you thought for a minute, before watching everyone being forced to run ten laps and decided ‘nope, it’s fine’.
Oliver and Isla weren’t in your class this time around, the schedules could get so confusing which was the main reason you weren’t participating.
When the teacher finally let you all go change before dismissing you all for the day, meanwhile you were wondering who you could stay with, Isla’s mom said it was okay to stay again, but two nights in a row?
As you pondered your options, walking between a few of your classmates, you heard someone distantly calling your name but ignored it. That was until that person ran up from behind you and placed a hand on your shoulder.
You flinched from the contact and immediately swung your arm back, elbow hitting whoever it was before looking back with a deadpanned expression. “What-"
Looking down at the person who fell back against the grass, you immediately felt bad. “Duke?? Shit, sorry-"
“Nah it’s-" he coughed out a wheeze “-fine!” He smiled at you, taking your hand that you held out, using your help he pulled himself back up while rubbing his ribs where you struck him.
“Sure.. totally fine” you said, meeting his eyes as he dusted himself off and caught breath. “So uh, did you need something? If it’s about last night or leaving you on read I’m sort’ve sorry.”
Ignoring the ‘sort’ve part’ Duke frowned, “No, not that- it’s.. can we talk somewhere else?” He asked, looking at the few stragglers of your class who were too nosy for their own good, walking one inch per minute just so they could listen in.
You took out your phone from your pocket, “Uhm, yeah can I just go change first?” the hand holding your phone lowered to gesture at your physical ed uniform which was a waste because you didn’t even do anything but whatever.
He nodded, “Yeah, of course, I’ll just wait by the front?”
“Mhm” you replied before walking to the locker rooms, wondering if he could see the rigidness of your steps, heels of your feet digging deeper into the grass than necessary.
Your mind zoned out as you changed, mindlessly listening to the sound of other students, lockers clanging loudly as they slammed closed, quiet clicking of locks followed right after. The humidity of the room messed with your senses, not even comprehending how empty it became until someone accidentally bumped your shoulder on the way out.
“Sorry” they said before walking away, you turned to look back at them before realising you and only a couple of others were left. You shook it off, slowly the world around you came back into focus as you finished changing before running out to see the teacher so she could dismiss you.
After doing so with a very stern warning to not slack off next time she finally let you go, immediately you walked through the halls to see Duke. He was leaning against the concrete wall of the entrance, the fibres of his uniform stuck to the small, rough grains of it. Your shoes felt heavier as they dragged across the ground, taking steps to him.
From the corner of his eye he caught you walking his way, the corners of his lips raised up into an albeit very awkward grin, the kind that reaches your cheeks but not your eyes.
“Hey!” He waved you over, back pushing itself off the wall and moving over to you, he looked across you for a second, taking in the fact that your physical ed socks were on your feet instead of the mandated school ones.
Your head nodded forward to preferably move the conversation, “Hi, so you wanted to talk?” The minute your words reached his ears he hunched forward, posture becoming as limp as a noodle, he looked so utterly defeated.
Surprised by the action, you stumbled backwards a step or two before getting your balance back, he looked up apologetically. “Yeah, can we maybe talk somewhere else, Bat Burger? My treat?”
Unsure of what to say or you, you shrugged your shoulders and nodded, very clearly not certain in your decision. But Duke ran with it, likely his best choice considering the circumstances and the fact you could bolt at any second.
“I’ll call Alfred to take us” your brows met where the center of your forehead was, creasing in disagreement though you still couldn’t muster any kind of wording. “Or.. the bus?” He said thoughtfully. His eyes narrowed like they were scanning your face for any kind of sign which admitted worked when your expression loosened and your brows met your eyelids once again.
Duke smiled, his shoes grated on the gravel as he spun 90° on them and ran to the bus stop, not checking to see if you were following. You thought about ditching for a second; before remembering that it’s not Duke who did you wrong by any means, and Oli would definitely be on the bus, so you decidedly chased after him.
Somehow you spotted Oliver during your less than comfy conversation with Duke the minute you got on, glancing down the aisle while scanning your bus card. “Maybe we should sit here-” Duke started to say before you ran past him, well, ran is generous.
You more accurately bounced on the tips of your toes like an unpracticed ballerina desperately trying to get off stage to the side. Oli caught sight of you before you ended up tripping and landing right beside his seat, his arm reached out to catch you.
It didn’t end up being effective, simply lessening the impact of your fall as your legs buckled and you hit the deck. “Augh-!” You grunted out upon landing on your hands and knees.
“Dammit!” From behind you there was someone hastily walking through the aisle full of people and backpacks, people whispered about your unfortunate misstep while Oliver tried to check if you were okay.
You were; by the way. Just very sore from how you landed, your palms burned from the impact whilst your knees ached, carrying most of your weight. You managed to recognise Duke’s voice over the others, calling your name as his hand landed on your back to steady you.
“Are you alright?!” He asked worriedly, his other hand reaching to grab your upper arm to help you up. You stood on wobbly legs as you regained your sense of direction, looking straightforward and then around at the others.
“Perfectly fine” you said unconvincingly, Oliver moved aside, shoving his bag down to the ground to free up a seat for you. Your body slumped into it, you winced at the aching in your knees and the searing heat in your palms. At once the exhaustion of it all hit you and you really couldn’t be bothered with anyone at that moment.
Duke was watching you, eyes focused with worry. Your shoulders rolled back as you sighed, “Wake me up when we get to Batburger..” you added before leaning on Oliver and falling asleep instantly— Duke didn’t have to know you were just pretending so you didn’t have to deal with him; also, you really were tired.
From your side you felt his presence fade away, his steps lost in the chatter. Oliver whispered quietly, “He’s in a different seat..” and thanks to his cue you opened your eyes, irises dashing around quickly to double check your surroundings before relaxing.
“Thanks Oli..” your words exited your mouth with a sigh right after.
“Anytime but..” he picked at his nails for a second before sighing, “why is Duke here..? I know sometimes he takes the bus, but I mean with you? When you texted us that you were busy I didn’t think you meant with him or anyone for that matter..”
Your brows pushed up before returning to their original place, “said he wanted to talk,” your shoulders shrugging to emphasise that you also did not know the answer beyond that.
At the same time you frowned, face scrunching up whilst you turned to Oliver, “Hey wait, what’s that supposed to mean??”
“What’s what supposed to mean?” He replied, looking genuinely confused as you continued.
“You said ‘or anyone’, did you think I was that much of a loner??” You scoffed out that last part; and you felt even more insulted when he started laughing.
“Yes! I do, because me and Isla are your only friends?” Okay, yes, it was true, they were your only two— very amazing— friends. But he didn’t have to say it like that.
Despite your bruised ego though you found yourself laughing along to his own, a melodious mix of both your and his voice entering the air.
In your moments of joy you failed to take into consideration the person who was listening from the front of the bus, Duke has his back pushed up against the entirety of his seat, listening to how relaxed you sound with your friend.
He held his phone in a solid grip, ignoring the texts he was getting from the family group chat which you weren’t even a part of.
There was a lot he regretted, and this was one to add to the list.
─── ´ˎ˗
“It looks like Neither of us want to be here longer than necessary so just get to the point please” you said, sitting across from Duke in a greasy Batburger while eating a basket of fries, salted to as close to perfection as possible.
He’d been mute since you both got off the bus, giving both you and Oliver a glance from the door while you said goodbye, since then his eyes stayed stuck to anything that wasn’t in your direction which was a touch infuriating considering he called this little meeting.
His throat cleared before looking you in the eyes, “Right.. so last night got a bit- ""unhinged?” You cut in, chopping on a few fries.
“Yeah, just wanted to make sure you’re all good, guess you’re staying with your friends?” He asked, you bobbed forward in response, taking a sip of your drink, the plastic straw scraping at your gums as you gnawed on it.
“Yeah, staying with Isla right now, but I’ll probably go to Oli’s house in a few days, don’t wanna intrude too much at one time.” The taste of the fries and the fizziness of your drink distracted you from how much he was fidgeting, you weren’t close but even you knew this was a lot.
He slumped forth, chest and arms hitting the edge of the somewhat sticky table, “I’m really sorry for being as shitty as everyone else!” his words caught the attention of a few strangers around but you just waved them away, ready to interrupt him because he was not as bad as everyone. But he was very insistent on continuing after seeing you were about to speak.
“Just- listen please, I should’ve said something, anything. And I really want us to be family, more than I want us to be strangers.” His tongue brushed the cracked dryness of his lips away as he unmistavely tried his best to proceed.
“If you would-” ”I forgive you” “-what?” Your sudden interruption caught him off guard, and when he registered your words it was surprise that took over in its stead.
“I'm forgiven? Just like that? But-” your hand shoved its way into the face before his face, the grease and water droplets on your finger tips shone in his eyes.
“Hush, I said you’re forgiven, besides I said last night you’re one of the people I’m cool with” you shrugged, sipping at your almost empty drink. “The only reason I didn’t reply was in case you were spying for the others, they don’t seem like the type to let go of being told off easily.”
Through his nostrils a puff of air in place of a laugh brushed into the atmosphere, snickering as his elbows leaned onto the table, “Damn, well I assure you I’m not spying. No one even knows we’re talking right now so let’s stay cool, please..?”
You nodded, “As we should be, just don’t forget to text me next time everyone suddenly remembers I exist, saves me a whole lot of trouble, and dealing with Conner of all beings.”
More sounds of his surpressed laughter choked out as he agreed, hands running over his face to his hair, “Right, sorry again. I have no clue why I didn’t think to text you.. or anyone for that matter, I’m sure Tim could’ve found it even if he didn’t have it..”
The final drops of your drink that would fit through the straw suctioned into just air as they entered your anatomy, “A bit late to make things make sense dude, but we’re alright, I mean it. You’re also paying for my meal so I owe you some grace, even if it is Bruce’s money.” You replied, shaking the empty cup as the loose plastic straw began to tap against the sides like a maraca.
From before you Duke felt a massive weight being lifted off his shoulders; as well as clarity that he didn’t have prior. Thinking logically, why didn’t anyone think to reach out to you directly? Why confront you and try to fault you even after you did everything right?
But you were correct in saying that it was late to think about it, you seemed to care much less than he did, your posture was relaxed, so much so you were almost lying down on your seat. Shaking your cup rhythmically with an absent look in your eyes, he came to the conclusion that you really were.. just fine with it.
Your meeting ended after leaving no crumbs and clattering all your trash onto the tray before disposing of it. On the walk out he turned to you, hands in his pocket, one of which was tight around his wallet which you obviously couldn’t see.
“Hey so.. if we’re cool do you mind telling me where you’re staying? Swear I won’t tell Bruce or anyone, just want to make sure you’re safe” anywhere else to you this’d have sounded like an excuse, but it’s Gotham. His worry made sense.
You sucked at your teeth for a second before shrugging, “alright, I’ll text you Isla and Oli’s addresses later, I’m staying with Isla right now but I’ll probably move to Oliver’s soon.”
His smile was almost blinding, your brows furrowed, lips pursing in amusement with laughter concealed in your lungs, stretching your arms and legs as you strolled to the bus stop.
Duke was also very stubborn about making sure you got to Isla’s place safely, you two took the bus and talked part of the way. While on the bus he nudged your shoulder with his own before pointing at some stupid post on his phone which made you laugh.
The entire ride you shared feeds and random posts, sending your favourites to each other to rewatch another time. He got a text from Stephanie which made things awkward for two seconds until you brushed away the topic and kept scrolling.
And after you got off, you were most definitely glad Duke was with you since the sun had begun to set without your notice. He on the other hand grew a bit more cautious, even if this place was far from being crime alley, it had its fair share of muggers and thefts, when he voiced his concerns you just rolled your eyes; “Isla’s mom basically provides for the two of them, child support pays for school and groceries but moving somewhere safer is way more expensive.”
He didn’t ask anything else after that, he got it the answer and that was all he wanted. Before you realised it both of you approached the building, no security or anything, just a door that locked from the inside where only residents could access it with a key.
You texted Isla hurriedly to come down so she could let you in, you have a copy of your own, but it was buried somewhere in your bag, and you also wanted to introduce Duke to Isla, since she’d decidedly hated your entire family.
[ME]: Hey, in front, can you come let me in?
Isla: [sticker] OBVIOUSLY
Isla: why didn’t you just let yourself in, did u lose the key?
[ME]: too lazy to get that also I want you to meet Duke
Isla: …
Isla: like, duke, part of the family, the family I hate?
[ME]: he’s one of the people I’m fine with, just come down and meet him lmao
Isla: FINE; but if I don’t like him I have the right to punch him
[ME]: illegal but alr!
“Okay, heads up, make a good impression or Isla’s gonna punch you.” You warned before scrolling back on your phone, ignoring Duke’s distraught face.
“She’s gonna what-??” His eyes widened, suddenly becoming very aware of his surroundings with his back literally against the wall, and if you heard him squeal when Isla banged on the door without him seeing her, he’d say you imagined it.
“HI!” she announced, swiftly using her key to open the door, flinging it open behind her to greet you with a hug. Completely ignoring the fact she just gave Duke a minor heart attack.
She rubbed your upper arms before turning to Duke, a displeased expression overtaking her past glee. “You’re not allowed inside” she said, right hand cracking her knuckles individually with her thumb, a telltale sign she wanted to and would swing in the next minute.
You caught her forearm before she could and shook your head side to side, “We’re cool Isla, save that right hook for another day.” Said you, already moving and heading inside to the stairs while Isla glared at Duke once more before entering, quickly locking the door with her key before running after you.
Behind the entrance your duo you heard a muffled “GOODNIGHT!” From him, your hand lifted, flicking back and forth in a lazy wave without looking back, knowing he could see it through the small window of the door, what he couldn’t see was Isla’s scowl.
After strolling up one flight of stairs you sighed loudly, putting your left hand on her shoulder, “Y’know I wanted you guys to like, talk right? That’s what I meant by meeting him.”
“And I said I reserved the right to punch him if I hated him.” She replied, rubbing her fist, clearly wishing she took the chance before you stopped her.
“You were in his vicinity for twenty seconds?!” You laughed, coughing over your words as you slapped her back, she scoffed in response, hopping step by step up the stairs, rounding the corner to the next flight with you falling behind.
“Exactly! That’s how unlikable he was!” She said, her rising grin accentuating the dimples on her cheeks as she grabbed your hand, your fingers squished together in her hold, “Now c’mon, mom made fresh pasta just for you so hurry up!”
“Ouch! I fell earlier y’know!” You shook your head fondly, a tiny sigh leaving your lips as they lifted, matching her own smile as you both jogged up the stairs to her where her mom was, awaiting a warm dinner with that same feeling in your chest. Warm, filling, and most of all— not lonely.
─── ´ˎ˗
Duke waltzed into the house with a pep in his step, bag still slung over his shoulder with the smell of a greasy batburger attached to him. Conveniently he walked in just when family dinner was starting, Damian walked up to him with a scowl, nose scrunching as it picked up the smell. “You smell like cheap, unhealthy fast food.”
“Stopped for some batburger, no dinner for me tonight sorry, save left overs for me tomorrow, I’ll eat it on patrol!” Duke replied, practically skipping up the stairs to leave behind an awfully perturbed Damian.
The events of last night still on his and everyone’s minds, he held such resentment to you after your lashing out. After you left, everyone dispersed as if they had anywhere else to be, which was ridiculous because they were all free until patrol which was hours away!
And so, Damian chose to do the one thing anyone in his shoes would do, care to take a guess?
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Third chapter is officially done! I’m so sorry, this was meant to be out much earlier but I moved houses, and we had to deal with the wifi acting up which made it hard to write. The ending is so rushed because I wanted to get this out after making people wait so long, I’ve very sorry!
This is really bad, I’m so sorry. I can’t even describe how sorry I am, not only for keeping people waiting but also for how horrid this is.
But I want to thank the awesome who proofread a portion of this, the technical difficulties on my side made it so we couldn’t communicate consistently but I appreciate the help they gave me for a short period of time.
-> thank you to all the people supporting this little series, the kind words that everyone give me really make writing this all the more worth it. So sorry if I missed tagging anyone, I tried to keep track but I may have forgotten so I’m very sorry.
♫ NOTE: taglist is closed.
＊ previous chapter <- | masterlist |-> next chapter
→ not canon-compliant ⋆ no current romantic love-interest ⋆ non-story compliant storyline ⋆ reader is nonchalant about a lot ⋆ gender-neutral ⋆ reader is around 17 years old ⋆ reader is not a hero ⋆ this'll probably be very boring ⋆ not proofread
♫ currently playing: My Body’s Made of Crushed Little Stars - Mistki
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D I R E C T O R Y
chapter 1 <- you are here -> chapter 3
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Conner was bored, to say the least. Thanks to Tim he had skipped school which was usually fine except skipping alone was boring, no one to hangout with. So when he was running around the city with ease made possible by his abilities, you can’t blame him for stopping to watch you and your friends.
Not in a weird way, in a curious way— which you’d probably argue is weird regardless but it’s not like he’d know that, it’s why he was curious in the first place, it hit him when he got Tim’s message that you both never really talked. You’d spoken maybe once when he was waiting around the front entrance for Tim but after that it was really a lot of missing each other around corners, you two were more than due for a hello by this point.
Maybe he should’ve expected that you’d have been surprised by his sudden appearance given that you aren’t like the bats.
Appearing around the corner and standing right before you while you grabbed some milkshakes you probably paid for should’ve been his first sign to back up. But give him a break here, this is probably, maybe, the start of a semi-beautiful acquaintanceship!
He was mostly comfortable with all of the Bats, minus Jason who wasn’t comfortable with anyone at all. And you were not going to be exempt from that rule.
─── ´ˎ˗
You however, did not share that sentiment. Watching Conner stand in front of you, chest puffed out with a bright smile on his face like he didn’t just make you drop fifteen dollars worth of milkshakes.
Pain from your scream irritated your throat as you cleared it, the scratchy feeling of your vocal cords disseminating its discomfort caught your breath before you sighed, “.. Conner.”
“Did you forget my name in two seconds or do you just like saying it?” He joked, elbow jabbing the air in your direction. You deadpanned but that coldness dropped when you noticed what was held in his hands.
Two milkshakes of which the condensation was disturbed by his grip causing it drip onto the concrete, darkening the hard stone at contact. You looked back up at him, catching his unperturbed expression and sighed, “you stalking people now superboy?”
Conner chuckled, “maybe, would you tell Tim if I did?”
“As if Tim would care.” You replied, grabbing the milkshakes from the rims and picking them up and out of his grasp before turning away.
To your dismay, he did not get the hint and trekked behind you. Looking back at where Oliver was sitting you then noticed how Isla was also there, bouquet of crepes in hand while glaring at Conner.
You placed down the glasses and slid them in the directions of your friends, covering the side of his face that was visible to Conner, you watched Oliver mouth a quick “are you okay??” While Isla’s eye twitched at how the stranger followed behind you.
To avoid any misunderstandings you just sighed and raised your hand to gesture at Conner. “This is Tim’s best friend, don’t ask why he’s following us, I have no clue.”
“Following us??” Isla exclaimed, now looking at Conner with even more distrust than before, “well if he’s following me then he’s been following all of us right??” You said.
Oliver meanwhile kept appearing increasingly more distraught as the seconds moved on, his knee bouncing as his foot bobbed up and down on the ground so much that his chair shook when you looked close enough.
Pausing for a second, you glanced back to Conner, “thinking about it now, why are you following us?” Unintentionally wincing at his still cheery expression, the way his smile reached the bottom of his lifted cheeks and his eyes were forced just a little most closed as the push from his grin affected them.
“Tim asked me to” he said as if that was just a huge shock for you, brows raised part way up your forehead before he corrected himself, “Well he asked me to make sure you were actually on a school thing! Just thought we oughta hang out, never too late yeah?”
That did not clear a single thing up, “How did Tim know I was on a school trip, I’m sure I only reminded Alfred?”
“Wait- Alfred knew?” Well now that you said that you felt like you shouldn’t have, his smile dropped and now he was looking just as confused as you. Isla and Oliver just watched from the side, one still anxious and the other still angry about the intruder.
Both you and Conner looked at each other with mutual bewilderment, just then the kind worker called you over, when you turned you saw your milkshake sitting there, the worker waving you over. “Just give me a second” you said to Conner before running over and grabbing your milkshake, thanking the person working before going back and taking a seat with your friends.
By this point the fries Oliver got while not cold were definitely not as hot as before, and knowing Isla she’d be even more mad if Conner was the reason food was wasted. Even with the knowledge that her left hook wouldn’t to any damage to him, anyone faced with Isla when they annoyed her, was someone in peril regardless of whether or not they were stronger.
“I’m not wasting food over this, let’s eat and then talk, go walk around or something Conner-" but of course he just had to take a seat. Isla was about to say something possibly disrespectful but you took your crepe from her hand, “Thanks Isla, here’s your camera back by the way” you said, picking the camera out of your bag and handing it over to her.
Her eyes locked onto yours, brows tensing before they unfurled, a normal tell of hers asking if someone was okay without speaking. You nodded, shrugging it off and taking a bite of your crepe to reassure her.
She sat back, sipping at her milkshake while handing Oliver his crepe before indulging on her own, biting off a piece of the corner. Usually you three would be talking about something, anything, but not with Conner here, it was too awkward to speak with the unfamiliar presence.
The presence in question either did not notice, or care and started to talk about whatever he could. “Are those milkshakes good, should I get one?” to “so what was that about not telling anyone” and everything under the sun.
Oliver was the only one to really reciprocate, offering nods and strained hums in response. Isla and you took to prioritising your food, neither of you wanted to play polite with him, Oli being who he is, felt like he needed to.
Truthfully, apart from family dinners you’d been asked to attend as a formality, this may have been one of the most awkward moments of your life.
─── ´ˎ˗
Dick sat in his reserved room of the manor, of course he had one despite not even living there. A day off, a rare thing before a night out as Nightwing, one of the heroes of Bludhaven.
Perhaps it was to be expected that he had no day of peace in Gotham, he sat on the edge of his bed, elbows rested on his thighs while his hands held his face. Thinking, about you.
If you were to ask him, he knew you pretty well, or about as well as he knew what Jason was up to, which wasn’t much besides what was said in group chats and passing dinner conversations. He knew you had friends, though he didn’t know their names.
Knew you disliked the way people would drop their cutlery on their plates because of the clang sound it’d cause, evident from the way your shoulders would jolt and your face with contort into an annoyed glance for two seconds before going back to normal.
So when you disappear, on a school trip no less, something you should’ve shared but didn’t? It was an anomaly.
Close wouldn’t be the word he used to describe your and his relationship, but family would. That says more about him than it should.
He laid back on his bed, pining over the predicament, thinking about a whole lot of scenarios as to why you did what you did. It’s in his nature, he’s from a family of detectives and heroes.
At the same time, Stephanie chuckled as her and Cass laid on the floor of her reserved room, “tell me about how that guy tripped over his own feet while chasing you!”
Cass lifted the corner of her lips and began to recap one of the moments of her mission, steph cackling into her pillow while she listened. “Moral of the story, always tie your shoes I think” Cass said to wrap up her story. Stephanie sat up, ready to talk about something else when someone knocked on the door, “Come in!”
The door squeaked open, a slight whoosh of air hit her and Cass while Duke entered the room, “hey Cass” he said as a greeting. She nodded in reply, waving softly as Stephanie patted her bed for him to sit, “Duke! Come on, Cass was just telling me about her mission.”
He sat down but both girls noticed the tension on his body, how his posture immediately straightened when he felt it was off, shoulders back and low. “Duke? Is-" Steph hesitated, “-is this about earlier?”
“What happened earlier?” Cass asked, truthfully she’d been wondering when the right time to talk about it was, being as observant as she was, of course she knew everyone chatting in the groupchat mean something had happened. And now Duke just confirmed her thoughts.
He faltered in his words, taking a moment of silence to collect his thoughts before talking, “I’m just worried about them” “I know Duke, but you heard Tim, they’re in Metropolis.”
“Who’s in Metropolis?” Cass asked, interrupting the two of them, Stephanie wanted to talk, but for some reason the words caught themselves before they could spill past her lips. Duke bit the inside of his cheek before biting the bullet and filling her in on the details, Cass listened wordlessly as she let him talk.
His hands clasped together, forearms rested on his thighs as he spoke, infrequently taking a second to swallow the dryness that pooled when he hemmed over what he was going to say. As he finished he chewed at the top middle part of his lip, glancing from her to Steph.
Appears like she had a lot to catch up on..
─── ´ˎ˗
Walking around Metropolis with Superboy as your guide wasn’t what you had planned, given that Isla wouldn’t stop glaring daggers at him and Oliver nibbled at the edges of his fingertips trying to keep the peace. At some point he pulled you to the side and said that he had pepper spray if you needed it, to which you replied that this isn’t Gotham and you don’t need it— yet.
He took your ‘yet’ as a warning to tuck it into his pocket as opposed to having it in his bag for easier access. You knew Conner knew about it because of his superhearing though so he just found it funny, chuckling to himself while Isla whispered to you about how he laughed at air.
“If you all really want a good spot, you should go here” he said, pointing at Oliver’s printed out map of the city, “trust me!” He said while hauling the three of you away from your original path.
Even though Conner was harmless to civilians, you also knew that Isla and Oliver didn’t trust him, and that alone was enough for you to put a stop to this. “Conner, can we talk for a second?” You asked.
Conner turned back to you, a single loose strand of his hair fell in front of his face, “well sheesh, no problem!” He let you walk away to a random corner, quiet and seperate from Isla and Oli, he stopped following you and planted his feet against the grounds waiting for you to talk.
“You need to get out of here” his brows stretched up, frowning. “What, why?” Your eyes rolled to the side in annoyance, he wasn’t dense was he? Both hands elevated to harshly rub at your face, palms digging into the sockets of your eyes forcing them shut in defence, rubbing away the exhaustion.
“Because my friends aren’t comfortable around you Conner and between you and them, I’m not exactly choosing your company over theirs.” Fatigue layered itself on top of you, walking around all day and working at the same time was tiring enough without Mister Kon-el around you, heavens forbid you wanted a relaxed day with your friends.
There’s a little part of you that wanted to break down then and there because of the ridiculousness of it all. To curl your knees into your chest, hugging yourself while your back as stabbed into the corner of the building you stood by, all the reasons to do so stirred in your head, eyes narrowing from its [tired] at Conner who began to look antsy. All reasons, but the exception to this being your friends who talked about this all month.
“I’m serious.” “I am too! You still haven’t answered some of my questions,” he said, arms now crossed over his chest. You winced at him, Conner noticed, watching your eyes flicker downwards as your eyelids pushed them to.
Then you caught him off guard, your head swung up and you groaned loudly followed by a drawn out sigh, “son of a.. alright, yes, Alfred knew, I didn’t tell anyone but Bruce did know or rather he should, so I still can’t put together why you’re here??”
“Bruce knew?” You held back another groan, nodding at superboy, “Yes, he signed the papers, do you not know how a school trip works!” Conner took a step back as he watched your obviously agitated self stepped towards him.
“Snitch to Tim, or don’t, really I don’t care, just let me spend the day with my friends!” You said before turning your back and running over to them, rushing them away from where Conner stood, hoping he’d gotten the point otherwise he’d just catch up quickly.
And he did. Except he did reach out to Tim and text him that Alfred knew, but come on— that’s his best friend, he had to! Don’t be mad.
He became rather invested in this little situation, so he had plans to check in with Tim later when things would or at least should have calmed down.
Isla all the while held your arm and kept looking over her shoulder, glaring at anyone with any sort of resemblance to Conner. Oliver finally stopped being so wary and was back to leading the three of you around for your project, and despite your tiredness, you managed to go along with their shenanigans and got involved, laughing when you were happy, and using more energy than necessary because you just as excited as them.
When Oliver tripped over his untied laces and landed on a flock of birds, screaming while they flew away as the feeling of their wings flapping strokes across his skin tickled him. Isla who photographed the entire ordeal, and you who wrote down beside his notes ‘beware of birds’ for him to later read.
Which of them could even blame you when you accidentally fell asleep after they left you to watch their stuff for two minutes when they used the restroom. It was clear you weren’t having an easy day.
As the stronger of the pair, Isla carried you up and onto her back, your arms draped over her shoulders, Oliver standing besides you two carrying your stuff since both of you were unable to. Heading back to the bus where your teacher was waiting, a few other students already gathered around.
She looked up, watching you three approach, eyes zoning in on your sleeping self on Isla’s back. “Are they alright?” She asked, placing down her clipboard, Oliver nodded, “Yeah Miss, just tired!” He answered, leaving out the part where a weirdo followed you guys around, accepting that answer she marked you three off for attendance and let you go on the bus early because of a certain sleeping someone.
Isla let you lay between her and Oli, bags shoved underneath the seats while he covered you with his hoodie. His knees bent and pulled upward so he could use them as a table for his notebook, crossing off and writing down a few bits of information, pen positioned in between his fingers in a way that let him glide his pinky as a guide over the words, they landed on your words, tracing over the indented lines.
Chuckling to himself while flipping the page, Isla meanwhile kept checking to make sure you weren’t stirring awake as more and more people got on the bus. In her head, a count of annoyance rested at the back, still directed toward the stranger.
On the drive back to Metropolis, Isla watched the sky darken, clouds hiding the bright colours behind them as the sun and moon swapped shifts.
─── ´ˎ˗
Tim’s phone clenched between his fist, shook from the pressure so hard the screen may have cracked if he didn’t instead throw it onto his desk. Because of Conner, and the news he brought him.
Kon: did you all overreact or smth?
[ME]: what?
Kon: I asked and they said Alfred knew lmao,
How could you tell Alfred but not any of them? The clear excuse was that it just never came up, there wasn’t anything actually wrong with just telling Alfred, but Tim didn’t like not knowing things— especially not things in his own home.
God, he was way too tired for this, running on lack of sleep and now anxiety wasn’t helping. So he did what he thought was best, and notified Bruce.
[ME]: Alfred knew they left, Kon asked, said that they told Alfred.
The message became noted as seen quickly, the same could not be said for the reply, Tim waited, foot tapping on the floor of his room while he waited.
His phone buzzed after minutes, clicked on the notification and read the message, a single word.
Bruce: alright
Alright? That was it?? He slumped back into his chair and inhaled before pushing the breath out of his lungs with more force than normal, it wasn’t that he missed you, there wasn’t anything to miss. He hardly knew you, but Tim was as worried as he was when anyone he should’ve been keeping track of acted out of the ordinary.
Kicking them forward he outstretched his feet, slamming them in the ground before using them to pull himself to his desk, if he couldn’t stop thinking about it, then he’d just clutter his mind with work until he could.
A certain bat related hero did not agree. Charging out of his study and to the kitchen where Alfred was preparing dinner, his footsteps radiated heavily against the floor, thumping it with too much force for someone who was just going to simply ‘talk’.
Of course after living and working in the manor for so long, Alfred read these steps as well as words in a novel, listening to them get loud. Closer. Yet the motion of his hand moving up and down to chop the vegetables continued.
When the door to the kitchen opened slowly, like the person on the other side of it was waiting instead of being the one to open the door. Anticipating an answer without asking.
Bruce stood there, arms crossed with his feet slightly apart by an inch or two, watching Alfred chop vegetables and throw them into the pot like it was a crime.
Neither wanted to break first, but Bruce knew out of the two of them, Alfred would last longer. “You knew,” he said, voice tightening with some kind of subtle anger.
“Knew of what, Master Bruce?” Alfred replied, voice cool and steady while he proceeded with his work of prepping dinner.
“Please don’t play coy Alfred, did you or did you not know that they left on the trip without telling us.” Alfred shrugged, Alfred of all people. “Perhaps I did Master Bruce, they did inform me of their leave, and then asked me to keep it quiet unless asked directly.”
A pound bang ruptured against the doorframe, Bruce’s fist laid on the side of it, the skin that hit the frame turning red from irritation.
“Do not get mad, you asked what they were up to, I answered. Never once did you inquire about their location.” He said simply, not at all threatened by the anger coming off of the ward he helped raise, grabbing the measuring up from the opposite counter and precisely pouring in a bit of oil.
He didn’t need to look, he heard the heavy footsteps stomping against the ground, fading into a familiar direction, to the Batcave. It’d be funny if he was attempting to get the security footage to prove him wrong, only to realise that Alfred hadn’t told a single lie.
Avoidant he was, yes. Yet he knew better than to lie
He also knew everyone in the household like the back of his hand, minus you but that was intentional on your part.
Bruce entered the Batcave and instantly grabbed a chair, it dragged harshly against the ground before stopping in front of the console, dropping as its legs clattered a few times before settling. Opening the footage that was saved, he watched over the recordings from earlier that day.
From the entrance of the cave, Steph, Cass and Duke walked in to be met with the sound of a bang. Running ahead of the two, Stephanie watched as Bruce had his fist banged against the desk of where the console was. He was quiet, like he was attempting not to explode, she could hear his breaths over the steps of Cass and Duke following in after her.
The newest of the group whispered under his breath, “Is he alright..?”
Steph hid her lips between her teeth before popping them back out and leaning into him, “I have no clue.” She whispered back.
Cassandra stepped closer, her gaze pointed at the man who hid one face in his hand while the other hardly prevented itself from shaking out of anger. She read his language of silence, he wasn’t just mad, his foot was tapping against the floor, a sign of frustration or anxiety.
“.. It’s only four, Duke should be ready for patrol by now.”
“Now??” He said, stepping forward to argue but Bruce finally released his hold on nothing, fist unclenching as he pointed at him, “Go. Now.”
Glancing at Steph, Duke watched her shrug, it felt like he should protest and god he would’ve if he didn’t have a duty to protect Gotham. His steps echoed out onto the floor as he left to get changed, if he went on patrol now, he’d miss you coming home.
That thought left a heavy feeling on his shoulders.
─── ´ˎ˗
The harsh jolt of the bus shook you to consciousness as your head hit the back of the seat. You winced and groaned, leaning forward to cradle your head, feeling whatever was draped over you falling to the ground while Isla patted the back of where you smacked your head. Oliver grabbed his semi-cold water bottle, pressing it to the back of your head to replaced Isla’s hand.
“Is it bleeding?!” He said in a rushed voice, “I doubt they’re bleeding Oli!” Their words flew over your head to each other. You sat up with a grunt and stretched, “Christ Oliver I’m fine! Both of you shut up!”
The teacher immediately looked down the aisle and shushed all three of you, appearing like her patience for the day had run out. She turned back around while you leaned back. “That hurt for like two seconds, trust me.”
Isla nodded and hugged you while Oli put his water bottle away in his bag and picked up his hoodie from the ground, “so, now that you’re awake…” she started, holding your arm while she smiled nervously. “Is that weirdo from earlier gonna snitch on your family?”
Gazing over Isla’s face, the way her pupils retracted when they met yours, and her hand began to sweat as she held your arm, it was clear she was nervous, if she was mad she’d be holding onto the tag of her bag and crushing it to calm down.
You nodded softly, “Probably? It will be fine, maybe I’ll be grounded by Alfred for a week though that’s it” what else were you to think? He was the only one who really disciplined you like a parent should, maybe the man had his moments of self where he couldn’t be there for you, but that was a normal feeling.
“Again” Oliver said, looking at you through strands of his hair, “You have a place at my house if you want, I know my parents don’t mind, especially since you always leave money behind for groceries..” the end of his sentences faded out into a small laugh before stopping.
“Me too! I’d have to ask my mom, but I’m sure she’d let you stay!” You looked at your friends, head turning to watch them individual, you appreciated them and their families a lot, you sometimes would even spend seasons like Halloween or Easter with them, not Christmas though.
Sometimes they’d have additional family over, you’d feel both awkward and bad for intruding so it was around that time of the year that you’d tough it out in your room alone. Only coming out past midnight to have some hot chocolate with Alfred, maybe this year would be different because of Duke? You’d get him a gift, you used to do that with everyone, handmade crafts mainly— messy, free, but made with a lot of care.
That stopped when you found them in the trash for too many years in a row. But Duke hadn’t done that, so you’d trust him with it, you could always shove him in the same boat as everyone else next year if he threw it away.
But Isla and Oliver.. you’d buy them the most expensive things in the world for with Bruce’s money and they wouldn’t accept it, first year of being friends you did that, bought them gifts like nice clothes and a trip to the amusement park, but that was the only time you were allowed to do that because it was Isla’s birthday, then they both scolded you.
And they always reciprocated your presents, Isla loved making handmade jewellery, and Oliver had a part time job so he’d take the three of you out for the day when he saved up. Even if at times like these they’d argue, and sometimes you had minor disagreements, sitting with this on a dingy school bus in between them was more fitting than any spot during family dinner.
So the bus coming to a stop twenty minutes later? What an unbecoming feeling, the bus leaned side to side as people got off, pushing past each other down the aisle while you waited at the back with your friends. The air was chilling and in Gotham the sky was just beginning to set, a quick call to attention by your teacher made you focus. She reiterated that you’d also be going back next week on the same day, after checking all your work to make sure you actually did something on the trip, she’d excuse your group and talk to the next.
You thought it’d go as usual, head onto the bus, stay with Oli for a bit and then get off to walk the rest of the way home.
But Alfred, the sight of him in front of your school— the car he drove specifically, and Bruce Wayne standing by the door of the spot where you usually sat with a plastered on smile, you truly could’ve choked on that air with how you swallowed it down.
Isla walked up to you, hand on your bag instead of your shoulder, whispering into your ear, “Sure you’re not in trouble..? We can run right now, no questions asked.” Even if Bruce wore a polite smile, like he always did in public, your friends could see past it.
Oli was standing by the bus stop already, shifting from one foot to the other in an antsy motion, the bus was there and the driver was yelling for him to get on, he had no other ride unless he wanted to bother his brother, which he didn’t. You waved lowly at him, hand flicking away as a gesture for him to go, after a minute he reluctantly nodded before climbing into the bus and running to a window to wave at you both, worry written all over his face, the doors shut and so did your way out of the suffocating drive you were going to be in.
Isla also had to leave, her mom was waiting by the entrance with her car keys in hand, you whispered to her, “I’m okay, go, just make a bed for me incase” her head shook up and down firmly before she ran away, and you sucked in the coldness, feeling it against the cracks of your lips before walking to Bruce.
“.. Hey” you said. No reply, he looked at you before opening your door like a ‘gentleman’, you got in, shin grazing over the edge of the seat while doing so, no arguments about it, he was not in a mood to listen.
The leather stuck to your skin even though it was cold enough to have garnered goosebumps, as Bruce got into the car you had your head down, but it didn’t stop the slam of the door from making you flinch. He didn’t speak, neither did Alfred. You held your bag snug to your chest as if it’d fly out the window if you didn’t.
You kept your head looking at the padding on the car floor, because maybe if you looked out of your window, there’s a chance you’d have seen what Bruce looked like through the side mirror, and you couldn’t begin to imagine what his face was like today. Guessing that it was mad, with a small chance of disappointment?
Even scarier was if it was the kind of look Batman would wear, because even though you knew that’s who he always was, you’d never looked that man in the eye before.
If you looked up maybe you’d have seen the reservation in Alfred’s eyes through the rear view mirror. The looks he’d give Bruce when he paused driving in traffic, or maybe you’d have had the senses to hear your phone in your pocket, worried messages from your friends on the interface.
But no, you couldn’t lift your head until you felt the car stop moving, felt it stop shaking from the car engine when Alfred turned the key to shut off the ignition.
“Go inside, wait in the Batcave.” Bruce said firmly. Mechanically you opened the handle, and opened the door, pressing the handle and moving your wrist to push it forward. The first thing you noticed inside, Dick, standing there with a tired look in his eyes and a small smile.
“Hey..” you sighed, “Are you here to make sure I don’t run away?” He chuckled, head bobbing ahead, his hand stretched outward before his fingers flicked inward pressed together for you to follow. “Come on, don’t wanna keep everyone waiting.”
‘Everyone, great, a family meeting’ you thought, and in the batcave nonetheless, can your family do anything normally?
You walked behind him, steps practically on the walls of the hushed manor. The cave was as frosty as always, not helping your goosebumps, Dick didn’t even give you the chance to drop your things off in your room so you had to lug around your backpack.
If you were to guess just by looking at everyone’s faces, then only Duke would be on your side. The rest were looking either uncomfortable or- wait is that Cassandra? You noticed she left a couple weeks back but you hadn’t the faintest idea when she would get back, that’s not information you were privy to.
“Hey Cain, hope you’ve been well” you greeted, no response, not even a little head nod as you walked past the group, grabbing a chair and placing your body on it, your bag hung off the back of it. You took to calling her by her last name after being basically strangers.
Your head forced itself up, you weren’t going to be nervous around some strangers, it took more bravery than it should’ve to even look at them but god it felt good. When was the last time you looked these people in the eye?
To your side you saw Dick hovering, he clearly wanted to say something but held back until Bruce arrived.
And arrive he did. Everyone stilled, Dick stopped his pacing around you and anyone in Bruce’s way moved before he could tell them to, a word from him right now wouldn’t be a polite one.
A little part of you wanted to glance away, but another part of you hated the way he called your name just enough to glare at him, it should’ve been barely noticeable, but this was Batman you were talking to. Bruce Wayne, one of the greatest detectives. You know he saw it.
The furrow in his brows deepened, his voice pierced your ears because of how silent everyone made themselves. “What were you thinking, leaving to Metropolis without a word to any of us” he said, not really a question, it was more demanding than that but less certain than an actual demand.
“I told Alfred-” you were cut off, “and you told him to keep it a secret, why.” Okay, there’s several different approaches you could take here, but it all depends on why they’re worried. Your body unintentionally writhed in the chair, thighs stuck uncomfortably to it, hands gripping at your wrist and flicking at your nails. The eyes, their eyes, you forced yourself to think past it, past them.
If they were mad because they think you’ll ruin their image you should just apologise and play innocent.. if they’re upset because they care? No, even if trust was the case you don’t owe them any reassuring answers. You scroll through a few other choices but each one didn’t make you feel any more stable.
You felt as wobbly as the chair you sat on, one leg shorter than the others so you had to use your leg to balance it, foot pressed in a sore angle. Who knows what you were thinking at this part, maybe you zoned out, or gave up, but playing innocent? That was the best choice to you.
“..I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t wanna bother anyone and I thought telling Alfred would be enough.” The waver in your voice made you cringe, but what’s it to them? You’ve disappeared for weeks at a time before to Isla’s or Oliver’s places, it’s just a day.
But you can tell from the look on Bruce’s face that he wasn’t taking that answer seriously, the way he sighed like you were the exhausting one. ‘Fuck you’ you thought.
He grunted, stepping forward to tower over you as if he wasn’t already doing so, “did you think that you would be able to leave without anyone noticing?”
‘Well, yeah?’ You wanted to laugh because yes, you did think that and you know you’re right. You were willing to bet Bruce’s entire fortune that you could disappear a week later then appear and no one would have noticed.
Yet to avoid making things worse you just lied, “Mr. Wayne, I know I shouldn’t have caused problems like that, I’m really sorry- I’ll tell you next time I swear.” Yeah you will, and then he’ll eventually get annoyed with you and tell you to bother Alfred.
Save for the face the man had, like it— he wasn’t pleased with that, you said everything he probably wanted to hear, what’s up?
“… repeat what you just called.” ‘Okay, easy’ you thought. “Mr Wayne?” You said again, a bit unsure but not a stutter, you were proud of that.
But Bruce ‘tsk’d at your words and turned to the wall like you said something wrong. Hand clenching around the bars of the chair, you stilled away the annoyance, you weren’t gonna get into any more trouble than necessary, it wasn’t worth it, it wasn’t.
Until it was.
“So this really is an act of rebellion.” Your shoulders straightened as you sat up properly, a reactive response for when your brain had difficulty comprehending something.
His gaze ripped from the walls of the cave and back to you, but after all he just said you weren’t scared to face him in the eye anymore. He just sighed and kept talking, “I expected better from you, never have you acted out before. I don’t know why you’re acting like this, but I am your father, and you must respect me.”
“What?? Excuse me—” he just kept pissing you off, “stop and go to your room, you’re grounded until you apologise properly.” And to that, you scoffed. The twitch in Bruce’s wrinkles said it all, he believed, with his soul, that you were acting out.
“Go to my room? You can’t just do that, I did what I was supposed to! I told Alfred, and you signed the papers if you had forgotten!” You heard a murmur from the little crowd of people nearby, confusion he felt, he turned back to you, “pardon?”
“I gave you the papers, did you really think I could leave on a trip without a signature? You signed it yourself last month, I told you then, that’s why I’m so confused!” You actually weren’t confused, you knew he didn’t care but irregardless you believed he’d have at least remembered signing a piece of paper that was put right in front of him.
His head shook, “I was busy, you of all people should understand” he said, posture not faltering though you could see the vein in his neck as it stuck out. “Yeah, but I did everything right! You can’t ground me for that, or anything!”
“You are acting like a child, you are under my care and you-” Instantly his body leaned to the side in shock, the metal chair flew right past him followed by the distant noise of your bag hitting the ground.
It crashed into the wall, leaving the chair indented around the side as a rusty nail was popped out of place from the impact, rolling near his feet, Bruce watched it clang against the ground, metal screeching as it landed hard.
His head craned back to you, surely he felt a bone click from how hastily he did so. When he looked back your figure was bent down to pick up your bag, from the corner of your eye you could see how blindsided they were from the way you just acted, you raised yourself up, rolling your shoulders back as you slung your bag over them. The weight pulled your sides down an inch before adjusting, you took one step to leave when Bruce spoke.
“Get back here!” Hatred stirred in your chest over how your feet instantly stopped moving because of his tone, you turned and met his grim expression, obscurity shadowed over it despite the lights overhead, to his sides his fists were clenched, you deadpanned.
Sure you were a bit scared, but being a little frightened wouldn’t make you shiver in your boots. “You don’t pull something like that and walk away” he said.
“Something like what Bruce?” Off to the side, Stephanie stood with her mouth covered by her hand as she stood by Cassandra, Duke had to hold her up from behind after the shock because she took a misstep. Dick had frozen when the chair hit the wall, and Damian was about two seconds away from jumping you, Tim had his back pressed against the wall, the look in his eyes shot you like a bullet because you could see— blame, it was like you were the one who physically backed him into a corner. You’d have spoken up about that too if someone didn’t interrupt your observations.
“Don’t call me that.” You angled yourself to him, lowering your head by bending your body slightly, it was likely that you were just leaning into your pettiness at this point.
“Then what can I call you? Because ‘father’ isn’t fitting” your hand clung to your bagstrap, feeling the grainy threaded surface until your palm, breathing in was pointless, it did nothing for your lungs, and whether from fear or anger, it was decided that it was too late to backtrack now.
His hand slammed against the table, shaking it as the contents on top jittered, echoes in the Batcave made you tense. It was certain now that this most definitely Batman and no longer the man who was supposedly your father. “Take that back, you are my ward in blood as you’ve always been.”
“Your ward? You better be joking, since when has blood meant anything to this family, look around, you adopt a stray off the street and treasure them like you never did with me!” Just then a hand landed on your shoulder, flinching away you turned, tripping over your feet but catching yourself on the wall, your eyes landed on the perpetrator.
It was Dick, his hand was still held out to you, slow, treating you as stranger, as someone who needed help as a random civilian and not family which made his first line even more infuriating.
His voice wavered, if someone asked you what you thought it’d like be about how pathetic he looked, “Stop, we’re family please don’t be like this-” your eyes rolled.
“SHUT UP” You yelled, hand shot up too quick for comfort as you pointed, a little pain ached in your wrist, “I don’t care about this! And neither do you! You’re just a liar Dick, I don’t get why you’re like this, you act like you care but you don’t!” His lips parted, hand trying to reach yours, maybe in an act of comfort or to restrain you.
“We care about you so much, it’s why we were so worried!” But that was a ridiculous lie, you huffed out a chuckle, “If you were all so worried why didn’t anyone call me?! I have a damn number!”
He paused, did he have your number? You shrugged with a strained smile, “I have one, but it’s like none of you have it either! Is that it, are we such close family that we don’t even have each other’s numbers?”
Oh, oh no. Duke felt even worse because he knew he had your number, he had it in his phone though you guys usually only talked briefly on social media, it didn’t cross his mind to even reach out to you, why? Steph on the other hand entirely forgot she had your number, originally getting it before giving up on you, and as for everyone else?
Dick didn’t want to think about it, they just had a family discussion in the group chat that day about you, if you were just in it then this wouldn’t have happened. He kept looking to Bruce for answers but the man seemed just as in thought as he was. Dick reached his hand closer to you.
But his hand felt like a threat so you backed away slowly, “Put that hand down” Dick looked down at his hand and then at you before lowering it. “I’m so tired of all of you, everyone—"
It didn’t feel right to say that, eyes gazing over to Duke, he looked rattled after your outburst, maybe there wasn’t this many arguments behind the scenes, “hah..” you sighed, feeling bad because he actually seemed upset, “Everyone besides Duke, he’s- I’m not gonna let him think I’m mad at him, because he’s not to blame, he just got here, and I won’t even blame Jason because he stopped being around!” You assured, internally you checked it off as the right choice when he let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Damian tried to speak with his arms crossed, disapproval he didn’t deserve to serve you with wafted from where he stood, , “Stop acting out, you’re-”
“Am I acting out? Don’t I have the right to? I am a person, and I have my friends, they are my family. And maybe Alfred, and Duke, because they’re the only people who haven’t let me down yet! You made my standards so low that someone who hasn’t done anything bad deserves my praise don’t you get how bad that is!?”
“I won’t let you talk to us nor father like this, we both are blood." He looked up at you as if you were below him, how dare he?
Your mouth opened and gaped at the air in disbelief, “yeah, im related to you guys, congratulations! Stephanie is related to a villain but that doesn’t mean she has to acknowledge him!”
Duke looked at the twitch in your hand as it was being held back by your self restraint so hard that your arm was shaking, preventing the energy in it from lashing out again.
By his side, Stephanie whispered into Duke’s ear, “Duke, you have to calm them down, please.” She said, practically having tears in her eyes, lord knows it wasn’t from fear, it was the mention of her dad, that man. She couldn’t believe you’d bring it up, but you did.
A thick gulp pushed down his throat, only exemplifying the dread he felt, stepping toward you he raised his hand like how Dick did before and talked carefully, “I’m here, don’t be startled” hearing Duke’s voice you turned to him, and your expression went from rage to pleading, brows curled as they pressed down on your eyes which frames the shakiness, like if he stopped you something inside you would crack, “I know you’re trying to stop me Duke but please, I need to let everyone know.”
This was the most you’ve felt in years, every time you managed to shove down your anger, sadness, anything that classified as you ‘acting out’. He saw it, like when his parents ended up— no he can’t even think about it.. the things he felt, the way he wanted to go against someone, thoughts he knew he wouldn’t act on in his head because they weren’t allowed.
Duke pulled away, “I.. I have to go.” He said, when he unintentionally looked around his eyes locked onto yours, they narrowed in a way that was evident to his meaning, ‘be careful’ the words delivered to you, nodding your head. Only then did he quickly turn away to the exit of the Batcave.
“I-" you stretched your arms before bending them and turning your wrist to press your hands against the back of your neck. “I want everyone to listen because I think you guys have to hear this, and then I’m gonna leave because I hate being in this house, got it?”
It was quiet, you already prepared for protests but nothing happened, only Tim’s shoes squeaking on the ground, holding back Damian who was forced behind the others.
You pointed at Bruce, “You are Batman, you are Bruce Wayne, you are a billionaire, and you are NOT my father. You are a man who fails to see where he has gone wrong despite your years of experience and mistakes, and I’ve been wanting to say this for years, but you NEED therapy.”
Dick had adjusted an inch from how he stood before, nerves cinching in his veins, heart pounding in his chest for an escape so painfully he wondered if superman could hear it, you didn’t even look upset. Your eyes were sunken with tiredness, lips pursed to consider your words for they were said, “maybe you can tell, but I’m not mad, just sick of your shit—” he flinched “—I’m sick of how you look at me like another person to put a show up around, because I’d rather that but you change it, pretend to be my older brother. I was here with you from the start, but it didn’t mean anything.”
‘No, that’s not true..’ he thought, that’s not what he meant to do, he was your brother in heart and soul, really! That’s what he thinks, it’s why he’s here, don’t make him think he failed, that’s not..
His worry was forcefully put on pause, turning your attention to Tim who had his arms raised out partially to stop Damian. “Timothy, you’re harmless, to me. I know you have info on basically anyone and yet, because I didn’t matter enough, you had to send Conner of all people— which, never do that again— all because you didn’t set up the precautions for something like this, even though that’s what you do. I’m not trying to be harsh but what if I actually was lost, maybe I did run away, and it wouldn’t have been easy to find me. You track villains and find them with more ease yet I’m when it becomes difficult and you blame me.”
Tim dedicated so much time of his life to investigating. To tracking and finding things, people, and you pointing out that he failed, god, he wanted to hit you, but he had to admit.. “they’re right” he said, Steph fidgeted beside him.
“I’m right here, you can say that to me.” You noted, robotically he gave you his attention, his lip might’ve been bleeding from how hard he was biting it but you were too far away to tell.
Swallowing his pride, Timothy admitted himself that— “you’re right, I should’ve known where you were but I didn’t.”
You hummed, mockingly to anyone else, but to you it was a way to push down the shakiness in your throat by intentionally verbalising it in a different way. “Yeah, and then Bruce got mad because of all of this, maybe this conversation would’ve happened anyways but you could’ve at least avoided getting panicked as Conner said. If you cared enough, but you didn’t and you still don’t.”
Dick murmured loud enough for him to hear, “Tim, that’s not true, you have to tell them you care.”
But he didn’t want to lie, you were right, he didn’t care like that about you. Not the same way he’d care if anyone else in the room went missing.
“Dammit.. Dick they’re right- I don’t think they’re family” and Bruce, as silent as a statue for the entire talk, grunted. A strangled and repressed sound in the back of his head, Tim ignored him, “I try, but it doesn’t feel right, to call them family..”
You nodded, “I’m not mad about that Tim, it’s the same for me, I don’t think you guys are family either, but now that it’s been acknowledged, none of you are allowed to say shit like ‘I’m your father’ or ‘we’re family’ there is nothing I’ll tolerate after this.”
Stephanie almost cried when you turned to her, she should’ve tried, she knows, she shouldn’t have given up after you weren’t reticent to her kindness at the start. “I’m sorry-" her voice cracked, shoulders shaking, your eyes softened, and it made her feel worse, why are you feeling bad for her. Stop, that’s not something she can have now.
“Stephanie, no apologies, you made me feel like someone could actually care and then took it away. I am sorry if I didn’t give you the reaction you wanted, but you just confirmed what I was scared of, being left, again.” She thought you’d say more, but you didn’t, instead without moving your body your head craned to Cassandra.
Her short black hair bristled against her ear, listening intently when you started to talk, “Cain, we never talked, so why are you here as a part of this talk like you have a right to be?”
“Cassandra is family, she deserves to be here with us-" not the right words, you waved off his words, “Tim, she’s your family, if you need emotional support that’s fine, but don’t make it seem like I owe her that.”
You know you’re coming off as mean, the truth can usually feel like that. You don’t mean to seem like you’re villainising them all, but this is the truth, they aren’t villains surely but they aren’t your family neither.
Damian stepped ahead of the rest, he knew it was his turn, no one stopped him. “Damian” you began, “You’re cruel with your words, unnecessarily so, and when I remember we’re related I feel like I should care about you, but after your first year here I gave up because you didn’t had anything to give.”
He shifted in place, feet lifting one at a time and adjusting, his face was hidden well. Watching you, no discernible changes in his features for you to read from, “I just want you to leave me alone in a way that doesn’t make me feel isolated, does that make sense?”
You glanced around the entire room, doing a slow 360° to see how much damage you’d dealt.
Bruce, he had his back facing everyone. Hiding again, like Batman always did when he couldn’t be human, Dick was minutes away from breaking down but he hid it well. Steph had composed herself enough to stop her tears from welling up, but the small light tear stained path down her cheeks proved it was harder for her than you’d want it to be.
Cassandra was silent as always, you never managed to read her, Tim had his jaw clenched tightly, seemingly angry but not at you, his eyes locked onto the floor and didn’t look up. And Damian, he’d begun to glare at you, but no words were released, arms still crossed, but his posture seemed more guarded.
Heart heavy, you heaved in a large breath, leaning back as your chest expanded with the air before deflating with your exhale. “Mhm, I’m gonna go, I’m likely going to stay with a friend of mine, please don’t look for me, Alfred has my location, and maybe I’ll give it to Duke as well because he’s pretty cool!”
You said, tone light as if you’d just dropped something heavy, which you did, it was just on them, that last part was sort’ve a lie, you weren’t even sure if he had your number after all. Your steps echoed in the cave, causally walking away from the mess you’d made, that was for them to clean up.
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Ah, I rushed this, I’m so sorry it’s so badly written. I’ll rewrite a bit later when I’ve released a bit more, I’m so sorry.
I wrote reader getting progressively more calm through out their outburst because I imagined them just slowly getting rid of years of anger they had. And as for why it diminished so quickly, I think after repressing it so much they forgot how to feel something dramatically for a longer period of time.
I’m not a fan of how I depicted Tim in this but I’m trying to stay consistent to the first chapter. I’ll redeem him upcoming chapters I promise. Just likely after Duke. Meanwhile Isla and Oliver are unfortunately going to take a backseat when we get to that point.
Also just an apology for the writing again, very sorry.
→ not canon-compliant ⋆ no current romantic love-interest ⋆ non-story compliant storyline ⋆ reader is nonchalant about a lot ⋆ gender-neutral ⋆ reader is around 17 years old ⋆ reader is not a hero ⋆ this'll probably be very boring ⋆ not proofread
♫ currently playing: Dog - Daisy the Great
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D I R E C T O R Y
prologue <- you are here -> chapter 2
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“Young Master, it is time to rise.” Alfred said from beyond the confines of your room, the sky outside a dark tint with strokes of orange which only just began to show.
Forcing your heavy body up you reached for your phone on your side table, clicking the side button the time showed ‘6 am’ which made you groan, “Come in..!”
The hinges grated together as the door opened, then revealed Alfred, plate of breakfast in one hand, the other used to hold open the door. “Your early breakfast.”
“Right, thanks Alfred..” you grabbed the tray from him, resting it on your lap while scrolling through your phone, Alfred disappeared back through the opening of your doorway, pulling the door with him.
Tiredness heavy on your eyelids, you forced yourself awake, eating as quickly as you could to try wake yourself up, downing the water that accompanied the meal you put the tray to the side and stretched. Stepping out of bed, you left to cross the hallway to the bathroom, empty and cold.
You brushed your teeth, looking at your reflection in the dusty mirror after which you showered, body jolting at the cold water as he heated up and became more comfortable to stand in.
From in the distance of the hallowed halls, you heard Tim, being in a quieter part of the manor meant you were able to hear almost every little sound when you focused enough. Finishing your shower you crossed the hallway again, getting ready for your day trip to Metropolis.
Taking a glance at the time, almost forty minutes had passed since you first woke up. It took another thirty for you to get dressed and to open up your room, curtains flung open as you dragged them to the side, the light leaked into your room, warming your skin while simultaneously blinding you.
By the time you had your shoes on it was 7:10, the bus for your trip left at 7:45 before school started— Oliver basically drilled that time into your head because he didn’t want you nor Isla to miss out. Just as you were packing your bag, your phone rang, a memorable ringtone.
You hit accept while packing, Isla calling out in a tired voice, “Ugh… I had to sleep early for this..” she yawned, the sound of the city in the background.
“You’re there already?” Her groggy hum reached your ears, “Yeah.. mom had to drop me off early cause’ of work.. and it’s so cold here!” She squealed, you could simply imagine her hugging herself while waiting in front of the school for Oliver who was probably on the bus to school by now.
“Don’t freeze before I get there, gotta hang up, I’ll see you soon.” You said, Isla sarcastically laughed ‘ha ha’ before hanging up on you. Listening to the hallway, you felt no presence of anyone.
Having heard the front door shut a good twenty or something minutes ago, you crept down the hallway, making sure not to run into any family when you knew that wasn’t going to happen because of their patrol schedule. Only Duke ever got up at a normal time because he didn’t work at night unlike the other vampires in your family.
Approaching the main area you saw Alfred preparing breakfast, the steam wafted over to your senses, the warm and welcoming smell of fresh food sizzled while he moved his wrist, flicking the pan with precision. “I presume you’re heading off to school now, young master ?”
“Mhm, I’ll see you tonight, remember I won’t be back until eight or sometime around there!” In response he hummed, the quiet buzz in his throat, a sound of agreement. “Don’t forget your allowance.”
“Right, thanks Alfred.” You ran to the counter, picking up the cash and hiding it away, unfortunately your dad forgot to get you a bank account as you grew up and without a parents signature you wouldn’t be getting one anytime soon— a conversation you were desperately trying to ignore having with the man. Alfred took it upon himself to take a portion of Bruce’s wealth every week to gift you, he had access to it for a reason after all.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge you quickly ran past him and down the hall, calling out a quick “goodbye!” To the man before leaving and running past the gates.
Down the rough concrete pathways, turning the corners, Gotham grew more prevalent in presence the deeper you went into the city, heavy mist shower from the early morning air.
Past the visible air you saw the bus, just now pulling up to the bus stop, the doors opened and you nearly ran into the sigh pole hard, thankfully you seemed to have inherited some of your fathers swiftness, grabbing the metal pole you let it catch you before you tripped. The bus driver passed you an amused grin as you scanned your bus card, halfway down the aisle you caught Oliver waving to you.
“Here!” He said, moving his bag away from the seat he was saving for you, “Saw you almost eat the ground, you alright?”
On cue you yawned, head leaning back and stretching your legs forward under the seat in front of you, “Mhm, just close to falling back asleep.”
“Stay awake, you can sleep on the drive over.” Oliver settled his hand over your head and rubbed the top of it reassuringly before pulling away. It took all your power to not fall back asleep, fighting against the hefty weight of sleep that tried to lay over you.
By the time you arrived, Oliver had to hold your shoulders to stop you from swaying, stepping out in front of the school while the cool breeze dabbed your skin, eye opening. If that didn’t wake you up, the loud bang nearby certainly did.
You and him looked to the side, and spotted Isla, hand slapping the window before shifting from hitting to waving. Mouthing the obvious words “come here!”
Before you managed to walk over, you were stopped by Oliver’s hand still placed on you, “Wait Uhm..” he hesitated, you tilted your head to the side, urging him to continue. “Sure your family is okay with you coming with us to Metropolis for the day?” Oliver added, hand on your shoulder, ever the worry wart over you and Isla.
“It’s for a school trip Oli, Bruce signed the papers, come on.” You said, walking pat him with your bag slung over your shoulder towards the bus, Isla waved eagerly from the window where she sat, running to the bus when in showed up to quote ‘get the best seat’ which basically just meant the window seat closest to the back.
You two stepped onto the bus, walking up the two old steps and greeting the driver who was one of your usual patrons through daily life. “OVER HERE!” Isla screamed as if you weren’t only ten feet away.
“We hear you Isla calm down!” Oliver said, walking past you to try and shush her, embarrassed from the attention drawn the both of you filed into the seats beside her, him taking the middle spot between Isla and you.
“Alright, Isla, tell Oliver that I’m not gonna get in trouble for coming on this trip.”
“You’re still on that??” She frowned, dramatically forcing her body limp, head landing on the window with a ‘thunk’, between you Oliver hugged his back closer to his chest, “stop it! I was just saying!”
Your arm wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him into a side hug, “And I appreciate you worrying, but seriously. It’s fine.” You assured, reluctantly he softened and leaned into the hug, it didn’t take much for you to encourage him to drop it. At least verbally, he’s likely to still worry internally.
Isla threw you two cheap packets of gummies from her bag, “Go, I have a ton, I even got cookies!” Oliver thanked her, tearing open the plastic packaging whilst you tucked yours away into your bag, still full from the breakfast Alfred made you.
Your phone buzzed, a singular message from Alfred reading:
ALFRED: Please have a pleasant day.
[ME]: I will, thank you.
Tucking it into your pocket, you leaned closer to your friends the more people piled onto the bus. Isla talking about something regarding her least favourite teacher while Oliver refuted everything she said about said teacher, and you piping up to add your own opinion.
Soon the bus became crowded, forced to squish closer with your friends, bags being abandoned under your seats to save space.
Ten minutes into the trip, you passed out, on Oliver’s shoulder while Isla poked at your cheek till he stopped her, unbothered by the world around you.
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Duke continuously glanced towards the empty spot at the table, a spot usually occupied by you. No one else seemed to question it other than Dick who joked that you must’ve been rising later than usual, to which no one argued
Not an impossibility, so everyone moved on with their morning, until breakfast ended and Bruce grew semi-annoyed at the fact you still weren’t up on a school day. “Damian” he said, drawing the youngest members attention, Bruce’s eyes glanced towards your spot at the table and then to the stairs, clearly urging him to wake you up.
A regular occurrence, perhaps because you were the only blood related siblings but he usually handled trivial matters when it came to you which added to his annoyance concerning your presence.
“Do I have to?” His voice gruff with morning drawl and discontent. Bruce tilted his head forward, raising a brow in a way that meant ‘yes’ with no room to argue. Damian’s fist dropped onto the table as he stood, an act to show his displeasure in the order before turning and heading upstairs.
Steps reverberated off the walls of the empty hallway, passing doors one by one, all of which held the sanctities of each and every one of his siblings. Yours laid dead centre of them all, yet remained the least important, he knew it, hard to miss.
With a snarky word on his lip he raised his fist to bang on the wooden threshold of your room, “Hey, wake up. Thanks to you I’m missing breakfast.” They hit the door but not you, evident from it remaining shut.
Brows furrowing in frustration, he slammed the base of his fist against wooden aperture, shaking from the pressure. “Hey, I SAID WAKE UP!” He shouted impatiently, “I swear to..” his hand wrapped around the handle, twisting it, lock clicking as it retracted.
It opened, dust kicking up in its wake, he squinted in an attempt to prevent it from touching his eyes, stepping into the room. It took not even a second to realise two things.
Number one, you weren’t here, and number two, you haven’t been for a while. Your belongings? Gone, dust covered most every inch of the room, and it was abandoned, like a guest room except not even Alfred had come close to it.
“The hell..” the words muttered under his breath, he turned and left almost as soon as he entered, slamming the door behind him, footsteps heavy on the ground.
From downstairs, Cassandra was the first to notice it, walls weren’t as still as they should’ve been, moving to look at the stairs, Damian came storming down. Her head tilted questioningly, yet he ignored her, stepping towards Bruce.
“Real funny, making me wake them up all for them to already be gone. Now my food is cold.” He snarked, sitting in his rightful place and eating his now semi-warm breakfast, Stephanie looked up from her plate.
“What do you mean Damian?” She asked, placing down her dull cutting knife beside her now finished plate, across from herself he scoffed, ignoring her and stabbing amok at his food, not even bothering to eat it, appetite gone.
Dick placed a hand onto his shoulder, shaking him mildly, “Hey, pretty sure she asked you a question.” His voice wavered from the side-eye he received, still not removing his hand, he gestured with his other to Stephanie— still waiting for an answer.
His eyes rolled, dropping his utensil onto the plate, the sharp clang sound caused everyone to stop eating. “Damian, what is this about.” Bruce questioned, posture straightening against the back of his chair, spin levelling up.
“It means, they aren’t there, room basically abandoned, you didn’t tell me they moved rooms.” Underneath his breath he added, “stupid, all of it..” it was that which caught his dads attention even more.
Bruce, without missing a beat, stood up, abandoning the table, Dick, ever the first in the family, followed on instinct. Which in turn caused everyone else to act, joining the two with Damian coming up behind them all.
Approaching your room, he held his arm back to keep everyone from crowding the opening of it. Opening the door, it dragged across the floor, unbothered by the dust, Bruce took the first step in, using his skills to learn something from the empty room. His eyes glossed over the cleanly made, untouched bed. The dust covered shelves.
He walked to the closet, opening it only to find a handful of old clothes he hadn’t seen you wear in a while. How long is a while?
Bruce tried to recall.
Everyone dispersed into seperate parts of the room, Stephanie to your dresser, opening the drawers of it, specks of dust being released. Empty, all of it. Dick tried your bed, finding anything but there was nothing to be seen.
Duke hovered by your desk, it was an old one, came with the room. Numerous knick-knacks and old papers dated back months laid in it, nothing with substance. “Clearly they haven’t been here in a while..” he hesitated, “Would Alfred know where they are?”
Bruce looked at him, considering the words before nodding, “Possibly, he should be in the kitchen.” Didn’t take too long for everyone to move down to the first floor, meanwhile Alfred stacked dishes into cabinets, his ears picked up the steps quickly.
As they usually did when anyone tried to enter his kitchen, his body titled askew to the doorway. Bruce appeared first, the band of vigilantes behind him, before he managed to take a step in, Alfred raised his hand with a brow ajar from the other.
“Master Bruce, I’m sure I’ve told you that your presence is not required in the kitchen.” He reminded, Bruce retracted his raised foot, placing it back down just before the point of the kitchen.
A rough, detached sound cleared from his throat, “Alfred, now may be needed as an exception.” Without letting the others interrupt, he explained your disappearance, the lack of a used room.
And the butler ever so consistent at his job, listened. Humming under his breath while doing so, Bruce huffed once he finished, hand rubbing the base of his chin, “If you know what they’re up to, please tell us.”
Now that, was his mistake.
“School,” he replied plainly, Duke stepped forward into the kitchen, not having been banned from it yet. “School?”
“School, Master Duke.” Alfred repeated, continuing his duties of stacking the dishes, truthfully, they did simply ask what you were doing, not where you were. Had it been a separate circumstance, he’d have told them, but this man was no dolt, you asked him very clearly to refrain from telling them. Maybe you hadn’t meant literally, but the family wore slightly on his nerves the more they treated you as if you hadn’t existed, so let him have his fun for once.
Dick pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking and scrolling through. Stephanie leaned closer to him, catching a glance at the screen, “Tim? You’re texting him?”
“He’s at school early today, saw him when he left! I’ll just get him to stop by their class and make sure everything’s alright!” He said, the positive tone calmed the nerves of everyone else, Bruce shook his head firmly is agreement, “Good idea.”
He hit call at that moment, stepping away from group. And a from a distance Tim received the call, sitting at his desk in class before it even started, the space between his brows folded together. Picking it up he pressed answer, holding it to his ear.
“Dick? Why’re you calling me, I’m at school?” From the other side of the screen, through the speak Dick’s voice sounded, “Drop the attitude little bro! I know your first class isn’t for another thirty minutes!”
“Why do you know my schedule??” Tim looked at his phone as if Dick could see the confusion on his face, Dick clicked his tongue, “we are from a family of detectives Timmy, you of all people should know that finding someone’s schedule is the easiest part.”
Tim rolled his eyes, imagining his brothers’ scantily present smug smirk, “Fine, you called because you need something right?”
“Right!” And like those words were the catalyst, he launched into a dramatic reenactment of that morning without him. Tim caught the more important parts, ignoring the obvious embellishments, by the end he managed to piece it together.
You, room abandoned, somewhere at school, perfectly not confusing at all. He coughed into the speaker, making Dick shut up, “Okay, I got it, now what do you want from me specifically?”
“Can you just go to their class and make sure they’re alright?” Tim thought for a minute, yeah, he would surely do that. Except, he didn’t remember where your class was, or who your teacher is.
Clearly his throat awkwardly, he admitted this fact to Dick, “Yeah, of course I’ll do it but.. do you know what their class is?”
Silence on the other end, then nervous laughter— more airy than an actual sound, “I.. aha, I thought you’d know..!”
“…” Tim sighed, phone held tightly in his right hand, the left rubbing his forehead like this entire situation gave him a headache. “It’s fine, tell Bruce that I’ll check it out!”
“Thought you didn’t know their class—" “I don’t, but I’ll stop by the teachers office, check it out, and go from there, it’ll be fine since I’m family.” At the time he didn’t say it, but the word family when referring to you felt foreign, like the bitter after feeling following the time you’d bite your own tongue.
Dick praised him for the idea while the taste lingered on his tongue, cutting him off early and saying he’ll text him when he has answers. Tim turned to his classmate, “Hey, if class starts early tell the teacher I’m just checking on family.”
“That an excuse or a real reason?” They asked.
“Real, I don’t skip for fake reasons, and thanks.” He said before leaving the classroom, from behind him his classmate called out a ‘you’re welcome’ playfully. Being a Wayne came with that, people becoming more easygoing around you, whether for something or just because they think they know you, since they know your name.
Tim walked down to the first floor of the high school, accidentally shoulder checking someone on the way down and apologising without pausing his steps. A few people passing by greeted him, he replied politely, still never taking a moment to stand still.
Coming across the teachers lounge, he knocked on the already open door as a minor warning to not surprise them before walking in, one of the teachers obviously recognised him, waving. “Mr. Timothy Wayne, how may we help you?”
He smiled at the teacher, “Just need to double check something about my sibling’s—" there was that bitter feeling again, “—forgot their schedule, mind checking for me?”
“Are you talking about Duke? I’d be sure to check that for you.” He said, but Tim shook his head, explaining who he was really here about.
A guilty, diffident look appeared on his face, Timothy, ever the detective, called it out. “Apologies Timothy, I just wasn’t aware you had another sibling at this school, I’ll get their schedule right now for you.”
No way, that was ridiculous! How could a member of the Wayne family fly under the radar this much? Did he have a part to play in this, did everyone else? His head shook side to side, shaking away those thoughts, tugging at his bag strap with sweaty palms.
“Oh, there it is. I had a bit of trouble finding it because the attendance list only just came in, their class is currently on a field trip, left this morning not even an hour ago.” He said, Tim breathed a sigh of relief, “Geez.. I was worried honestly, where’s the trip to? Museum? Art gallery?” He asked.
“No, it’s for social studies so they went farther, to.. Metropolis for the day.” Frozen, stilled, Tim couldn’t move, brain processing the information. “Are- you sure??” The teacher nodded.
The next few moments were a blur, excusing himself, he walked out of the room. Footsteps leading him not back to class, but to the exit, cold Gotham air hit his skin. His phone buzzed, probably Dick asking for an update, but he was lost in thought, no way you went to Metropolis without telling anyone.
Why would you?
With unsteady hands, he took his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it to look through Dick’s messages.
Dick Grayson: hey, got any answers?
Dick Grayson: Tim Tim?
Dick Grayson: Feels like it would’ve been quicker to send Duke at this point
Dick Grayson: kidding but fr what’s the hold up?
It took a minute, then two for him to put the words into a sentence, it wasn’t that you were on a school trip. It’s that you didn’t tell anyone, you never cause trouble, now on a random morning that changes?
He held his phone back up, typing with both hands.
[ME]: They’re going to Metropolis, I’m coming home now
Ignoring the array of messages he was definitely gonna get, he hailed a cab, almost running onto the streets to do so, the sound of horns honking drew him back. The cab pulled up right in front of him, nearly landing on the curb, he opened the door, jumping into the backseat and fumbling with his wallet for cash, “Wayne Manor, please.” He said, handing the driver a solid hundred.
The trip didn’t take long, he zoned out for most of it. Tim knew people, he had information on them, he understood them through it. You never acted out, you were quiet— unnoticeable some times, but never a troublemaker, you just weren’t.
He knew that, he repeated it in his head. Like insanity, it continued until the driver spoke up, “We’re here.” Tim’s head tilted upward and to the side, out the window was the manor, “Thanks” he said while opening the door.
The cab drove off, he felt the heat from its engine on his ankles, bag clutched between his fingers, promptly his legs ran to the door, opening it to reveal the room full of his waiting family.
“You’re here!” Stephanie shouted, walking up to him, “Dick said they’re in metropolis, were you serious?!”
“Of course I was serious Steph, why should I lie about that?” He sighed, heading past them to the batcave, “Come on, I’ll check out their location and make sure they’re alright.”
“He has their location?”
“He has everyone’s location Duke” Stephanie said, following Tim down to the batcave along with everyone else. Cold, clean floors greeted them, their shoes tapping against it. Tim trekked to the console, chair squeaking across the floor adjusting to his weight, his feet stretched forward, dragging himself and the chair forward, hands instinctively touching the keyboard. “Just give me a minute- Dick stop hovering!”
“But Tim-Tim!” The older complained but was pulled back by Damian, the youngest who mocked him for his immaturity. Bruce stood beside Timothy, watching the screen, but something about it distended outward to grasp their attention. “Uh—" "uh?? That doesn’t sound good.." Stephanie said.
“No, it’s fine I just can’t get a read on their location..” he fingers tapped several different keys, searching for something. “You can’t find someone??” Dick’s voice rasped in panic, the man did have a tendency to overreact at times, Damian just kicked his shins for him to calm down, hunching over he complained about Damian and vice versa but everyone ignored them.
“Why can’t you find them?” Bruce asked, stepping forward. “Uh, best guess, they probably turned off their location for whatever reason.” God, you really weren’t helping his ‘you aren’t a troublemaker’ thing.
Stephanie felt more aware of her breathing, expression tensing, “alright, but why would they do that? Think they’re maybe not actually on a school trip?”
Across the room, Duke shook his head side to side, “I know I haven’t been here as long as everyone else, but that’s not like them, is it?”
‘No, it really isn’t.’ Bruce thought, “Not telling anyone, disappearing, is this some kind of rebellious phase?” He wondered aloud, Dick gasped, “You really think it’s just a rebellious phase?!”
“Not impossible, your rebellion phase consisted of running off to Bludhaven wasn’t it?” Grumbling under his breath, Tim couldn’t try searching for you in Metropolis since you likely hadn’t arrived yet, pin pointing your exact location was difficult. Ignoring Dick’s protest and everyone’s sudden yelling, without another thought he grabbed his phone, quickly texting his best friend.
[ME]: Kon, need to ask you something
Kon: TIM! What is it? You needa favour? You’ll owe me yk, just kidding, but also what’s up?
Giving Conner a short rundown of what happened, he later ended the message with a quick-
[ME]: Mind just checking things out for me when they get there, make sure they actually are on a trip?
Kon: I WOULD, but I have school too! Wait, are you skipping?
[ME]: situation calls for it doesn’t it?
Kon: fine, but Bruce is vouching for me, don’t want Clark getting mad that I’m skipping!
Tim turned to Bruce for concurrence, the man agreed without hesitation.
[ME]: done and done
Kon: cool, I’ll watch out for them, think I have time for a movie before hand?
[ME]: Kon, I swear
Kon: obviously kidding! you can count on me!
“Kon is actually going to be the reason I get grey hairs..” he huffed, leaning back in the chair, the back of it creaking, from behind him Duke came to his side, “So, everything okay?”
“Yeah, I got Kon to wait up for them, see if they’re actually in Metropolis, just gotta wait.” His legs straightened, pulling up his body to stand, “I’m going to wait in my room till he replies, better go over some cases while I have the free time.” Tim said, before leaving to his room.
His dismissal of the situation threw Duke off guard, but when he looked around everyone seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Just wait for everything to be okay, “Steph, is this… usual?”
“Is what usual?” Pieces of her hair swept around in the air as her head turned to face him, “I mean, just waiting like this?” And Stephanie, who was originally going to nod, paused.
Maybe for them it was, someone goes off the grid? Usually hero stuff, look at Jason— he disappears for weeks at a time off who knows where. But what would you be doing missing?
Her canine tooth bite into the inner corner of her lip, “Dammit, I think you’re right.. let’s just trust Conner and Tim right now.”
“Trust who with what?” “DAMIAN— stop just appearing!” Just as he was about to reply to her, Dick wailed from behind him, Stephanie and Duke leaned to the side, looking past Damian.
On the ground laid Dick clutching his arms around his waist, “YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO KICK ME THERE-" “you wouldn’t shut up!” He retorted, taking the opportunity, Bruce then appeared, scolding both of them with his ‘dad voice’ while the two uninvolved with the situation quickly ran away from the batcave with unintelligible yelling fading into nothing.
Unbeknownst to them, somewhere in the house Alfred Pennyworth held the answer to their assumptions, and unbeknownst to you this would later become your problem.
─── ´ˎ˗
Stirring awake, you felt the shaky driving of the bus, blinking slowly to adjust your eyes, Isla called out from the other side of Oliver, “Oh finally you’re awake! Settle this now, who’s better? Red Hood or Nightwing!?”
“I just woke up, please don’t start now..” you said, adapting to the background noise, outside the window behind Stephanie’s head, you saw the unfamiliar town, “We there yet?”
“You sound like my brother..” Oliver said, handing you a snack bag which you declined by gently pushing it away and shaking your head, “and to answer your question, no, but teacher said another twenty minutes.”
Smiling at your friends, you pulled your bag up from the ground to hold in your arms, “Anyways, you’re both wrong, the original Batgirl is the best.” Barbara was the only one in the family who really treated you like you existed so it’s clear she’d be your favourite. Maybe because you were both technically civilians for the better part of the day ? You can’t read her mind.
“You always say that, I thought you didn’t like heroes but seems like you’re just biased to the one!” Isla argued, her messily painted nail pointed at your nose with a playful grin. “I don’t like heroes, but I respect Batgirl, is that a crime?”
“Well my favourite is Red Robin!” Someone from the front of the bus spoke up, “Nah, Superman better!” And that started the whole debate, all the attendees of the trip talked over each other, noise over noise. Isla yelled her own preference, joining the frey with everyone else, Oliver meanwhile put on his earphones, annoyed by the commotion, Isla crawled over you both awkwardly to reach the walkway, talking with everyone else while the teacher sighed and let her head hit the window in defeat.
Turning your head downward you unzipped the front pocket and took out your phone, the screen lit up— no new messages, not surprising. Putting it away, you pressed your back further into the uncomfortable hard seat, leaning your head back to relax, melting into the atmosphere.
The surrounding sound faded and muddled, screening it out of your focus. And before you knew it, you fell asleep again.
For ten minutes before arriving at Metropolis. The bus pulled to a stop, pushing forward then back into park, the shudder of it shook your body and whisked you into consciousness. “Everyone, settle down!”
Facing the noise, in the middle of the aisle was your teacher, holding up her clipboard and tapping it with her fist to get everyone’s attention, “You aren’t children, calm down or we will turn around!”
“No you won’t!” Someone yelled, “Yeah, this is a public school, they won’t waste money for a trip to cancel it!!” Another added, funny how people can suddenly make good points despite just squawking over Green Lantern or Wonder Woman and who had the best costume.
The teacher had given up by this point, she closed her eyes and breathed, “Alright everyone, just.. please stop, we’ll take attendance then you’ll all leave in your set groups, remember to carry your id’s incase you get lost!”
Thankfully she managed to reign everyone in and called off her attendance once again, checking everyone was there before stepping off the bus and watching everyone leave. You, Isla and Oliver walked off last, standing in the crowd of students, listing off the rules for your trip, your teacher handed everyone a worksheet which no one was going to use— and reiterated, “If you get lost, just show the nearest resident your id and ask for directions! And don’t be rude!”
“Alright teacher!” Oliver said with a smile, hand raised, she showed him an appreciative expression, “thank you Oliver, and now everyone, you may go explore!”
Basically everyone dispersed the second she said that, some people left in pairs, some in trios, and others in groups of four. You and your trio sat at a nearby park, going over your work.
“So what’s the assignment again?” Isla asked.
“Just learning about Metropolis, finding landmarks, different locations and asking locals some questions, social study things.” You answered while Oliver pulled out his notebook, re-reading his notes.
He nodded, “Right, I was thinking we walk around the city, landmarks shouldn’t be too hard to find since they’re probably tourist spots, so why not check out some other places while everything is still quiet during school hours?”
Isla and you agreed, Oliver usually took the initiative in group projects just because he actually liked doing so, and both you two were fine with following his instructions. “How long do we have again?”
Oliver looked at his notebook and then back at you, “We leave at six I think, maybe six thirty so we can be back by seven because it gets dark at eight.”
“And when it gets dark that’s when Gotham really becomes Gotham!” Isla jumped in, the three of you laughed at her words, it was a bit dark but you learned to joke about the city after living in it your entire lives.
“Are you gonna visit your dad while we’re here?” She shrugged, hugging your arm while walking side by side between you and Oliver, in response to your question she said “Probably not since we should focus on school, I’ll see him next week so it’s fine!”
“He lives on the outskirts right?” He asked, Isla shook her head up and down, hair bouncing with her action, “Yup, so I don’t know much about it the inner city!”
Your voice laced with sarcasm spoke up, “Ah, there goes our cheat sheet..” she gasped, clinging closer to your arm her voice shrilled, “Is that all I am to you!? Simply a cheat sheet!?” Her hands slipped from your arm to the ground, “Betrayal!”
Oliver pulled her arm, trying to get her back up, “Isla come on! You’re making a scene!” Her head turned to look at him, deadpanned.
“There’s not even a soul here! If you mean the lady walking her dog, crazy thing, she walked away!” Using her free hand she put it to her head, mimicking an exploding motion, expression shifting into a mocking surprise one.
“Okay, I love the theatre production going on but we should probably start doing the work we’re here for.” You said, tugging up Isla as she stood with a pout on her lips.
“Buzz kill, I was really getting into the dramatics!”
“You’re always dramatic” Oliver joked, putting his hands on your and hers shoulders, pushing you both forward, “Now come on, I researched a few places we can visit!”
Walking with your friends against the large city of metropolis, getting lost in the tall buildings and crowds of people, turned around and back again, it was a better than any moment you’d ever spent with your supposed family.
─── ´ˎ˗
Tim rubbed at his cheek with one hand, the other attached to his mouse clicking through files. A buzz on the side of his desk broke him out of focus, groaning he opened it— annoyance dissipating when he read the message he’d gotten.
Kon: saw them! Got off a bus with a lot of other people, a trip like you said
Relief flooded out of his body in the form of a long sigh, at least you weren’t off doing drugs or anything.. he’ll think about why you didn’t tell anyone later. His thumb swiped his screen to exit his and Conner’s chat, tapping the group chat and typing a quick message.
Tim: got the text from Kon, they really are just on a trip
Bruce: Thank you Tim
Dick: GOOD WORK TIM-TIM!
Damian: why are you telling that to Tim, it was the Kent one who did the work.
Tim: let me have this Damian.
Stephanie: As long as everything’s alright then I’m relieved!
Duke: same!
Jason: what happened and why is everything talking like someone was missing
Stephanie: maybe you’d know if you weren’t off wherever in the world like Carmen sandiego!
Jason: Ok.
Dick: damn. Just ‘ok’? Not even ‘okay’??
And away from the manor, the greasy smell of a Bat Burger restaurant hit him, Jason glared at his phone while standing beside his motorbike. “The hell..” he sighed under his breath and kept reading the chat, Duke the ever helpful soul was the one who told him what happened.
How you went missing temporarily. The mention of you made him cringe at the screen, he had nothing against you, but you were basically a stranger. And acknowledging you as part of the family made him feel, off, partially the reason who stopped talking to you after returning from— well, the dead.
Bruce never acknowledged you, when he was younger he felt bad, tried to compensate for that by spending time with you even after you seemed like you didn’t care at all. One time he asked you, and the entire interaction confused him, a troubled kid to an even younger kid, how was he supposed to decipher what you meant then?
Reading Duke’s final message of ‘don’t worry, good thing they’re safe!’ Jason couldn’t help the words he ended up replying with.
Jason: Wasn’t worried
Stephanie: wow, rude.
Jason: just the truth
Cassandra: what truth
Stephanie: CASS!!
Cassandra: hi
Dick: when did you land??
Cassandra: 30 minutes ago
Bruce: Your ETA?
Cassandra: 20 minutes out
Bruce: Confirmed.
Dick: for the love of GOD please type like a normal person Bruce.
He watched as the chat so easily swayed away from the topic of you, being away from the family made him more observant overtime. Of discrepancies that someone like Tim should’ve noticed, and he knows Cassandra saw it too.
“Fuck this..” he said to himself, throwing his phone in his pocket and settling on his bike. He placed his helmet on, gloved hands grabbing at the handles and revving up his engine to head back to his singular apartment. Jason couldn’t waste anymore time thinking about this.
─── ´ˎ˗
“Oli can we please take a break..! We’ve been walking for hours, I NEED sustenance!” Isla said, hanging onto Oliver’s shoulder dragging him down with her. You meanwhile agreed, stomach growling after the hours without food, it had been over at least seven or soemthing hours..
“She’s right Oli, please don’t make us starve for your GPA!” You said, dragging down his other shoulder, the three of you collapsing to the ground as he tripped over his own feet. “Oh my god you both are so dramatic..!”
He tried sounding annoyed, but you and Isla both knew the sound of when he agreed and was just playing the strict guy. You both laid over him, you draped over his shoulder while Isla was on his legs, a weird jenga tower that the people around you chuckled at.
From the corner of your eye you saw a patrol officer who looked really close to scolding you three for public disturbance though so you all collected yourselves and stood up. Oliver awkwardly apologised to the crowd, face red from the blood rushing into it.
Isla meanwhile— grinned and bowed like she just put on the performance of a lifetime, and you just stood between them. “Okay, get up you two I need food” you said, grabbing their arms and pulling them away from the scene.
“Well now you’re gonna thank me for being a nerd because I happen to know of a place nearby that has fries and milkshakes!” He said smugly, pulling out his phone for directions. Isla gasped, “No way, my FAVOURITE combo, hurry hurry! Let’s go!”
She beamed at you, taking out her Polaroid camera that she used for photographing your trip from her bag and snapping a celebratory selfie with it. Later captioning it ‘Oliver’s nerdiness being valuable!’
Oliver led you three to the place, a quietly lit alley that had a few food trucks lined up. In Gotham this place would’ve been a set up for a drug deal, but in Oliver’s reassurance, this really was a regular place.
He fact checked it, because of course he did.
Isla started snapping photos of the entire place, ready to add to her album of pictures, making sure not to exclude you nor Oliver from them as she treasured the entirety of her surroundings.
“Oh, my— seriously Oli there’s crepes too!?” She squealed, shoving her camera into your hands and running over to the truck, already looking through her little wallet of change and passing some cash out of it to the owner while reading the menu.
“I’m gonna go buy us some fries, can you get the milkshakes?” Oliver said, already rummaging through his bag for change, you meanwhile nodded, putting Isla’s camera into your pack and grabbing the money you got earlier from Alfred. “Got it, the usual?”
His head shook, “Actually they have a raspberry one I wanna try, mind getting that for me?” From the crepe truck Isla said, “I’ll take my usual! Hey guys, regular or not regular crepes because I’ll just pile on your favourite things?”
“Non-regular!” You said, “Regular!” Oliver replied, your words overlapping yet Isla gave both of you a thumbs up anyways, indicating that she heard you.
Looking at the cash in your hand, you held it low, a habit because you shouldn’t ever hold up a wad of cash in Gotham. Nearing the milkshake truck, the person manning it, a kind looking twenty-something year old asked what you’d like to order. Repeating your friends words and then your own thoughts about what you wanted he nodded at you, stepping away to start working on them.
The distant sound of the air fryer from Oliver’s side, the piping sound of whipped cream from Isla, and the sudden roar of the blended from yours mixed into a barrage of noise that prevented you from noticing a certain someone.
The blending blocked out any outside sound, waiting for the milkshakes, and thankfully they were made sooner than you thought.
The worker placed a red and white blended one in front of you, and then another with mass amounts of sprinkles and pink syrup, emptying your hands of your possessions into your bag, you carefully lifted up your arms and nabbing the hard plastic, coldness numbing into your palms and fingers.
Yet instead of turning to see your friends you turned and—
“Well, hello there!”
“AH-" the milkshakes fell from your grasp, the world paused as your heart palpitated from the fright. Your eyes focused quickly writhing a second and the person you saw wore a great big smile, similar to the man who protected this city like your dad did with Gotham.
“Conner—??” God you really can’t escape any semblance of your life for longer than a day.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
And that is the first chapter done, I hope it wasn’t too cluttered and rushed. I tried establishing the world and a few characters viewpoints but I may have written too quickly without rereading.
The format I know is a little different from usual neglected!reader fics as the family usually becomes a focus later instead of so early but I just like writing the pov switch, hope it’s okay.
Also, I’m aware the ages make no sense, I’m sorry, let’s chalk it up to reality-warping shenanigans.
-> Thank you to the people who supported the prologue, I hope the rest of the series lives up to ideas and expectations. Yet please remember I can’t meet them all, so I appreciate you all, and I hope it’s alright. I’m sorry if I missed tagging anyone, but multiple accounts said that they weren’t available.
♫ NOTE: taglist is closed.
＊previous chapter <- | masterlist | -> next chapter
✷ ── You were made to be a weapon. From the moment you were separated from your mother’s arms, you were subjected to experiments and exploited by the very man who falsely claimed to be your papa. Even with papa dead, you can’t help but realize that maybe he was right all along. Maybe you were just a weapon. But Steve Harrington didn’t believe that.
characters — steve harrington x fem! reader
warnings — blood, mention of trauma, reader is number 6 and has powers, hopper is a good dad, fear of abandonment, it’s stranger things cmon, doesn’t really follow the timeline of season 5 but it is based on it
Red, thick blood trickled down your nose and mouth. The familiar liquid you had grown accustomed to over the years. Your right hand was extended in front of you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lower it. Your eyes were empty and void of any emotion as you stared at the bodies that were scattered about the room, all motionless and still. Their necks and limbs were twisted and bent in ways that was beyond normal. Beyond anything that a normal person could do to someone else.
They were bad, you told yourself. They wanted to hurt you. They wanted to hurt El and Hopper. It had to be done. There was no other way.
Your arm finally lowered slowly back down to your side. You swallowed hard, tasting the metallic blood that had accumulated in your mouth. Your breathing had slowed to its normal pace as you stood there, staring at what you had done. It wasn’t your actions that had caused you to be upset. It was the fact that you felt nothing while you did it. Nothing but pure anger as you flung them one by one into the walls. It was automatic, like something that had been programmed into you. You were made to do this. And that’s what got you.
Countless nights had been spent staring at the cobwebbed ceilings of Hopper’s cabin. Each night, sleep eluded you, replaced by a whirlwind of thoughts that consumed your mind. Papa was miles away, physically unreachable, yet his presence lingered in your thoughts like an inescapable bad dream. You could recall all the time you spent in the rainbow room, your hair neatly buzzed down to your scalp. You would carefully move the blocks with your hands, only to grow frustrated when they wouldn’t move in the way you had intended.
“Patience, 6.” Papa’s words were smooth, false empathy emanating from every syllable. “It simply takes practice. Have you ever heard of the metaphor practice makes perfect?”
You shook your bald head, staring up at Papa as he knelt down to pick up the blocks from where they had fallen.
“You cannot expect perfection when you have no experience. The more you practice, the more experience you gain. Do you understand?” He placed the blocks in a pattern on the table, turning around to stare at you with his hands on his bent knees. You nodded. He patted your back.
“You will accomplish great things, six.”
As you stared down at all of the poor people in front of you, you realized that he was wrong. If this was the great things he spoke of, you never wanted to do it ever again. But a part of you knew that you had to. You were made for this. Papa had specifically chosen you for things of this nature. He had chosen you to be his weapon. And you forever would be one.
The car ride to the Squawk was filled with silence. The radio had been turned off long ago, leaving the three of you to sit in silence. You could feel the blood drying on your face, causing discomfort due to its tightness. You hadn’t even bothered to wipe it off. More would come soon enough anyways. El sat in the back of the truck, her head leaning against the window as she watched the trees pass. Both of Hoppers hands were gripped so hard on the steering wheel you could see his knuckles turning white. You tore at the skin around your nails, flinching when you dug too deep. The tension in the car was so thick it almost choked you.
“Kid,” Hoppers voice was low, full of something you guessed was worry. “Keep doing that and you won’t have skin at all.” At his words, your hands instinctively separated and rested in your thighs. You mumbled a quiet sorry.
“You okay?” He tore his eyes away from the road to glance at where you sat in the passenger seat. Hopper had always been good at reading you. He had joked years ago saying that it was his super power, just as yours was telekinesis.
“Yes.” He gave you a look.
“Look at me.” Your head slowly turned to meet his gaze, your face still blank.
“Don’t give me that. I’ve heard that crap a thousand times. You don’t have to pretend with me. Tell me what’s wrong.” His brows furrowed as you remained silent. You sat there for a while, simply staring blankly back at the road ahead.
“I killed them.” Your voice was shaky and uncertain as you blinked rapidly. Hop nodded.
“I killed them like they were nothing. Like they probably don’t have families to go home to.” Hop listened intently as he always did.
“You did,” His voice had no judgment in it, only understanding. “But they tried to kill you first. You were defending me. You were defending El. And that’s the only thing that matters.” When you didn’t answer, he kept going.
“Let me ask you something.” You turned to him once more, only to find that he was already gazing at you.
“Do you think i’m bad because i’ve killed bad people?” You shook your head, and he smiled.
“Exactly.”
When Hopper parked the car in the Squawks driveway, you quietly hopped out and opened the door for El. She gave you a soft knowing smile, a smile that said I understand. The blood on her face mirrored yours, showing you that you were in fact not alone. As you walked into the air conditioned building, you could hear the party down in the basement. You could hear them talking about the next crawl, about Murray’s next delivery, and how quickly they could defeat Vecna. You could hear Steve as him and Dustin began to bicker over tiny things. It made you stop at the top of the stairs.
You hesitated to go down. Fear filled your body at the thought of them taking your bloody face in. They had seen it before, sure, plenty of times. Yet this time was different. This time, it wasn’t just your blood on your body. It was the blood of other humans. Other humans whose lives you had taken with your own hands. The hands that Steve had taken into his so tenderly and lovingly. You gulped. Hopper watched from behind with El as you contemplated going downstairs. He sighed. He knew it had taken a toll on you mentally and physically. He himself had felt that toll weigh down on his shoulders before, and the worst part was that he had no idea how to help shoulder the burden. Hopper brushed past you, opening the door and gesturing for you to walk down. You stared up at him, nothing but fear in your eyes as you basically pleaded for him to not make you go down. It nearly killed him. With a hand on your shoulder, you went down.
The creaking of the stairs under your weight alerted the party. They all halted their conversation, their heads swiftly turning to identify who was descending to them. When your upper half came into view, they all sighed in relief, saying your name with such care that it almost panicked you. When they saw how much blood was on your body, the questions all came flooding in.
“Sweetie!” Joyce rushed over, taking your face into her warm hands as she looked you over. Hopper and El followed behind you, going to collapse down onto the red couch in the corner. “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”
Your hand reached up to grab one of hers, nodding. “I’m okay.” She didn’t look convinced.
“Stay here, i’ll go get some paper towels to clean you off.” Joyce rushed back up the stairs, leaving you standing there alone. When you looked up, you were met with the gaze of the one and only Steve Harrington. He stood against one of the pillars, his arms crossed as he stared at you with worry.
You had met Steve Harrington when Dustin came pounding on the door to Hopper’s cabin, practically begging you to help find the baby demo-dog he had named Dart. You almost declined, but seeing the pure desperation in his eyes made you reconsider. Hopper would be furious that you were leaving with a 13-year-old and the King of Hawkins, but you figured he would get over it.
From then on, you found a good friend in Steve Harrington. Despite his reputation as a bad boy from high school, he was kind. Of course, he had his moments. There were times when you wanted to smack him silly like when he made a stupid comment, and when he selflessly flung himself at the demo-dogs in the junkyard. There were also moments when you found yourself infatuated with him. Like when he stared up at you with one of his eyes practically glued shut because Billy Hargrove punched him square in the face, or when he almost kissed you in his car as he dropped off Dustin and Eleven at the dance.
You had never had a boyfriend. You didn’t even know what one was until Mike had asked El to be his. Hopper would snarl whenever anyone even mentioned the word, so you always avoided it. That is, until Steve asked you when you had been wiping the blood off his face after he had been pistol-whipped by Russian soldiers. You and him had been through hell and back, so of course, you said yes. Now, as he stared at you with furrowed brows, you couldn’t help but feel torn. Would he still care for you if he discovered the lengths you had gone to protect El? Would he still love you? The thought alone made you sick, and you quickly returned upstairs to find Joyce. Steve watched you go, his heart sinking in his chest.
“Sooo,” Robin started, rocking back and forth on her heels with her hands behind her back. “Are you gonna go after her? Or just stand her?” Steve shot her a glare as she raised her hands in surrender.
“Maybe she wants some space.” Robin whistled lowly, patting his shoulder as she shook her head.
“It’s amazing how she hasn’t dumped you, Harrington.” He pushed her hand off his shoulder grumpily, before following you back up the stairs.
Steve found you on the top of the Squawk. Your face, even though you were turned away, was clean of blood courtesy of Joyce. He could see your nails as you ravaged them, gnarly cuts lining your cuticles. It pained him to see you like this. He approached you with caution, lowering himself next to you with a grunt. You kept your gaze locked on the fields ahead of you, not reacting as he took one of your hands and placed it in his lap with his.
“You doin okay?” His voice was calm and loving as he caressed your hand, careful to not touch the wounds by your nails. His head was tilted your way, staring at your side profile.
“Yeah, ‘m okay.” It was a lie. A lie that he caught easily. You weren’t all that convincing. Steve frowned.
“Hey, come on. Talk to me.” You finally looked away from the field, tilting your head his was but not meeting his eyes.
“It’s nothing, Steve.” Steve let out a small sigh at your persistence.
“You know,” He let out gently. “You’ve never been a good lair.” A weak laugh escaped you before it disappeared just as fast. Silence stretched between the two of you before you finally spoke again.
“I don’t want you to leave me.” Steve blinked. His gentle caressing on your hand stopped.
“What?”
“I’ve done things,” Your voice cracked as you spoke, tears threatening to spill as you lowered your head to your chest. “I’ve hurt people. I’m made to hurt people.”
At your words, Steve simply stared at you for a long moment before shaking his head.
“No.” You frowned, looking up at him finally. When you met his gaze, it nearly caused you to sob right there.
“No?”
“No.” His answer came without hesitation as he shook his head again. “I’m not leaving you. Ever.” You opened your mouth to retaliate, but he placed his hands on your cheeks and made you look directly at him.
“Listen to me.” His voice was steady as he brought his face closer to yours. “You were not made to hurt people. Everything you’ve done, everything we’ve done, was for a reason. And a damn good one at that.” He wasn’t trying to erase it or pretend it didn’t happen.
“That doesn’t make it okay.” You shook your head.
“No,” He said quietly. “Maybe it doesn’t.” Steve took a slow breath as his thumb moved to wipe away a stray tear.
“But it doesn’t make you a monster either. You’re better than the people in that room. So much better. Yeah, you hurt people. But you also saved so many.” Tears finally spilled over, and you choked out a sob in his arms.
“I’m scared you’re going to see me differently. That you’re going to see me as a monster.” Your shoulders trembled.
“I do see you. I see you. The girl who saved my ass countless of times. The girl who’s spent way too much time blaming herself for things no one should have gone through.” He lifted a hand and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear so intimately it nearly made you sob more. You searched his face, waiting for that realization that yeah, you were a monster.
But it never came. Instead, he gave you the classic Steve Harrington smile, just like the one he gave you when you first met.
His smile faded into something more sincere. “I love you. I love all of you. Powers or not.” His hands gripped your face a tad bit tighter.
“So stop trying to decide for me whether you’re worth staying for.” Steve leaned forward, his forehead now pressing against yours.
“Because i’ve already decided. And you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
You broke down again, burying your face into his shoulder. Steve wrapped both of his arms around you without a second thought, holding you tightly as sobs wracked through your body. He rested his chin on your head, slowly rocking back and forth.
“I’m not going anywhere,” He murmured. “You hear me?”
He placed a kiss at the top of her hairline.
“Not today.”
Another one.
“Not tomorrow.”
Another one.
“Not as long as you’ll have me.”
You pulled back from his neck, chuckling sadly as you stared at the wet stain you left on his cardigan.
“Sorry.” Steve smiled, shaking his head as he pet your hair.
“I have others.” You put your hand on his cheek before bringing him in for a kiss. When your lips met his, you finally realized that he was saying nothing but the truth. Steve Harrington would always be there for you. He would always see you.
word count: 11,676 (Just assume everything will be 10k plus)
"It struck him then that this had nothing to do with rescue anymore."
Betrothals are announced before the realm. Courtship, however, happens in dance lessons, libraries, and quiet conversations where neither Heir nor Princess quite realize how quickly affection has begun to outpace obligation.
Part 1 • Part II • Masterlist
AO3
Playlist Link
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Targcest (what it says on the tin), Arranged Marriage, Forced Betrothal (referenced), Emotional Abuse (referenced), Age Difference, Patriarchal Society, Family Politics & Dynastic Marriage, Courtship, Mutual Pining, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Aerion Targaryen is His Own Warning.
REMINDER - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT AND MEDIA YOU CHOOSE TO CONSUME
DISCLAIMER: All themes, plot, images used in general and characters from A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms + elsewhere belong to the rightful owners, I hold no rights to the original media - but my writing belongs to me.
Baelor’s page, Addam, brought fresh flowers to Saerys each morning, each time with another generous gift.
After the bracelet, it was lemon cakes, then another book (an anthology of Valyrian classics), next a set of fine quills with different colors of ink, and then a shawl of Myrish silk embroidered with dragon scales. Saerys received each gift with a smile. The gifts themselves mattered less than the consistency of them. Amidst councils, feasts, visiting dignitaries, and the endless burdens of the crown, Prince Baelor still thought of her.
Bit by bit she was starting to warm to King’s Landing and her new betrothed. As intimidating as the prospect of being Baelor’s wife was, at least she could trust him. At least he seemed to care enough to prioritize their “courtship,” which was certainly more than Aerion had ever done.
True to his letter, Baelor’s time had indeed been taxed by the crown and the visitors from Dorne. She knew from the conversations they had during meals that he walked the fine line of diplomacy, needing to bring in more of the Dornish lords on trade and decision making, but risking alienation from other houses. Nonetheless, the anniversary of the unification with Dorne demanded some acquiescence.
Maekar had begged off attending family festivities while he mourned Dyanna. This celebration would be the most extravagant Saerys had ever attended. Though Saerys couldn’t ignore a hovering thought at the back of her mind, no matter how grand the Dornish Fete tonight would be, far more grand events were in her future.
With the queen’s help, she had ordered a dress that she felt was too elaborate, and called upon one of the preeminent dancing masters in the Crownlands. She would be introduced to the court and the realm as Baelor’s future queen. She had to prove herself worthy of standing beside the heir to the Iron Throne before the realm. One stumble, one visible sign of uncertainty, and surely they would question why Baelor had been matched to a ward raised away from court.
Each of her afternoons had been spent in rigorous dance practice under the supervision of fellow ladies-in-waiting, or as was the case the day before the ball, the queen herself.
This was where Baelor found her.
Discussions over the Small Council were starting to wrap up, and he was eager to spend proper time with Saerys. Meetings that typically had no trouble engaging him had failed to hold his interest. He told himself that his distraction was only natural, since he hadn’t had the chance to get to know Saerys outside of sporadic visits. When she was younger, he was off fighting back the rebellion, and by the time she should’ve been shown at court, she was quasi-Lady of Summerhall, helping run the keep and mind the children in the wake of Dyanna’s death and Maekar’s grief.
Given all that, it was only natural, he insisted to himself, this urge to share her space, to hear her thoughts, to bask in her smiles. Surely all newly betrothed men felt themselves going mad the longer they spent away from their other half. Maekar certainly did in his youth.
Time at court had been so fraught during his short betrothal period with Jena. They had always been at war or at the brink of it. Surely that must be why this all felt new to him. But finally, lickspittle lords were done bending his ear and he had time to himself. Spending time with Saerys was just a way to relax, he told himself, ignoring the heat at his neck and the way his heart raced. A respite, that was all this was.
A respite it might’ve been, had he not walked into the Queen’s chambers to find Saerys dancing with another man.
His mother greeted him immediately and bid him stand with her as she looked on while the dancing master led Saerys through the steps, a drummer and lute player keeping pace. Her hair, usually so carefully styled, had begun loosening from the exertion of practice, dark curls slipping free around flushed cheeks. The movement of the dance had brought color alive beneath her skin, and for perhaps the first time since her arrival at court she did not appear at all cautious or restrained. She looked young. Bright. Entirely absorbed in the music.
“She’s been at this for the better half of the last few days,” his mother spoke lowly as Saerys was guided through a series of turns–a Rhoynish reel, to his eye. “She’s been exacting, ever since she heard she’d be opening up the dancing with you after the announcement. She asks for detailed feedback, wants to have everything right, down to the flourishes of her fingertips.”
She took in her son, enraptured by the sight in front of him, and continued. “She reminds me of a boy I once knew on the training yard. Asking to be put through drills again and again, needing to be perfect.”
Baelor raised his brow at that and replied, almost to himself, “I can’t imagine I have ever been anywhere near as captivating to watch doing sword work.”
“Invite Saerys to watch you spar one day and test that theory for yourself,” Myriah said with a small smirk.
The image arrived in his mind far too quickly. Saerys seated amongst the galleries, her eyes following his form... He schooled his features carefully at the idea of Saerys watching him with anywhere near the rapture with which he watched her.
Composing himself, he murmured, “No matter, she’ll be the jewel of the evening regardless of footwork or fingertips.”
“I’m sure it would warm her to hear you say that.” Myriah smiled, noting the fondness of his gaze."Have you decided which dance yet? It might help us narrow it down.” Myriah winked. “She’s asked to be put through everything: Rhoynish reels, Valyrian courtly dances, even a Dornish Basse.”
“Regretfully, I haven’t given it much thought. The meetings this week have left time for little else.” He pondered the idea. “Would a Valyrian dance at a Dornish celebration offend, do you think?”
Myriah resisted rolling her eyes. ”Leave it to you to try to worry about the diplomacy of a dance.”
“Well it will ultimately be all left to me, so that’s why I equivocate,” he let out, snide with a small smile.
Myriah elbowed him lightly. “Gods, you are your father’s son.” She rolled her eyes this time before fixing him with a pointed look. “I am told this is a Targaryen union. You may as well remind the realm of it properly.” She nudged him forward. “And take advantage of the opportunity now, before the poor girl worries herself sick over tomorrow.”
As Myriah guided him closer, Saerys finally noticed his arrival. She interrupted the dance immediately, dipping into a smooth curtsey. How had she somehow grown even more graceful?
“My Prince,” she breathed, eyes lowered at once. “Forgive me for not greeting you properly. I was so—”
Baelor dismissed the apology with an easy gesture as he stepped forward to take her hand and bid her rise.“Your dedication does you credit, Princess,” he said warmly. “Besides, it afforded me the opportunity to witness your excellent form. I fear you may find me lacking beside you.”
“I don’t think I could ever find you lacking,” Saerys replied quickly before blushing. Baelor couldn't help but smile at that.
“You say that now,” he warned as he began to unfasten and roll up the sleeves of his shirt. “I await your judgment after we dance.”
Once he was finished distracting Saerys with his sleeves, he stepped forward, taking her into a closer hold for one of the slower Valyrian dances. Even through layers of silk, she felt the heat and steadiness of him immediately.
Closer to her now, he spoke again softly. “I’m almost positive I remember this one.” He called out to the players then. “A Valyrian volte?" They struck up a tune, slow but thrumming, building.
“You’d like us to dance a volte to open up the floor?” Saerys asked.
Baelor tilted his head as he led her in a turn. "Though my skill is nothing to yours, it might be my favorite,” he murmured as he pulled her in closer. His hand spanned nearly the whole of her waist.
“I’m happy to dance whatever you choose. I just—” They completed another turn, and when she was brought back in, she was facing away from him.“I’ve just never practiced the lifts.”
“Fear not.” He bent down to speak to her ear. “I’ll never let you fall.” Something in the certainty of it unraveled her far more dangerously than the closeness itself. He guided her outward once more before drawing her back in. “Place your hands upon my shoulders,” he instructed softly. “Just so.”
She obeyed. Then suddenly she was airborne.
Saerys startled softly as Baelor lifted her as though she weighed nothing, carrying her through a slow measured turn before lowering her once more against the solid warmth of his chest.
For one brief disorienting instant, she became acutely aware of how effortlessly he held her–of the breadth of him beneath velvet and silk, of how entirely safe she felt in his grasp. Another turn followed, her back once more to him as he leaned nearer to speak low by her ear. “Do I pass muster, Princess?”
Saerys swallowed roughly before answering. Baelor tried very hard not to watch the movement of her throat as he guided her through another slow turn. Somewhere amidst the dance, her hand upon his shoulder had drifted higher, fingers now resting lightly near the curve of his neck.
“Just as I suspected,” she spoke softly with a small smile. “Princely at everything you set your mind to.”
“You honor me princess. But I fear I cannot shine a candle to you.”
“If I return the sentiment, I fear this will become an unending volley of us honoring each other."
“There are worse ways to spend an afternoon,” Baelor said with a smile. An afternoon, or an evening. A marriage, a lifetime.
“May I beg another dance from you, Princess?” Baelor asked before dipping into a bow. Saerys couldn’t hide her smile as she nodded and was swept up in another turn about the room.
King Daeron was apparently of a similar mind to his son and had joined them in the queen’s quarters. Myriah turned to him with a smile and took him in hand. He watched the dancing pair almost in awe. “What magic has she wrought over my son?”
“I see it now," Myriah nodded with a small smile, and Daeron knew he was forgiven. Looking on at the couple, she continued. "He never got to be this. Since that boy could hold a sword he’s been honed for battle, then honed to serve the crown. This might be the first thing he’s ever done for himself.”
“Just don’t let him hear you say that.”
“Why ever not?”
“I think the only reason he allowed himself to ask for her is that he’s convinced he’s acting for duty's sake alone.”
Myriah’s gaze lingered upon the pair as Baelor escorted Saerys slowly from the center of the floor, speaking quietly enough between themselves that neither seemed particularly aware that anyone else remained within the chamber at all.
A knowing smile touched Myriah’s mouth, though it softened almost immediately into something more thoughtful as she watched her son incline his head toward Saerys to better hear whatever she had just said.
“When the girl first came to me,” Myriah said after a moment, “she spoke of this match as though it were something to endure gracefully rather than something she herself might be permitted to want.”
Daeron’s eyes shifted briefly toward his wife before returning to the young couple across the chamber. “And now?”
Myriah’s expression warmed faintly. “Now I think she is beginning to see better what this match has in store for her.”
Across the room Saerys laughed softly again, and the sound seemed to draw something instinctive from Baelor in return. There was no careful reserve in the smile that answered her. No princely composure, only warmth.
Myriah watched it with something very near to relief. “I had nearly forgotten he could look like that,” she admitted softly.
Daeron huffed a quiet breath of agreement beneath his nose. “So had I.”
For a time they simply watched him. Watched the ease that had slowly settled into Baelor only over the past few days. The lightness that had begun appearing unexpectedly beneath all that relentless discipline and restraint. He was so unlike the man he had been during his first betrothal.
There had been affection for Jena certainly, respect too, but duty had always stood foremost then. Their courtship had been hastened amidst war councils, and political uncertainty, and was tinged by the lingering wounds left by rebellion and the prejudices that lie latent. Baelor had approached marriage as he approached every burden placed before him in those years: earnestly, honorably, and with the grim determination of a man already carrying responsibilities beyond his years. Daeron’s expression gentled slightly as memory overtook him.
“He reminds me of myself when you first came to court,” Daeron admitted quietly. “When they told me I was to wed the Princess of Dorne, I prepared myself dutifully enough,” he continued, his gaze drifting toward the windows overlooking Blackwater Bay as though the years between then and now had briefly narrowed. “Then you arrived and suddenly I found myself impatient for council meetings to end simply so I might get another glimpse of you, perchance speak with you. I thought it seemed a terribly inconvenient development at the time.”
Myriah arched a brow toward him. “You carried yourself with considerably more ease than he does.”
Daeron laughed under his breath. "Unlike our son, I possessed the good sense to recognize immediately that I was courting my future happiness, not merely fulfilling an obligation to the realm." He cast his eye over at the couple again and added, "Nor gallantly coming to the rescue of a fair maiden.”
Myriah’s expression softened as she watched their son. “She told me she trusted him,” she said quietly. “Because he is gentle with her.”
The words settled between them softly. Gentle was not a quality oft attributed to the Baelor Breakspear. Oh, he was certainly well regarded at court, for his restraint, for his wisdom, but he had been too sharply honed by duty. Yet watching him now, there it was, plainly visible in every instinctive movement toward Saerys, every careful reassurance, every look that seemed to soften him from within. Perhaps most telling of all was the simple fact that he looked happy.
Not merely satisfied. Not merely relieved by a politically advantageous arrangement. Happy in the uncomplicated way of a man discovering he enjoys another's company far more than he had ever expected himself capable of.
Myriah felt something ease quietly within her chest at the sight. Perhaps for the first time in many years, her son was allowing himself something beyond obligation.
Several more dances followed after that, though Saerys could scarcely recall afterward which steps belonged to which melody. At some point the musicians abandoned the slower court dances for livelier tunes, and even Queen Myriah laughed aloud when Baelor attempted to follow the quicker rhythm of a reel from the Reach with considerably less confidence than he had displayed during the earlier dances.
Saerys could not quite suppress her smile as he guided her through another turn only barely in time with the music.
“I am beginning to suspect,” she murmured softly, “that this one was not often practiced at court.”
Baelor glanced down at her, entirely unoffended. “You wound me, Princess. I survived at least half that sequence with dignity intact.”
“At least half,” she agreed gravely.
His laugh came easier now than she had yet heard it. “Then I shall count the evening a success.” The warmth in his eyes as he looked down at her made her momentarily forget the next step entirely.
By the time the final song slowed once more into something gentler, Saerys had become far too accustomed, far too aware of the feeling of his hand at her waist, the feel of his hand against hers.
This was the closest she had ever stood to him for any true length of time. She was close enough to feel the warmth of him even through layers of silk and velvet, close enough that his voice no longer needed carrying across formal distance, but instead settled low and warm beside her ear. She ought perhaps to have found the intimacy daunting. Instead she found herself strangely reluctant for it to end.
The final notes faded softly into the chamber air, yet neither of them moved apart. Saerys became aware of the silence first. Queen Myriah watched them over the rim of her wine cup with poorly concealed amusement while the dancing master busied himself with sheet music. Baelor’s hand still rested warm against her waist.
Daeron cleared his throat. Baelor stepped back at once, though his expression betrayed remarkably little embarrassment for a man who had forgotten himself before the King and Queen.
“Well,” Daeron observed mildly as he approached them both, “either the dancing master has worked miracles in only a handful of days, or my son has finally discovered there are pursuits in this world besides war councils and grain levies.”
“Your Grace,” Saerys greeted quickly, dipping into a curtsy she feared was a touch too hurried.
Daeron smiled more warmly than she expected. “You need not look so distressed, Saerys. I assure you, witnessing my son abandon matters of governance long enough to enjoy himself is rare enough it could require a formal decree.”
“I was not aware my disposition inspired such concern throughout the realm,” Baelor replied dryly.
“Oh, only throughout this castle,” Myriah said smoothly as she crossed toward them. “You have been unbearably solemn since adolescence.”
“Surely that is an exaggeration.”
“The last time I saw you linger willingly at a social gathering, you were scarcely older than Valarr,” Myriah informed him.
That earned a reluctant huff of laughter even from Baelor. Saerys looked up instinctively at the sound, and her eyes almost twinkled at the sight of his laughter. Daeron noticed the look that passed between them at once.
“Well,” he said at last, quiet amusement threading through his voice, “it is a relief to discover there remains at least one person capable of persuading my heir that life contains pleasures beyond councils and treaties.”
Saerys felt warmth rise gently into her cheeks beneath the King’s observation, though this time she did not lower her gaze quite so quickly or let her smile fade. Beside her, Baelor exhaled softly through his nose in what might almost have been agreement.
“I see I am outnumbered.” Baelor acquiesced, the corner of his lips lifting at the hint of pride on Saerys' face
“Hopelessly,” Myriah assured him at once. That earned another reluctant smile from Baelor, one that seemed to linger more easily now than it might have only a handful of days ago.
Around them the evening had already begun settling gradually toward its close. The musicians lowered their instruments while servants moved quietly through the chamber lighting fresh candles against the deepening dusk beyond the windows. What had begun as formal instruction now felt transformed somehow into something far softer and more intimate, the atmosphere altered entirely from when Baelor had first entered the room earlier that afternoon.
Myriah glanced briefly toward the darkened windows before rising smoothly from her chair. “We ought to go,” she announced lightly. “Your father insisted tonight’s meal remain private before tomorrow’s festivities consume the castle entirely.”
“At least one peaceful supper before half the realm arrives demanding our attention,” Daeron agreed as he offered his wife his arm. Myriah crossed toward them then, her eyes lingering briefly but knowingly upon Baelor and Saerys before she slipped her arm through her husband’s with long familiarity.
“Come,” she said warmly. “Tonight there will be no councilors, no visiting lords, and no negotiations. Only family.”
Something quiet and unexpected stirred within Saerys at those words. Maekar and his sons would be dining tonight with the Daynes, she remembered that now. Though her house allegiance would not change with her marriage, she was quietly experiencing that which she had once feared, the inevitable shift to another household. The notion didn't hold the same threat it once had, within these walls and amongst these people who had welcomed her so naturally into their keeping.
And when Baelor offered her his arm once more, there was nothing of obligation or ceremony in the gesture now. Some easy familiarity had settled between them over the course of the evening, something steady and reassuring that made accepting him feel easy rather than daunting. Saerys placed her hand upon his arm without hesitation.
Together they followed the King and Queen from the chamber while servants moved quietly behind them extinguishing candles and gathering abandoned sheets of music from the stands. The echoes of laughter and lutes still lingered faintly in the air as they passed out into the corridor beyond.
As they walked, Baelor bent close so that only she might hear him. “You danced beautifully,” he murmured softly, the sincerity in his voice far warmer than mere politeness demanded.
The words sent an altogether different warmth unfurling down her spine. The answering grin lit her features in a way that would have Baelor turning the image over in his mind long after they parted.
Saerys lowered her gaze as something in her chest soared, for she could not quite suppress the smile as they continued side by side into the evening.
The day of the fete, Saerys did her best to be as little of a nervous wreck as possible.
After she had risen for the day, her new lady’s maid Alerie, a gift from the queen, had seen to her bath and hair. She was then dressed for a ladies’ luncheon with the queen. She would ready with the others for the fete.
The evening would start with dinner and the announcement of their betrothal, after which she and Baelor would open up the floor for dancing. She ran through the layout of her day over and over in her head as she dressed, perfection at the forefront of her mind.
A knock on the door disrupted her routine. Of course, she thought. That would likely be Addam, his deliveries from Baelor now a regular occurrence. Since Alerie was currently organizing the wardrobe that Saerys had torn through in her indecision, Saerys took pity on her and hurried to answer the door in her stead.
A good thing too, for Saerys was at least slightly more prepared than Alerie would have been to find Prince Baelor at her door instead.
“Your Grace,” Saerys exclaimed out of habit, sinking into a curtsy. He reached a hand to her wrist, bidding her to rise, and tilted his head in mock censure.
“I told you, my Prince” Saerys said as she dipped her head and returned a smile “That decorum would be a hard habit to break” She ushered him into her antechambers.
“I apologize for not having flowers for you today” he said as he came in “I did assume you might be too busy to miss them”
“My prince, you've gifted me flowers every day of the week, I think I will manage ” she replied with a smile.
“I wanted to bring these to you personally as my official betrothal gift to you. I had a messenger out to Dragonstone and back with haste for them” He said as he set one box on the table and then opened the other and held it out to her. “I wanted to be sure they’d be here in time for tonight”
Saerys let out a soft gasp at the sight. Inside the box was a pair of stunning ruby earrings and a matching necklace. “My prince” she said as she raised her eyes to his
“I can’t possibly” –
“Saerys” he said as he stepped forward bringing a hand up to stroke her cheek “You’re to be my queen. Do you think I wouldn’t bedeck you with every ruby in the seven kingdoms if I could?” He stepped closer and spoke again but softer “Saerys, I”-
“My lady–Oh, Your grace!” Alerie said, startled.
Baelor stepped back and smiled at the handmaiden “Thank you for all of your services to my lady, Alerie. The queen sings your praises”
Alerie gave him a warm smile “Thank you, your Grace” and then to Saerys “ “My lady” she nodded to Saerys, “I can put these with your gown for the evening” she curtsied to them both before gingerly closing the box and whisking it away.
Baelor grabbed for the other box on the table. “I have one more, if you’ll allow it” Saerys nodded as he held it out for her to open.
Inside lay a delicate gold diadem set and strung with deep crimson rubies, the stones glimmering richly in the morning light spilling through the windows. Saerys ran her fingers lightly over the jewels, almost disbelieving. “My prince…” the words escaped softly as she lifted her eyes to his.
Baelor stepped closer again, though his attention remained fixed not upon the diadem but upon her face. “You could wear it tonight” he said quietly, his gaze tracing over her features with unnerving care. “If you wish.”
Saerys swallowed beneath the look. “Part of this still doesn’t feel real,” she admitted softly. Something in Baelor’s expression gentled at once. Without taking his eyes from her he reached carefully for the circlet. “May I?”
Her breath caught slightly as she gave the faintest nod.
The movement with which he lifted the diadem felt almost solemn somehow, as though the thing in his hands carried far greater weight than gold and stones alone. Saerys found herself suddenly unable to breathe properly as he stepped close to place it upon her himself.
His hands were extraordinarily gentle as he settled the delicate gold against her dark hair, fingers brushing lightly beside her temples while he adjusted it with painstaking tenderness. His attention never wavered once. Not while he positioned the dangling strands of rubies exactly to his liking, not while he leaned back slightly to look at her afterward with an expression so openly awed it made something deep within her chest ache unexpectedly. There was something almost dangerous in being regarded with that much care.
“There,” he murmured at last, his voice quieter now than before. “That looks far more as it ought to.”
Saerys’ gaze wandered slowly over his face. She swallowed and spoke softer still. “You truly wish for me to be your queen?”
Her eyes met his wide as he stepped closer and pressed a chaste but lingering kiss against her temple.
“I do,” Baelor whispered.
Saerys closed her eyes and leaned unconsciously into the touch, warmth blooming low within her chest at the unbearable gentleness of it. The feel of his beard against her skin was unfamiliar but not unwelcome. No one had ever touched her so carefully before, as though simply holding her softly mattered. For one suspended instant, she almost forgot herself entirely before stepping back again with a slow inhale.
“I cannot thank you enough, my Prince. I would be honored to wear it tonight.” She took the diadem carefully and placed it once more within the box, holding it close against herself as she curtsied again. “I must be off to Queen’s chambers.”
“Of course, I’ll escort you.”
“You needn’t trouble yourself my Prince.” Baelor only tilted his head and held out his arm. Saerys took it with a smile.
“I suppose by ‘needn’t trouble yourself,’ I actually meant you needn’t send the other ladies into a tizzy more than our engagement already has.”
Baelor sent a smirk her way. “And if I think it might acclimate you to the attention?”
Saerys merely sent him a snide look out of the corner of her eye and relaxed her posture in acquiescence.
Baelor brought his other hand to the one on his arm as they walked and squeezed it lightly. “I always want you to tell me what you mean, Saerys,” he said softly.
Saerys considered him “Even if it might offend you?”
“Especially then.”
“Then if you don’t mind me saying,” she continued, watching him warily, “this wasn’t the kind of marriage I was preparing for. I ask for your patience as I find my candor.”
“You have it.”
Saerys was tempted to slow their walk or beg off to the gardens with him, ladies lunch be damned. This was the first chance they had been afforded to speak privately since their betrothal, and Saerys found herself suddenly greedy for more of it. There was no judgment with Baelor, no tests designed for her to fail. He seemed to genuinely care what she thought, and cared to make her happy, with him she could just be.
The entrance to the queen's chambers came into view sooner than she wished. “Until tonight, my prince,” said Saerys while curtsying.
Baelor smiled and shook his head as she rose and reached out to take her hand. “My next ask is that you cease curtsying to me.”
Saerys could only smile in return. “Patience, my Prince,” she murmured as he bent to kiss her hand.
“Until tonight.”
Saerys readied for the ball in a blur. The only time she had to herself was when she changed for the evening, a sumptuous gown of red silk with the design of a glistening golden dragon embroidered up the bodice and the back. It was the most exquisite thing she’d ever beheld. Once dressed, her hair was pinned away from her face and she was crowned with the diadem. She sparkled, bedecked in the jewels Baelor gave her.
The ladies made their procession to the hall. Ladies from other houses filtered in to be seated with their families while ladies from Dorne gathered near the door with their male counterparts to be presented first. The royal hierarchy followed to the back of the antechamber.
Saerys gravitated towards her normal place behind her cousin Daeron before she was gently guided by Myriah to stand just ahead of her instead. “I know it will take some getting used to,” she whispered with a warm squeeze to her shoulder.
Just then Baelor, Maekar and the King came down the main steps. Saerys sucked in a deep breath. He was resplendent in black, the dark color highlighting the contrast in his features. He typically opted for simplicity, but tonight his doublet was detailed with Targaryen red, a dragon to match hers stitched up either arm. His hand pin was gleaming on his chest with his other dragon tail pins. Baelor was imposing enough with his height and looks alone, but garbed as heir to the throne, he was breathtaking.
Baelor’s eyes immediately found hers before they journeyed down and up her body, at last finding her gaze again with something new veiled behind them. He spoke to his brother, his eyes never straying, before coming to her. His eyes were warm as he approached her, and for a moment he just took her in. He swallowed before taking her hand and bestowed a small kiss as his father and brother found their place in the procession.
“I can’t find words, Princess, for just how exquisite you are.” His voice was a balm to her nervousness. He came to her side and gave her his arm. His gaze wandered over her again, taking in the tense of her jaw and shoulders.
“Just breathe,” he whispered before the line began moving to the hall.
Baelor Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King, and Heir to the Iron Throne.
And Princess Saerys Targaryen of Summerhall.
The herald’s words echoed in the hall, and Saerys marveled at the past week.She’d gone from entering the keep in utter terror at the prospect of being wed to an utter brute, to walking into the great hall at the side of the heir to the throne and, in her esteem, one of the best men in the Seven Kingdoms.
The sound of applause and cheers in the crowd was immense. The steadiness of Baelor at her side kept her grounded even if all eyes were on her. She was led up to the high table and curtseyed deeply to the King and Queen as they entered. Then at last they were all seated for the feast.
The end of the meal was a meandering thing. Too many people were happy to linger over wine and good food amidst good conversation. When the room began to quiet down of its own accord, King Daeron stood.
“You honor us by feasting in our hall. We honor twenty years of unity between our two houses. Our union has brought joy and prosperity to us all. It is a blessing to see one's sister loved so well." He nodded to Princess Daenerys and Prince Maron. Then he glanced to Myriah. “Queen Myriah is the light of my life, and the children she’s blessed me with could not be a greater legacy.”
He paused and glanced about the room. “On this auspicious day, I would like to announce another prosperous union. It pleases me greatly to announce that my son and heir, Prince Baelor will be wed to Princess Saerys of Summerhall. Join us in our revelry tonight and in four moon's time in celebrating their happy match.”
The uproar in the hall was immediate. Baelor stood and Saerys stood beside him. As she looked out, she saw the greater calculus of the match. Her looks pacified the Dornish contingent, and the Targaryen name pleased royalists. Perhaps she could let some of her guilt go. Baelor certainly didn’t act like he’d been saddled with anything.
Neither did he look it as he led her to the floor. The look on his face as he appraised her coming down the steps and walking beside him was one of pride and appreciation. Whatever this match meant politically, he wanted her by his side. That thought alone quelled some of her nervousness as he led her to the center of the hall.
He guided her to face him and they took identical deep breaths in as the musicians began to tune. It was a similar song to the one they practiced–perhaps a tad slower, but the additional Dornish instruments added something heady and stirring to the music. Baelor’s gaze on her face was steady through the opening steps, Saerys felt heat prickle on her neck and back. He guided her seamlessly though every step and turn, his hand steady at her waist.
The tempo and noise of the drums increased–it was time for the lifts. Baelor pulled her in closer for a beat. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, just before her hands found his shoulders and he lifted her into the air. A wave of gasps echoed around them at the picture they made. The lift felt just as effortless as it had the first time. So much was said of the strength and prowess of Baelor Breakspear, and it was surreal to feel that strength though a mere dance.
After a small turn he brought her down again, close to his chest. Their noses grazed as he stepped forward for the next steps. Her breath caught, but his firm hands continued to guide her effortlessly. She was spun around again so that he was at her back.
He leaned down to speak softly to her and she felt a spark jolt down her spine. “Would you trust me with another?”
She turned to him with a soft smile. “You've not dropped me yet." He spun her out again with a laugh, letting her skirts fan out, and as she spun back she caught the look on his face as he watched her.
How would she describe it? Delight, perhaps? She had spent so much of the past week discovering the man beneath the prince that she had nearly forgotten how much of his life belonged to others. The realm claimed his judgment. The King claimed his counsel. Lords claimed his attention. Yet here upon the floor there was none of that. Only music, and movement, and the unmistakable look of a man taking pleasure in something for no reason beyond the simple fact that it pleased him. How often did the crown prince get to simply enjoy a dance?
She laughed from sheer joy during the next lift and the look on his face was beatific. Cheers rang out from the crowd as he brought her back to solid ground. He held her to him for just a touch longer than needed before he swept her into a dip that they had very much not rehearsed. The noise of the crowd faded away as she gazed into his eyes, one deep violet, the other warm brown. Both crinkled as they smiled at one another. If nothing else, they could each delight in a dance.
He brought them both to a standstill and bowed low, lower than the heir to the throne should have. She lightly shook her head at him as she curtsied as deeply as she was able. The musicians began another dance as he escorted her back to the high table.
They were waylaid by Morion on his way to the floor. “Would you permit me, my lady?” he asked, bowing.
Saerys smiled and held out her hand. “I would be honored.” She smiled at Baelor before leaving his side. He watched as Morion found them a place amidst other dancers and tracked his brother coming to stand by his side.
For a moment they just observed the revelry side by side, as they had been wont to do at gatherings like these.
“I don’t think I can remember the last time you danced.” Maekar finally mused.
Baelor slid him a wry look. “At Valaar and Kiera's wedding, most like.”
“Now that’s a happy match.” Both of their gazes followed Valaar leading Kiera to the floor.
“I thank the Seven that they found each other.” He looked over at his brother. “For true love to come from an arranged match, ‘tis a lucky thing.”
Maekar returned his gaze with a knowing look. “That luck has blessed our family many times over. It seems likely it will again.”
Baelor’s jaw worked as he looked away, unable to withstand his brother’s implications. He returned his focus to the floor, just in time to catch Morion coaxing pretty smiles from Saerys as he spun her in yet another turn.
Something hot slid down Baelor’s throat. Maekar caught the shift and followed his brother's gaze. It wasn't jealousy–no, whatever Baelor felt hadn't fermented long enough to become true envy.
Maekar brought his goblet to his lips for a sip and then asked, “Was the meal not enough to sate you, brother?”
Baelor only sighed before answering. “The meal was divine. It’s rare we get to enjoy our mother’s cuisine.”
Maekar chuckled at Baelor’s attempt at confusion. Oh good. More fun for him.
“I ask because you’re looking at her like a man starved.”
Baelor rolled his eyes and let out a heavy exhale. “I know not what you mean.”
Maekar leaned in. “I believe you’re experiencing what we mere mortals refer to as ‘desire’.”
Baelor inhaled and exhaled again sharply through his nose, this time with an air of restraint. “The reasons I shouldn’t want her could fill a ledger.”
"I thought you'd be relieved" Maekar snarked, as Baelor's eyes cut to him. Maekar raised his brows. "What? Now you have a ready-made rebuttal whenever those Blackfyre sycophants claim you're not Targaryen enough"
Baelor rolled his eyes. “This should be difficult. I should be sickened. I should be ashamed. I shouldn’t—“ Baelor broke off.
Maekar stepped in to assist, as he often did. “And yet you’re starving.”
Baelor looked back onto the floor, his unspoken agreement plain on his face. “Why doesn’t it bother me, Maekar?” he asked quietly. He paused, almost afraid to ask. “Would it bother you?”
Maekar tilted his head stiffly. “It’s different for me. I helped raise her. You barely saw her as a child. Dyanna reared her while we were at war and holding the kingdom together, and I—“ Maekar swallowed roughly. “I did the best I could by her after Dyanna passed… If called upon to marry again, I would decline in honor of her memory.”
Baelor turned his way again. “I know you would.” He looked out at the floor. “That’s precisely what I told our father when he suggested it.”
Maekar looked over at him with a raised brow. “Oh, I was on the table? You never did tell me how you landed on it, though father made it seem like he was the deciding figure.” He sipped his wine again. “But if he was the one throwing out suggestions…”
Baelor stiffened at what he had given away. “She came to me.” Baelor’s eyes landed on Saerys as she began another dance, this time with Daeron the Younger. “It wasn’t fed to father through Bryden, she came to me… in tears.” Baelor’s voice strained. “She begged for me to match her to anyone else, she just asked that he be kind.”
“Ah.”
Baelor was quiet for a long while. “My greatest shame isn’t that I want her. It’s that from the moment she looked into my eyes and pleaded with me on her knees, I never considered matching her to anyone else.”
Maekar took a heavy breath at that. “You do so love to come to the rescue.”
Baelor’s gaze slid to him, icy. “Tell me Maekar, just what was I rescuing her from?” he asked, brows raised.
Maekar stared back at him, remorseful. “I failed her in this. I’ve likely failed them both.” He looked out to the floor and found Aerion standing on the edge. “I see so much of myself in him. I know he’s capable of better, I hoped—“
“Saerys will no longer be sacrificed at the altar of that hope.” Baelor bit out.
“I’m sorry.”
As if Baelor wasn’t already heated enough, both of them noticed Aerion cross the floor, heading straight to Saerys. Maekar had to grab Baelor's arm swiftly to keep him from intervening.
“If you expect me to stand here—“
“You need to let her fend for herself—”
“I just said—”
Maekar grasped him tighter then, and made sure to hold his gaze. “I know.” He looked out to the floor where Saerys and Aerion had begun to circle one another in the first steps. Saerys eyed him warily while Aerion appeared snide. “If you fight all her battles for her, he’ll just learn to come at her when no one’s looking.”
Maekar had evidently said the wrong thing. Baelor spoke again, his voice like ice. “If you're insinuating that I can’t protect her from your firedrake of a—”
“She needs to know that she can fight him off too.”
Baelor looked back out on the floor. They appeared civil, and Saerys’ mask was back in place. All of the earlier joy had gone, but there was steel in her spine that hadn’t been there before.
Regardless, Baelor still caught his son’s eye. After an exchanged glance, Valaar squeezed his wife’s hand before taking to the floor to cut in and steal away Saerys.
Baelor watched her face and posture relax as she turned about the room with his son. She tilted her head with a questioning look at Valaar as words passed between them. Her gaze then found Baelor on the side of the room. Something in his chest eased at the smile she graced him with when they locked eyes.
“She looks to you often,” Maekar observed beside him after a long silence.
Baelor said nothing to that.
Below them the dance turned again, candlelight flashing against ruby jewels as Valarr guided Saerys through another sweeping turn before returning her at last to the edge of the floor.
When she approached Baelor, a soft appraising look crossed her face. “I suspect your son was sent to rescue me.”
Baelor offered her his arm, no shame upon his face as he confirmed, “He was.”
That earned another glance upward from beneath her lashes, amused now despite herself. The music swelled again somewhere behind them while conversation and laughter washed warmly through the crowded hall, but Baelor found himself paying attention to none of it, only to the brightness in her eyes as she stood at his side.
The evening went on until the hour of the owl.
When Saerys finally tired of dancing, she joined Daeron where he sat with Kiera and Valaar. Her cousin welcomed her over by pulling out a chair for her, standing and raising his goblet in mock applause. “Princess Saerys of Summerhall! Or should I say Dragonstone? Is it too soon yet?”
Saerys merely rolled her eyes and poured herself a goblet of mead. “Perhaps a little premature.”
Valaar looked over with laughter in his eyes as he reached for his goblet and quirked a brow at her. “I'm not going to call you Mother,” he deadpanned, his eyes alight with mirth.
Saerys practically spat out her mead with laughter, the rest of them joining in.
Once Saerys had slightly recovered she managed to get out, “Probably for the best for all involved,” which only made their party dissolve into giggles again.
Once Valaar sobered, leaning back, he caught her eye again. “In all truth though, I'm happy for you both.” He looked across the floor to where his father sat, clearly politicking despite the festivities. “He should have the chance for companionship again.” He gestured to her once more. “You both should.”
Saerys smiled faintly, taking another sip. Valaar caught Kiera's eye, mirth coming over him again. “Do you know what I told him when I first heard?” Kiera merely shook her head with a small smile.
Valaar smirked, looking around their group and then across the hall to where Aerion sat amongst some of his cousins from Starfall. “I told him it was like he was a knight from a song rescuing a damsel from a dragon.”
Daeron snorted while Saerys smiled faintly. She tried not to dwell on what she feared, that one day Baelor would resent her for depriving him of a match that could've been borne from something more than honor and rescue.
Valaar seemed to sense her doubt and recovered gracefully. “Not that I think he minds. He's lighter than I've ever seen him. I think you'll make each other happy.”
Her eyes warmed and she smiled, grateful for Valaar’s generosity. Before she could thank him, Elrya Martell, daughter of Princess Daenerys, came up to join them. She and Valaar spoke animatedly in High Valyrian before she clasped his and Kiera's shoulders warmly and departed.
Valaar looked over at Daeron and Saerys conspiratorially, meaning to include them in the joke before he noticed their blank faces. Daeron answered Valaar’s look of confusion. “Ah, we heathens at Summerhall were never taught the Old Tongue.”
“My apologies.”
“It's no thing,” Daeron handwaved it away. “One less language to struggle with when drunk.”
Valaar, however, noticed Saerys’ wistful look. “The family library has some good primers,” he told her with a small smile.
“Valaar's been trying to teach me.” Kiera chimed in, "It's slow going but I think I'm starting to get the hang of the conjugation.”
Valaar gazed at Kiera with nothing but fondness. Saerys smiled at that and watched the look Valaar turned upon his wife. There was nothing remarkable in it, no grand gesture or courtly display, only an uncomplicated fondness that settled easily upon him, wholly unguarded. For a moment she found herself wondering whether such companionship always came so easily.
The thought lingered long after the conversation had moved on. Around them the feast continued to soften as the hour grew late. The dance floor had thinned considerably, musicians now playing more for those lingering over wine than those still inclined to dance. Lords and ladies drifted between tables in small clusters while conversations dissolved into laughter and stories. Somewhere beside her Daeron returned to drink, while Valaar and Kiera slipped once more into easy conversation.
Saerys found herself listening less and less. Her gaze wandered across the hall instead, eventually settling upon Prince Baelor. He sat beside the king surrounded by a cluster of lords, seemingly engaged in several conversations at once. Even from a distance he appeared entirely at ease amongst matters of state. Every so often one of the men around him would laugh at something he said, though she could not hear the words themselves. There was a quiet confidence to him in such moments, the sort possessed by a man long accustomed to carrying burdens no one else wished to shoulder. Watching him, it was easy to understand why men followed him.
The sight should have reassured her, but Valaar's words returned to her then, unbidden.
He should have the chance for companionship again.
More than anything she wanted him to be happy, especially after all he had sacrificed for her. The thought carried with it a familiar pang of guilt. A frightened girl had run to the first kind man she could think of and, in answering her plea, he had altered the course of his own life. Yet the guilt no longer stood quite so neatly on its own. Somewhere amidst the days that followed, she had begun looking forward to his company for reasons that had nothing to do with rescue at all.
As she watched him across the hall, another realization settled quietly beside it. For all the hours they had spent in one another's company, she knew remarkably little of what brought him joy when duty was set aside. If she was to be his wife, she found she wanted to know. The realization left her oddly restless.
At last she rose from the table. Perhaps a book might settle her thoughts. Or at least occupy them.
"Forgive me," she said. "I think I should like a little quiet."
Daeron looked up immediately. "Too much celebrating?"
A faint smile tugged at her mouth. "Too much thinking."
"Ah," said the prince gravely. “Best to not encourage that habit.”
Saerys curtsied with her apologies and found Ser Donnel at the entry back into the halls. He was only too happy to escort her to quieter accommodations. The conversation about High Valyrian lingered in her thoughts as they walked, though she suspected it was not the only thing driving her from the feast.
Many courtiers had either left the hall or were seated, lazily conversing over wine. Though Baelor was loath to admit it, hours such as these often yielded some of his best work. Lords softened with wine and celebration. Old grievances seemed less urgent, compromises easier to reach. He looked over to where Saerys sat at a far table, chatting idly with Kiera, Valaar, and Daeron the Younger.
In the midst of a conversation with his father, he watched Saerys rise to depart the hall. She spoke to one of the kingsguard at the entrance to the hall and one of them left with her as escort.
The king, seeing his son’s distraction, dismissed him. “Go after her, we can only get so much done tonight.” Baelor lingered only a moment longer after his father spoke, fingers tightening once around the stem of his goblet.
The evening had shifted something in him more than he cared to admit.
Not merely the sight of Saerys dancing with other men, nor the sharp flare of possessiveness it stirred within him, but the growing suspicion that his attachment to her might outpace simple protectiveness. The realization lingered dangerously within him now. Maekar’s words still echoed unpleasantly in his mind. You do so love to come to the rescue.
Perhaps that was all this truly was. Some misplaced instinct to shield what had arrived before him frightened and vulnerable. Some gallant impulse he had mistaken for deeper feeling. And yet, the thought of not seeing her again before the night ended felt curiously unbearable.
He asked Ser Roland where Ser Donnel escorted the lady. “She asked to be escorted to the private library, your Grace.”
“Thank you.”
He stalked out of the hall, grabbing a flagon of wine and two goblets as he departed.
Laughter rang out in the halls from straggling revelers. The halls to the library, though, were more quiet. It was there he found Saerys seated amongst the shelves pouring over a tome. The sight enchanted him. He felt almost ashamed when he interrupted her reverie “Whatever had you racing to the library during a ball?” A smile tugged at his lips.
She looked up, seemingly unsurprised to see him, and graced him with one of her smiles once more. “There was so much High Valyrian in the hall. I was itching to find something to help translate. I hate it when I don’t know something.”
He came over to sit by her and set down the wine and goblets between them. “I didn’t realize you’d never been taught,” he said as he poured for them.
“Maekar wasn’t keen on us learning it at Summerhall. Dyanna didn’t speak the tongue and he hated the thought of her being excluded.”
A thoughtful smile graced his features. “Kind of him.” he murmured. He had always insisted that his prickly brother had his moments.
“He loved her very much,” Saerys said as she reached for a goblet. “I count myself lucky to have witnessed that kind of love.”
They both drank, letting a comfortable silence rest between them.
“I could teach you if you’d like,” he said at last.
Saerys raised her brows at first before remembering herself. He means Valyrian, you ridiculous thing. “I think you have far more pressing things on your plate than Valyrian lessons, my prince.” Saerys’ tongue slipped out to catch a drop of wine. Baelor’s hand stalled as he set down his own goblet.
“I think finding ways to converse with and include my future wife might belong on my plate.”
A look passed between them at his declaration. Saerys assessed him then, amidst the growing warmth in her chest–the wine, surely. Despite her doubts, she decided not to reignite the conversation they’d had once before. “As you say, my Prince”
He caught her gaze in question and took the book from her hand. “One of the ways I learned was from a maester translating a few of my favorite stories as a boy, and he kept giving me new ones to read. I could have some of your favorite works translated. It’s one way to get a grasp on it. I could teach you the letters, some phrases...” He noticed her shoulders tense. “Or I could summon a maester who could.” He trailed off as he noticed she was unable to meet his gaze.
"There’s no shame in learning.” She carefully met his eyes again. “And there’s no shame in not knowing.”
“I feel a little shame in being a Targaryen princess who needs tutoring in High Valyrian.”
“Through no fault of your own.”
“Still.”
“Iksā iā dārilaros hen perzys Saerys, ivestragī daor dim aōha ōños.” You are a princess of fire Saerys, let no one dim your light.
For a minute Saerys could only blink, unused to the cadence of the language on Baelor’s tongue, and her name with it. Finally she said, “I suppose I’ll just have to learn what that means.” Her eyes lit up with a smile.
“It means…that you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”
“As you say, my Prince.” She took another sip with a smirk. “I’m sure you’d never mislead me.”
Baelor laid a hand over hers. “Never.”
Saerys smiled at his sincerity. “If your dancing is anything to go off of, I’m in safe hands.” She laughed then. “Unlike Morion’s.”
Baelor’s expression dropped. “What did he do?”
Saerys laughed as she shook her head. “Oh nothing,” she said, setting her glass down. “Nothing so terrible. My toes will recover.”
Baelor joined her in laughter. “All talk and no finesse, that’s certainly him.”
Saerys leaned back against the bookshelf and inclined her head towards him. “Do you think I made a good impression?”
Baelor held her gaze again and whispered, “You were perfect.”
The answering look in her eyes at his praise made something shift in his chest. It struck him then that this had nothing to do with rescue anymore.
There was no fear in this room, no obligation, no crisis demanding his intervention. Only Saerys, beside him amidst the candlelight and books, smiling at him over the rim of her wine goblet, and the deeply disquieting realization that he did not wish to be anywhere else.
“I could get used to nights ending like this,” he whispered, almost to himself.
She met his gaze again before ducking with a small smile. “If it’s not too bold my prince...” she asked, trailing off at the end, her eyes cautious.
Baelor held her gaze. “I would always hear you speak your mind, Saerys.”
“I’m grateful it’s going to be you, out of all the others it could’ve been.”
She spoke the words simply, with no inkling of what the declaration did to him. He remembered another night then. Another room. Saerys kneeling before him with tears upon her cheeks asking only for kindness. He had known the answer before he ever went to his father. Known it with a certainty that had frightened him.
Baelor looked away, blinking hurriedly, then back to her again after taking a deep breath. “Konīr sia daor tolie,” he murmured quietly, so much so she could barely make out the words.
Saerys tilted her head at that, then merely shook her head with a smirk when no translation came . “You’ll teach me one day, then?”
Baelor smiled back in assent with a nod. The library fell comfortably silent again after that.
Beyond the narrow windows the castle had grown dark and still, the revelry in the distant halls reduced now to only the occasional echo of laughter drifting faintly through stone corridors. Most of the candles surrounding them had burned low enough to pool wax against the brass holders.
Saerys rubbed at her neck as she glanced down toward the open book between them. “Did you truly enjoy learning it?” she asked after a while. “Or did you merely endure it because you felt you must?”
“A bit of both,” Baelor admitted as he leaned back slightly in his chair. “Though I always preferred the history that came with it to the formal lessons themselves.”
“That sounds more like you.”
His brow lifted and laughter threatened to bubble up from his chest. “And what precisely does that mean?”
A smile touched her mouth. “You strike me as a man who tolerated instruction only so long as it granted access to more reading afterward.”
That drew another laugh from him, quieter this time but entirely genuine. Gods. He was lingering.
There was no reason for him to remain here now beyond indulgence. The hour had grown precariously late. Saerys ought to retire for the evening, and he ought to return to the duties waiting neglected elsewhere in the castle. Yet each lull in conversation only seemed to invite another question from him, another observation from her, another story neither of them particularly needed to share except for the simple fact that they wished to continue hearing the other speak.
He spoke to her then of the old stories he had loved as a boy, of dragonlords, of doomed voyages and of ancient great emperors and empresses styled as precious stones, all while Saerys listened with an attentiveness that steadily unraveled whatever composure remained to him.
She laughed softly at unexpected moments, asked thoughtful questions, and occasionally challenged details simply to watch him defend them with surprising animation.
The sight of her like this, relaxed amidst candlelight and books with ruby jewels still glimmering faintly at her throat, felt dangerously easy to relax entirely into. At some point Baelor realized the wine between them had long since gone untouched, at another, he realized the castle around them had fallen almost entirely silent. Still he did not rise.
Sometime later Saerys glanced toward the darkened windows and let out a soft startled laugh beneath her breath. “I think we may have forgotten the existence of time entirely.” She closed the book carefully atop the table between them before rising reluctantly to her feet. “I should retire before sunrise finds us here still. I suspect the Queen would say we ought to have parted an hour ago.”
Baelor followed her gaze toward the night beyond the windows and realized with some alarm that she was entirely correct. The castle had long since gone quiet around them. “She would probably be right.” The softness in his voice made it sound very much as though he regretted it nonetheless.
He offered her his arm once more and she accepted as though the gesture had already become instinct.
As they left the library, Baelor inclined his head toward Ser Roland farther down the corridor, silently summoning the Kingsguard to follow. The hour alone warranted propriety, particularly when he already found himself lingering far more than wisdom advised.
The walk back through the sleeping keep passed in companionable quiet, torchlight flickering warmly across stone walls while their footsteps echoed softly through otherwise deserted halls. Conversation came more slowly now, not from discomfort but from the growing awareness that the evening was finally drawing toward its inevitable end. Too soon they arrived outside her chambers.
Saerys turned toward him then, one hand still resting lightly upon his arm. “Thank you for tonight,” she said softly. “For all of it.”
Baelor looked down at her and found himself once again absurdly unwilling to let the moment end. “You needn’t thank me for enjoying your company,” he answered quietly, his voice slipping into a lower register.
Something in her expression softened further at that. Baelor became aware then of the fact that his hand still rested lightly over hers where it lingered upon his arm, the touch entirely innocent and yet somehow difficult to surrender.
At last Saerys smiled, smaller now but warmer than before. “Goodnight, my Prince.”
“Goodnight, Saerys.”
He remained there until her door closed softly behind her before finally turning away. Only then did Baelor finally exhale. The corridor felt strangely cold without her in it. Ser Roland, with the tact born of long service, studied the opposite wall with militant concentration while Baelor stood motionless a moment too long.
Gods. Everything about this had become precarious. He had spent so many years adhering to duty that he had almost mistaken the absence of desire for virtue. Easier when discipline was merely habit and not sacrifice.
But Saerys—the thought of her seated beside him amongst the candlelit library, smiling softly over the rim of her wine goblet, looking at him as though his presence alone brought her comfort. Something inside him had given way entirely.
There was no measured middle path in him now. No harmless indulgence. No passing admiration easily dismissed and overwritten. He had never conceived that it was possible to want like this. He had never felt ruled by his passions like his ancestors. It was something Baelor had prided himself on, for it had allowed him to devote himself to his father and the crown like no other. Restraint had come so naturally to him he had never considered whether it had been learned or innate. That he was capable of such yearning, it unsettled him more than any battlefield ever had.
The hunger of it shamed him almost as much as the tenderness. By the Seven, he was near twice her age. He should possess greater mastery over himself than this feverish, grasping ache that overtook him whenever she smiled at him too warmly or let her fingers linger too long against his skin. He wanted mornings and conversations and the right to lean close simply because he could.
Tonight during the dancing he had nearly forgotten himself entirely.The memory returned with brutal clarity now: her breath catching as he lifted her, the warmth of her body against his chest, the way she had looked at him afterward in the library beneath dying candlelight. His jaw tightened. What kind of man yearned like this after a woman who had come to him frightened and pleading for safety?
The answer came swiftly and mercilessly: a starving one.
At last he straightened, gathering the remains of his composure back around himself like armor.
“Goodnight, Ser Roland,” he said at last. And only then did the Prince of Dragonstone finally force himself to walk away.
The next morning, Saerys was still tightening the lacing at one of her sleeves when Alerie crossed suddenly toward the door with visible surprise.
“His Grace is here again.”
The smile arrived before Saerys could stop it.
Baelor stood waiting just beyond the threshold when the door opened, one arm occupied by an arrangement of late summer flowers while a small wooden box rested in his other hand. Morning light spilled through the corridor windows behind him and caught against the crimson embroidery upon his dark doublet, softening the severity he so often carried with him.
“My prince,” Saerys greeted warmly as she stepped aside to admit him. “You will spoil me.”
“There are worse things,” Baelor replied easily, with a smile that told her that the gifts would not be ceasing anytime soon.
Saerys accepted the flowers first, laughing softly beneath her breath at the sheer abundance of them while Alerie immediately hurried forward to take charge of arranging them before any of the blossoms suffered neglect.
“You are ensuring nearly every lady at court despises me with envy.”
“I suspect last evening already accomplished most of that work,” Baelor answered mildly.
That coaxed another laugh from her, though it faded when his expression gentled into something more serious as he stepped closer and offered her the box. “This was another thing I wished to bring you personally.”
The weight of it surprised her at once, far heavier than jewelry. Saerys glanced briefly toward him before lifting the lid. Inside, nestled against dark velvet, lay a knife. Not merely decorative, though it was beautiful enough to belong among princely gifts. The blade gleamed pale and sharp beneath the morning light while elegant metalwork curled along the hilt around a small embedded coin bearing a three-headed dragon emblazoned on a red sun.
Saerys carefully lifted it from the box. Her brows pinched together as she looked up at him. He was ready with his response.
“The insignia on the hilt is my personal seal. I wanted you to have something to defend yourself with. Something that would hopefully carry the weight of me if…" He stopped to swallow roughly. "If I were ever not there to protect you.”
The room fell strangely still around them after that. Saerys looked back down toward the knife in her hand, her fingertips moving slowly over the dragon worked into the metal. The jewels he had given her glittered beautifully. The flowers perfumed her chambers. Even the diadem had felt like something out of a song. But this rested differently in her palms, like a promise forged into steel.
Saerys ran a finger along the hilt. “Thank you, Baelor.”
His gaze lifted sharply to hers at the sound of his name. She used it rarely enough that hearing it spoken softly, without title or distance between them, sent warmth through him, swift and disarming enough to leave him silent. Then Baelor cleared his throat quietly and recovered some fragment of composure.
“And should you ever wish to better wield it,” he continued, his voice gentler now than before, “I could teach you myself. Or one of my men could.”
Saerys’ mouth curved faintly at that. “You would personally instruct your future queen to wield a blade?”
“If necessary,” Baelor replied with complete seriousness. Something about the sincerity of the answer only deepened her smile.
“I think,” she admitted as she tested the weight of the blade once more in her hand, “that I should like to learn.”
Something about that answer brought ease to him, Saerys noted. Baelor, it seemed, intended to give her every possible means of flourishing and surviving alike.
Baelor found himself lingering still despite having already exhausted every reasonable excuse for remaining in her chambers. The morning sun had climbed steadily higher beyond the windows while somewhere deeper in the keep the day’s duties waited patiently to reclaim him. Only when Alerie reentered carrying fresh tea and gave the pair of them a look far too perceptive for Baelor’s comfort did he finally relent.
“I should allow you peace before court descends on us both again,” he said at last, reluctance threaded quietly beneath the words.
Saerys stepped closer as he prepared to depart. “Thank you,” she said softly, her fingers brushing lightly against the box still held between her hands. “Not only for the gifts.”
Understanding flickered across his expression immediately. Baelor lifted one hand then, pausing just briefly before brushing his knuckles with familiar gentleness along her cheek.
“I think,” Baelor admitted quietly, “this may be the one gift that was far more for me than it was for you.”
The words settled low and warm within her chest long after he had gone.
A decision has been made. Saerys will not be wed to the prince she fears, but to the realm's most beloved heir instead. While the Red Keep begins quietly adjusting to an unexpected match, Baelor and Saerys must reckon with a future neither had truly allowed themselves to imagine—and with the unsettling possibility that this one kindness may be the foundation of something far more precarious than duty
Part 1 • Masterlist
AO3
Playlist Link
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Targcest (what it says on the tin), Arranged Marriage, Forced Betrothal (discussed), Emotional Abuse (referenced and ongoing), Verbal Abuse, Fear of Marital Abuse, Emotional Distress, Age Difference, Patriarchal Society, Family Politics & Dynastic Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Aerion Targaryen is His Own Warning
REMINDER - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT AND MEDIA YOU CHOOSE TO CONSUME
DISCLAIMER: All themes, plot, images used in general and characters from A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms + elsewhere belong to the rightful owners, I hold no rights to the original media - but my writing belongs to me.
A/N: Poem by Rumi
For the sake of the realm.
For the sake of the realm.
For the sake of the realm.
“For the sake of the realm,” was the drumbeat in Baelor’s head as he walked the halls to Maekar’s chambers. The keep was quiet at this hour save household guards. Baelor was seldom able to walk the halls without someone needing to bend his ear, but no courtiers nor stewards seemed to be awake now to distract Baelor from the task at hand. He rapped his knuckles on the door to his brother’s chambers.
“It better be bloody important,” Baelor heard Maekar grouse through the woodgrain. “What?!” he bit out as he wrenched open the door, and then opened it wider upon seeing who stood outside. “Oh, it’s you.”
“We’re meeting after the ninth bell in the tower of the hand on the matter of family betrothals," said Baelor, deliberately aloof.
‘Heard about that, did you?”
“We both know by now that Father always hears all, typically on Raven’s wings.” Baelor paused a moment. “He’s not pleased by the match, not after tonight”
Maekar scowled at that. "Bloody Raven's wings," he muttered under his breath. He glared over at Baelor then, “I didn’t realize a household matter would warrant interference.”
“You know father and his need to orchestrate. Some of this may very well be because it wasn’t his own design,” said Baelor.
“And what is his design?” Maekar said with a sigh.
After a long exhale, Baelor said, “Aerion will likely wed Daenora when she’s of age, to give the boy some time to mature.”
“And Saerys?”
Baelor’s answer caught for half a heartbeat before he forced it loose. After a beat he said, “She’ll be matched to best serve the throne." He chewed at the inside of his cheek. "Father will illuminate us tomorrow.”
“I can’t fault that, I suppose.” Maekar ran a hand through his hair rumpling it more. “It's likely for the best,” he admitted at last, though the words sounded dragged from him.
“Good.” Baelor laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder, wanting to avoid scrutiny. “We’ll talk more on the morrow.”
Maekar stepped back at last, any semblance of a fight leaving him with a tired exhale. He nodded once in assent and stepped back into his chambers. The door shut between them with a dull thud. Only then did Baelor realize how tightly wound his own shoulders had become.
On the way back to his own chambers, Baelor made a different turn. There was one more to inform before the night could be settled.
Laughter and clinking of goblets could be heard through the door. Baelor knocked hesitantly. Conversation carried on until Valaar opened the door mid-laugh. “Oh, Father—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Baelor apologized as he took in the scene inside: carafes of wine and half filled goblets and sweet meats on small plates, Kiera and Valaar in informal dress with mirth in their eyes. A jovial mood between a young couple coming together at last to recount what they couldn’t say out loud to one another throughout a trying day. Baelor felt a pang in his chest.
“It’s no matter, do come in,” Valaar gestured, for those experiencing joy so often wanted to share it.
“I’ll not intrude," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I only require a moment, we can speak in the hall.”
Valaar raised his eyebrows and put on a layer of princely demeanor—just one, it was his father after all. “What would you like to discuss, Father?” he said as he shut the door behind him.
Baelor stopped chewing the inside of his cheek. “I have news, I wanted to inform you before it’s known tomorrow.”
Valarr’s easy smile faded slightly. “What is it?”
Baelor’s thumb turned restlessly over one of his rings as he looked away down the torchlit hall. “I’ll be marrying again.”
Valarr blinked, a myriad of questions running through his head. "To whom?” came first with brows raised. He schooled his face at that. “Forgive me, I did not expect this conversation tonight.”
"it's sudden for me as well," Baelor tried to turn his grimace into a smile. “I’ll be able to ascend the throne with a queen, and Saerys...” Baelor paused, exhaling softly. “Saerys will not have to be saddled with Aerion.”
“Ah,” Valarr breathed, a knowing look overtaking his surprise, followed quickly by the ghost of a smirk. “You’re rescuing the damsel from the dragon.”
"I hope that’s what the songs will say,” Baelor murmured with a faint smile on his face as he looked down the hall. He looked back to Valarr then and rested a hand against his shoulder. “Your mother was very special to me, you know. Taking a new wife doesn’t mean I seek to replace her in your heart.”
Valaar brought his hand up to place over his father’s. “I know Father, and Matarys will too”
“Writing to him is next," Baelor nodded. “I also wanted to ask if Kiera might try to make a friend of her. She’s been long away from court, and I think the prospect of being wed to Aerion has dimmed her light.”
“Of course,” said Valaar with a smile, eyes already alight at the chance to praise his wife. “Kiera makes friends of everyone she meets, she’ll be happy to have someone new to take into her confidence.”
Baelor smiled. “Good, I’ll let you return to her.”
Valaar turned back as Baelor pulled away. “Do you think you two will be happy?”
Baelor let one of the corners of mouth rise at the thought. After a moment he said, “I’ll have better tell of it on the morrow.” He exhaled. “I hope so.”
Valaar nodded. “Goodnight Father.” He shut the door behind him and Baelor lingered.
The clinking of glasses and jovial voices resumed. Baelor closed his eyes and let the sound of his son's delight wash over him. How blessed was his son, to be matched with a partner that brought him such joy. Blessed to have someone he could unburden himself with and just be.
Baelor felt the pangs in his chest resume as he began the walk to his chambers, pangs of absence and bitter longing. For his marriage to Jena had not shared in joy as his son’s. She had brought his sons into the world and raised them well while she could. Their marriage had been dutiful, steady.
Yet standing outside Valarr’s chambers, Baelor realized with sudden clarity that he and Jena had never once shared moments like those with one another. They were companionable of course, but Baelor didn’t think they’d ever ended their nights with laughter and goblets of wine. They had moved through life well enough together, each lucky to know all the proper steps, but they had never once delighted in the dance itself. As heir to the throne, Baelor had not thought to desire more.
Baelor mused on this as he walked the halls, eventually returning to his chambers. An opportunity for a true partnership lay right in front of him, and he only had to be brave enough to face it. If he could string together enough rare moments of bravery between the shame he forced upon himself, maybe he could enjoy the dance with a new partner. The thought should have filled him with shame, but to his growing alarm, it did not.
His vision snagged on his bookshelf before he made the journey up the tower stairs. Of course. Only one last thing remained before he could turn in for the night.
Though it didn’t come easily, sleep eventually came for Saerys, only for the morning to still come too soon.
She trusted Baelor with almost every fiber of her being—at least she wanted to. There were just a few fibers deep within her heart that couldn’t abide trusting anyone. She didn’t want to go through life always doubting those around her, but the slings and arrows of death, abandonment, and callousness had hardened her heart and made her mind an unquiet place.
What if the match couldn’t be set aside after all? What if I end up shackled to someone worse?
Highborn women only had so much agency available to them, the rest was held by her protectors. Father. Guardian. Prince. Husband. Saerys was a princess of the blood, and even she could not sway her own fate if she were to be wed to a man like Aerion. She rued the circumstances that left her shuffled from one man to the next, one household to the next, with seemingly no regard for her happiness or safety.
This rumination followed her through her morning like a dark cloud. At the very least, she wanted to believe that Baelor would try to keep his promise, but there were a great many things out of control even for the heir to the throne.
Saerys arrived early at the entrance to the Tower of the Hand. She hovered in wait, hoping she could steady her nerves. At the ninth bell, she forced herself to knock on the door.
She was let in by the page and stepped inside. The king was seated at the head of the table with Prince Baelor at his right hand. Both of them rose, abandoning what they’d been reading as she arrived. She sank into a deep curtsy in return.
“None of that Saerys, come!” the king called. “Sit.” He gestured to the chair at his left side. Sitting beside the king felt unearned, so instead she sat one chair down.
As she sank into her chair, her gaze snagged on a book that Baelor had been annotating, a reprieve for him surely. “Another new book, Uncle?”
He looked up and smiled softly, his eyes warm. “Yes, some poetry.”
“Oh?” Saerys raised her brows in surprise. “Forgive me for saying, but that seems like a departure from your typical pursuits.”
Baelor smiled and breathed out a small laugh through his nose. "I suppose it is." A faint flush touched his ears. "Tis a gift."
“Books make the finest gifts, I think.,” Saerys replied.
Just then the door pushed open and Maekar ushered himself in. He passed Saerys with a quick squeeze of her shoulder and took the seat between her and the king. He nodded to both Baelor and the king before turning to Saerys, sagging in his chair. “Slept well, I hope?”
Saerys looked up from where she fidgeted with her rings, not quite able to meet Maekar’s gaze. “I slept as well as I was able,” she intoned, the previous airiness in her voice gone.
She was too preoccupied with Maekar’s gaze to notice how Baelor’s sketched her with his, assessing, taking note of her hair, simply pulled back, the circles under her eyes, more pronounced, the tension of her jaw, the conservative cut of her gown in what he now recognized as her standard black but this time with a more visible dragon motif. A show of her commitment to family perhaps?
Once Baelor started looking at her he found it hard to stop. Each detail was its own rich text, and all the best texts inspired questions. Did she dress conservatively to avoid attention? What expressions was her tension holding back? Did she have as sleepless a night as I did? Should I have sent along a sleeping draught? How remiss of me.
One day, he hoped, he wouldn’t have to scrutinize every detail for insight. One day he assured himself, he’d know her even better than his most treasured tomes.
Aerion’s entrance interrupted the calm of the room. He scanned those in attendance, then sauntered over to the next open seat, to the right of Baelor and across from Saerys. His eyes flicked over her too, but this assessment inspired no curiosity, only judgment.
“You look drawn, Saerys, does the Keep not agree with you?” Saerys merely inhaled sharply and looked past him. Only here did she feel safe enough to chance drawing his ire.
He looked away, disinterested, when Saerys refused to meet his gaze, missing the harsh gaze his uncle directed at him. He turned towards his grandsire and dipped his head. “I thought the betrothal would be announced at court”
“Hardly necessary when it’s solely a family matter,” said Daeron dryly, barely deigning to look up from his report. “This match came to our knowledge last night," he continued "And while I’m sure it’s well intentioned, we’ve decided to set it aside in favor of betrothals more beneficial to the crown.”
Saerys inhaled deeply and primly looked past Aerion's shoulder. She would wed someone else for the sake of the crown. At least she’d be spared Aerion, but already her mind raced. She would be placed yet again under the protection of another man, moved to yet another keep, would relearn how to please and placate a new lord. The thought should have brought relief. Instead her pulse only quickened.
Daeron turned to his grandson with a direct gaze. “Aerion, you will instead wed your younger cousin, Daenora. She fosters now at the Eyrie. You may begin correspondence, if you wish. A ceremony will take place only after she reaches her majority. Is this agreeable?”
“Fine,” he said, and his gaze flicked back to the living statue disassociating across the table from him. He only shrugged, having not received the reaction he so desired, and turned his attention back to the king. The matter seemed to leave him almost immediately.
Daeron watched him for a long moment before turning his attention to the princess to his left, his voice softening but a little. “Saerys.”
At the sound of her name, she forced her expression pleasant once more, fingers knitting tightly together in her lap. Her gaze buzzed past Baelor without truly seeing him, nor how he straightened in his chair. “Yes, your Grace?”
Across from her, Baelor’s thumb pressed hard against the edge of the book beneath his hand. Daeron regarded her quietly for a long moment, studying the speed with which she had once again composed herself, a skill that would serve her well.
“You are the firstborn princess of my line,” he said at last. “That is no small thing,” he added, a touch softer. Saerys straightened even more so at that. "Your marriage should never have been treated as a simple household arrangement. You deserve a match worthy of you.”
Silence lingered across the table. “The realm has endured enough instability in recent years. It is the duty of this family to ensure strength and certainty moving forward.”
When she went to Baelor, the implications of a political match hadn't even occurred to her. She swallowed roughly, thinking of the fractures running through the kingdom, racing through all the possible divides that she could be offered to mend.
Daeron’s voice remained measured as he continued. “Some matches are made for affection, others for advantage. The rarest of all serve both family and realm alike.”
Across the table, Maekar gave away his curiosity with only the faintest tilt of the head. Even Aerion had begun paying attention again. Beside the King, Baelor had gone perfectly still. Saerys suddenly became aware of the frantic thrum of her pulse beneath her skin. Daeron’s keen gaze remained on her for a breath longer before speaking.
“You will be wed to Prince Baelor”
Saerys' breath stopped as her face went slack with shock. She stiffened her shoulders as she processed the match, and tried to quell her breathing from coming in too fast.
Baelor noticed every shift, his gaze unwavering now. Look at me. Let me in.
Across the table, Aerion’s amusement vanished for half a heartbeat. Surprise had cracked visibly through his usual indifference.
Saerys tried to remember how to breathe. For a moment she wondered whether she had misheard him. The words seemed to hang suspended in the air between them, refusing to settle into sense. Surely the King hadn't announced that she would wed the heir to the throne, that she would be queen one day. She had come to him asking for anyone else, and somehow the answer had become him. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
She would not be wed to a Blackfyre, nor some Marcher Lord. Not a stranger chosen for alliances and acreage, but Prince Baelor. The Hand of the King, the most admired man in all the realm.
The man she had gone to in desperation. The man who had listened. The man who had promised to take care of it.
Across the table Baelor sat motionless, his expression unreadable. For one foolish moment she found herself searching his face for some sign that this surprised him as much as it did her. Had he known? Had he agreed? Had he even been asked? Or had he simply been informed, as she was now? The thought struck unexpectedly. A dull ache beneath the shock.
Because whatever else this was, whatever honor the king believed he bestowed, she knew what the realm would see. A widowed crown prince taking a second wife. A princess with little to offer beyond name and blood. A political necessity wrapped in ceremony and silk. Yet when her gaze drifted toward Baelor again, she found herself remembering his steady voice when she had been frightened enough to tremble, and the way he had intervened for her, at dinner and after the hearth too.
If she must place her future in someone's hands, there were none she could trust more. The realization settled quietly amidst the storm of her thoughts.
Daeron began again. “In order to fortify the integrity of the crown, you two will wed. A king should have a queen after all.” His gaze flicked to Baelor conspiratorially before he leaned in speaking warmer to her once more. “You are young, lovely, and well-educated, the making of an excellent consort. With you by his side, Baelor will ascend the throne with a Targaryen queen, with the promise of a strengthened royal line”
Saerys nodded, only a slight dip of her chin as the king continued. "What say you, Saerys? Do you accept?”
She swallowed, glancing over at Baelor and then back to the king. “It is an honor I’ve dreamt not of, your Grace.” Her gaze drifts back to her hands again. “But an honor nonetheless.” Saerys took a deep breath and finally met his gaze. “I will be a good queen for you,” she said, gratitude flowing through her before relief. “I promise.”
Baelor could only nod back. As if she could be anything but. So much he wanted to say was not fit for this table, not fit for this moment.
Aerion scoffed, the attention off of him for far too long. “Something you’d like to add, Aerion?” Maekar drawled.
"Oh nothing, nothing” he smirked, sharing an inside joke with himself. “Just… if you plan on getting heirs off of one as frigid as Saerys,” he flicked his gaze over, roaming up and down her body then glancing back to Baelor, “more power to you.”
Everyone at the table stiffened, but before Maekar could light into him, Baelor spoke with an eerie calm. "Careful, Aerion" he said, unleashing the full fire of his stare "Be very careful how you speak of your future Queen,”
Aerion's smirk only wavered a moment before deepening. If he roused ire from someone, then at least it was not a day wasted.
Maekar rolled his eyes. “We have no more need of you.”
“Fine.” Aerion stalked out the door, closing it behind him.
Saerys stared after him balefully. Of course there would be one more barb, one more slight. Just the thing to cast a cloud over her. She sighed and pressed her eyes shut for but a moment. Still, beneath the familiar ache, her heart soared in a way she scarcely understood.
To seven hells with Aerion, he was behind her now. A whole new challenge was awaited and she could not fail. Her uncle dove on to a sword at her request, and she couldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain.
“One thing I would ask, grandsire,” she said. “I was raised away from court, and though I have experience running a keep, I fear I’ve been removed from the workings of King's Landing for too long. Do you think Queen Myriah might take me into her retinue as a lady-in-waiting?” She passed her gaze to Baelor before she shied away, looking again to her hands “I wish to learn all I can to aid you, your Grace.”
“I have every faith in you, Saerys,” he spoke softly. How gently would he need to speak to her in order to get her to meet his gaze again?
Daeron smiled faintly at the exchange. “I’m sure the Queen would be happy to have you under her tutelage." He looked between her and Baelor. "The wedding shall be in four moon’s time. That should be enough to summon the great houses. Until then, the two of you will get reacquainted.” He nodded to Baelor “This will be good for the realm"
He rose from the table, adjourning the meeting. “The Queen’s gardens are particularly lovely at this hour.” With that, he stood and left the room.
Maekar sighed and looked across to Baelor. “It would seem congratulations are in order, Brother.” Baelor stood, pocketing the book in his surcoat. Maekar rose to join his brother at the other side of the table and clapped him on the shoulder. “At least we're still to have a celebration in the family,” he said as he quit the room.
Saerys rose immediately and rushed around to where Baelor stood. “Your Grace –“
“Just Baelor."
Saerys, in her haste, missed the nudge. “I’m honored, truly honored, to be chosen for you, but you must know I had no designs on this when I came to you last night.”
“I think nothing of the sort.” He rested a steadying hand lightly against her shoulder. “You asked me to help you, and the King and I simply found the best path forward.”
But she still wavered, returning her gaze to her hands. “I cannot help but feel I forced your hand. Surely you would not have chosen this path had I not come to you in hysterics.” His fingers brushed lightly beneath her chin, encouraging her gaze upward.
He stepped closer, speaking softly to her now, his gaze roaming over her face. “Do you believe me a man that can be easily made to act against his own wishes?”
"No!” Saerys exclaimed at once, chastened. “I simply…” Her gaze fell again. “Duty comes for us all, Your Grace. I could not bear escaping a dreaded match only to compel another upon someone else.”
Baelor’s expression softened. “I do not think it counts as hysterics when the distress is warranted,” he said quietly, stepping a little closer still. “And dread is quite far from what I’m feeling.”
Saerys hesitated then, fingers twisting tightly together once more. “But… what has this cost you?” she asked softly.
Baelor frowned faintly.“Cost me?”
“A future queen. Alliances. Influence.” Her gaze dropped once more. “Surely there were greater matches you might have made.”
Something almost like confusion crossed Baelor’s face then. The question implied some kind of bargain, for he had accepted a wife, a queen, a future he had not anticipated. Yet when he looked back upon the moment beside the hearth, he could not summon any sense of regret. For a moment Baelor simply stared at her.
“Saerys,” he said at last, softer now, “you talk of yourself as though you are absent from that accounting.” Her gaze lifted.
“You are a princess of the blood. Intelligent. Thoughtful.” His mouth twitched faintly. “And considerably more kind than most people I spend my days with.” That finally earned the smallest huff of laughter.
“You speak as though this were some great sacrifice.” His gaze held hers steadily. “I assure you, it is not.”
He exhaled slowly then, something tight still lingering beneath his ribs.“But this path does give us more time...” His voice trailed off. “If you have any reservations, it’s not too late to–”
”No!” Saerys exclaimed, the force of it surprising even her, “No, I would not have us go back on our word to the king, I- you trust me with much. I only wish to fulfill the promise.”
"Of that, I have no doubt," he said as he tucked her hand at his elbow. “Come, I think we could both do with the sunlight.”
Saerys didn’t know where to look.
Habit called for her to keep her gaze down, but she couldn’t very well keep her eyes at her feet while she walked through the keep on the arm of a prince. Not just any prince, she reminded herself. She felt tension coming back into her frame. She couldn’t look at the ground beneath her but she certainly didn’t want to meet the eyes of any curious onlookers.
While it wasn't too unusual, she supposed, to walk through the keep accompanied by another prince, this was Baelor Breakspear, Hand to the King, heir to the throne. And unbeknownst to her, he didn’t lend his arm lightly in the eyes of court, and he certainly hadn’t attached himself this closely to a woman since the passing of his wife.
Baelor noticed how Saerys kept her gaze fixed steadily ahead, the expression perfectly serene as they strolled through the keep. Only the tension in her shoulders and the slight flickering of her eyes to passersby indicated any unease.
This was how she protected herself, he supposed, a princess alone in a keep of dragons, surrounded by those disinterested in protecting her, or in knowing her. Best to hide it all, so that no one could get close enough to cause harm. Perhaps to the outside that could appear cold, frigid. A wall of ice for protection from dragons, letting nothing in or out.
No longer, he mused, for she wasn’t alone anymore. And who better to protect her from other dragons than one himself?
As they reached the hedge rows, he pulled the book of poetry out of his surcoat and turned to her. “This is for you, by the way,” he said softly as he pressed the book into her hands.
"For me?” Saerys wondered. Baelor replied affirmatively with a smile.
“Your formal betrothal gift should arrive within the week.” Saerys raised her eyebrows.“But I wanted to be able to gift you something on the day.”
Saerys turned the book in her hand, running her fingers reverently over the fine leather binding, embossed with gold leaf. As he watched her, Baelor found himself seized by a wandering thought of what it might be like to be touched with just as much delicacy.
She opened to the first page and found it stamped with the Prince's personal seal, from his personal library.
“It’s a collection of Dornish poetry, with notes on Rhoynish influences as well,” Baelor explained, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as Saerys began to skim her fingers along the handwritten notes, his handwritten notes, on translation choices and symbolism.
She flipped another page. “These are love poems,” she whispered.
Baelor nodded, his eyes now intent on her face. “I wanted to give you something we both might find enjoyment in discussing, together.”
"I see that,” Saerys said with a smile as she ran her fingers over one of the translated stanzas.
If you are seeking, seek us with joy
For we live in the kingdom of joy.
Do not give your heart to anything else
For there are hopes: they are real, they exist –
Do not go in the direction of darkness – I tell you: suns exist.
Saerys looked back up at him, her eyes starting to well, her expression as open as he’d seen it since she arrived at the Keep. She closed the book and held it close to her with both hands for a moment before pocketing it in the folds of her skirts as they resumed their stroll. She looked up to him as he fell into step beside her. “I’ll treasure it always, your Grace.”
Baelor smiled, tilting his head, and said softly, “You need only call me Baelor when we’re alone.” Saerys nodded, head forward, with a glint in her eye. Perhaps she hadn’t missed his correction earlier.
She swallowed before speaking. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold myself to that, your Grace.” Her eyes flicked over to him again, with a slight glint in her eyes, “The septas have me very well trained.”
Baelor hummed with a small smile at that.
"Would ‘my Lord Hand’ do, your Grace?” Saerys asked before pursing her lips, slightly impish.
Baelor tilted his head her way with a squint. Was she teasing him?
“Just ‘my lord’ then?” She asked, smiling to herself.
His hand grazed hers and he drew it up to tuck into his arm again. I’m on to you, little fire.
"Still too formal,” he replied, shaking his head, failing to hide a smile. His eyes were intent on the way mirth transformed her features.
They turned another corner in the gardens, further secluding themselves. Saerys bit her lip, contemplating. Baelor ducked to avoid a stray branch too late.
She looked back up at him shyly. “I can’t very well call you Uncle anymore, can I?” she asked softly.
That term jolted through him with such a force. He turned toward her so suddenly his hand came to her hip to steady them both.
“No” he said, more to himself, as he looked down to where he touched her, and then he met her gaze. “Not that,” he whispered. “Not anymore”
Her eyes held his as they widened in understanding. She inhaled a steadying breath as she took his other hand in both of hers and held it between them. “I can not yet call you husband” she murmured, as Baelor’s gaze heated. “I don’t have that claim yet.”
She brought his hand closer to her mouth, and he let her, his gaze transfixed.
“Would ‘my Prince’ suffice?” she asked before pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand while holding his gaze.
He felt another squeeze in his chest as a breath stuttered out of him. “Yes,” he breathed before bringing that hand to her cheek, his thumb stroking across it. “Yes, that will do.” His gaze flicked down to her lips. “Princess.”
Standing this close to her was a heady thing.
His gaze couldn’t decide what to land on, the way the light breeze blew a strand of hair across her face, the way her pupils dilated, the way she wet her lips as her breathing quickened, the fluttering of her pulse at her neck. Despite the years he had on her, he was inexperienced in feeling this moved by a woman. With just a touch of her lips she drew him in as if with an invisible string.
He knew not how long they stood like that, sharing in each other's gaze. He reached up and brushed away the wayward strand of hair. He exhaled once and pulled away, resuming their stroll.
Once he trusted his voice he spoke again. “Saerys, you worried before about forcing my hand, but I fear I’m the one who must apologize.” Saerys looked over to him, questioning “You did not ask to wed the heir to the throne or for the burdens that come with that.”
Saerys nodded at that. She did not want to trivialize Baelor’s concerns, but faced with her future prospects she couldn't find it in her to be regretful. She aimed for tact. “What some might consider a burden, others might consider an honor, my Prince” she declared, looking up at him and assessing.
Something about that term from her lips pulled his shoulders back and made his chest swell. Baelor wanted to take her at her word. He dearly wanted to believe that he hadn't made her trade one poor match for another.
Saerys came to him hoping he’d find her someone kind. Kind he may be, but she hadn't come to him seeking out a man almost twice her age, a man who would carry the realm on his shoulders, a man who should not even be looking at her in the first place. He wanted to believe that Saerys could look past all that. The way she carried herself with him, the way she looked at him, perhaps she could.
Though try as he might, he couldn't push the doubts from his mind. “Even so, I would not blame you if you had any...” Not wanting to question her agency, he pondered for the right word. “Any misgivings about what marriage to me will be like”
Saerys brought her other hand across herself to rest on his arm. “My Prince, I… I had far more misgivings about being wed to a cruel man than I do a dutiful one.”
She looked up at him then, “I know that the crown has its demands. I would seek to be a partner, to ease them in whatever way I can.”
Baelor's breath nearly caught as he took in her sincerity. Her clear-eyed devotion and her gentle strength somehow made him feel like the greediest man in the Seven Kingdoms.
He attempted to soldier on. “I may not always be as available as I’d like but my door is not barred to you, not ever. And I will make as much time as I can to pay you court between now and the wedding.”
Saerys took on a puzzled expression. “There’s hardly need to pay me court when we’re already betrothed, my Prince.”
“On the contrary, we’ve been instructed to get to know each other better.” He smiled, “What better way is there to learn your likes and your interests than courtly outings and lavishing you with gifts?”
Saerys looked at him askance. “Now I know you’re teasing. Lavish gifts,” she said, taking on his intonation, before fixing him with a sly gaze. “I know you are not an extravagant man.”
"Only when provoked,” he replied almost to himself before raising an eyebrow at her. “Do you truly think that I would take you as my intended with so little fanfare?”
“I’m not even sure ‘fanfare’ and ‘Baelor’ have ever been said in the same sentence,” she said archly.
"Are you calling me boring?” The smile on his face grew.
“No!” Saerys exclaimed, peering up at him in hope she hadn’t actually insulted him with her cheek. “You just don’t strike me as...” She trailed off looking for the right words. “You are a decisive, measured man. You do not do things for frivolities’ sake.”
Baelor slowed his walk with her. He was beginning to think he’d discovered another defense mechanism. “And do you think, as my intended, that you are something frivolous, not worth showing proper appreciation?”
Saerys swallowed. There were no hints of humor in Baelor’s voice now, so she had to respond in kind. She considered her response as they began to make their way to the main path. Finally after a deep breath she said, “I know I'm merely a relation that you were saddled with, your Grace. There is truly no need for any taxing of your time or resources.”
He stopped their stroll and turned to her. “We’re back to ‘your Grace' now?” Saerys looked away exhaling sharply through her nose, not in shame, but in defiance.
Good, my fire, trust me with your flame. Let her be angry with him rather than shrink in retreat. Baelor brought his hand to her chin and tilted her gaze back to him. He could see the defense raised in her eyes when their gazes met again. Perhaps she was so unused to people taking an interest in her that even being seen was perceived as a threat.
"Hear me, Saerys,” he said, his voice soft but firm.“You are not merely anything. I wasn’t saddled with this match, I chose it. And in turn I’m choosing to honor you as you deserve.” He brought his hand to her cheek, meeting her gaze fully. “You are my intended. You will be my queen, and no one —not whispering courtiers, not arrogant princelings, not even you yourself—is permitted to diminish you"
A tear slipped out and was quickly caught by Baelor’s thumb. Saerys closed her eyes and swallowed roughly. The way he touched her felt as though he was afraid of breaking something delicate.
When she met his gaze again, she whispered his name. "Baelor," said so softly, so sweetly. He felt the pull of that invisible string towards her once again.
“Your Grace” his father’s page called from a respectful distance away. Baelor immediately straightened, both of them realizing how close they stood.
Baelor inhaled deeply and positioned himself to block Saerys from view so she could compose herself. As she took some settling breaths and wiped at her face he replied to the page. “Yes, Samuel?”
"Apologies, your Grace. But riders from Dorne have been sighted. Their party will be arriving soon. Queen Myriah is also ready to receive the princess at her convenience.”
Baelor turned, “I’ll be but a moment.”
"Of course, your Grace.”
He turned back to Saerys and took her hand.“It pains me to leave you. I’ll have Sam escort you to the Queen’s quarters. As soon as I can get away, I’ll come to you.”
He brought her hand to his lips for a lingering kiss then bowed to her, deeper than a crown prince should have to one of her station.
She curtsied in return. “Until then, my Prince.” Baelor’s face warmed as he took his leave. The page’s eyes followed the prince as he left, for it was rare that the prince went to royal duties smiling so to himself.
He quickly composed himself and addressed Saerys. “I’ll take you to the queen, princess.”
The Queen’s solar overlooked Blackwater Bay, its tall windows thrown open just enough to admit the breeze rolling off the water below. The room itself was alive with quiet preparation. Open chests rested upon low tables, their contents spilling over with silks the color of desert orange and dragon red crimson beside lacquered boxes of jewels newly arrived from Sunspear and Dragonstone. Handmaidens moved softly between them while servants refreshed cups and replaced wilting flowers with fresh cuttings of honeysuckle, dragon’s breath and dornish poppies.
Saerys paused only briefly at the threshold before the Queen’s page announced her.
“Princess Saerys Targaryen, Your Grace.”
Queen Myriah looked up at once from where she stood overseeing preparations. Though attendants still moved quietly through the chamber, the queen’s attention settled wholly upon Saerys the moment she entered.
“Come here, child,” she beckoned.
Saerys obeyed at once, smoothing her hands unconsciously against her skirts as she crossed the chamber. She hoped the lingering warmth still resting beneath her skin from the gardens was not half so visible as it felt. “Your Grace,” Saerys intoned softly as she sank into a deep curtsy.
Myriah set down the silks with careful hands before glancing briefly toward the attendants still lingering nearby. “Leave us for a little while.” The women bowed and withdrew without hesitation, the chamber gradually quieting until only the distant cries from the harbor below drifted through the open windows.
Myriah led her over to the window seat and bade her come sit beside her. “Sit.”
Saerys lowered herself carefully and angled herself to face the Queen. For a moment the Queen simply regarded her—not coldly, nor with the sharp calculation Saerys had long associated with scrutiny at court. There was thoughtfulness in her expression instead, and something not entirely unlike concern.
"You have had very little time to grow accustomed to all this,” Myriah said at last.
After a breath, Saerys managed a small smile. “Only since this morning, your Grace.”
"The court moves quickly when it wishes to,” the Queen continued dryly. “Particularly when marriages are involved.” Saerys lowered her eyes briefly at that.
Myriah folded her hands lightly atop her lap. “You asked to join my retinue.”
"If it would please you, your Grace.”
“Before you join service amongst my ladies, I wished to speak with you plainly. As grandmother, not as a queen.”
Saerys inclined her head at once. “Of course.”
Myriah was quiet for a moment before she continued. "The office you prepare for is no small thing." Saerys only nodded. The gravity had not escaped her.
“My son is the best of men,” she continued, “but he is not merely a man. He is Hand to the King, and one day he will sit upon the Iron Throne. There will always be duties pulling at him, responsibilities demanding pieces of his attention, his time, his life.” Her gaze rested steadily upon Saerys. “It is not always an easy thing to stand beside someone the realm has claim to.”
Saerys listened carefully, her hands still folded quietly together.
“I do not say this to discourage you,” Myriah continued. “Quite the opposite. I would simply know that you understand the station you are stepping toward.”
“I think I understand as much as anyone can before living it,” Saerys answered honestly.
The honesty of the answer seemed to please Myriah more than certainty might have. “And what do you make of Baelor himself?” the Queen asked then.
The question caught Saerys slightly off guard, though she hid it quickly. “He has been nothing but kind to me.” The words came softly but without hesitation. Myriah’s expression softened faintly, as though that answer had been expected. Saerys wet her lips as she considered what she had seen of Baelor, the way he carried himself, the measured way that he chose his words. “I know he bears the realm upon his shoulders.” She paused briefly, searching for the proper phrasing. “But I don’t believe he would ever willingly treat me as another royal undertaking.”
The Queen was very still now, listening intently.
"He listens, he has a way of reassuring without making one feel foolish for needing it,” Saerys said quietly. “And he is gentle, even more so than I expected him to be.” A touch of warmth rose into her cheeks then, though she kept her composure.
“There is something protective about him as well,” she admitted after a moment. “As though he can't bear seeing others treated unkindly.”
For the briefest instant something unreadable passed across Myriah’s face. “Yes,” she said softly. “He has always had that way about him.”
Silence settled comfortably between them for a few moments afterward, filled only by the distant murmur of waves below the cliffs. At last the Queen spoke again, with a slightly more careful tone.
“Within your family, marriages such as these are not uncommon. You were raised knowing that.”
Saerys understood at once what was truly being discussed now. A faint flush crept into her cheeks, though she held the Queen’s gaze. “Yes, your Grace.”
“Even so,” Myriah said gently, “understanding a custom and living it are different matters.” The words settled softly between them. "Royal marriages are seldom afforded the luxury of distance, Saerys. Whatever comfort or affection may grow between husband and wife, the duties of such unions for those destined for the throne remain real from the beginning.” Her expression remained calm, but attentive. “I would know that you enter this arrangement willingly, and with a full understanding of what is being asked of you.”
Saerys folded her hands more tightly together in her lap. “The station itself is rather daunting,” her fingers tightened slightly together. “But the match itself is less so, especially in contrast to who it could've been.” A touch more color rose into her cheeks then, though her voice remained steady. “I trust him. And I'm mindful of my role.”
Something in Myriah’s expression eased almost imperceptibly at the answer. “Good,” the Queen said quietly. The silence that followed no longer felt quite so weighted. Saerys looked down at her hands once again. At last the Queen spoke again.
“You need not become hard to survive court,” she said, bringing a soft hand forward to lift Saerys' head up once again, “but you must learn not to diminish yourself within it.” Her gaze drifted meaningfully toward the severe black gown Saerys still wore. “There are some people who will happily allow you to disappear if you make it convenient for them.”
Saerys chewed her lip as she nodded, thoughtful. “When one spends enough years trying to fade into the background,” she said carefully, “The habit becomes difficult to break.”
Myriah regarded her with unmistakable understanding. “Even so,” the Queen replied gently, “You cannot spend the rest of your life apologizing for taking up space.”
Something in Saerys’ throat tightened unexpectedly at the words. She gathered herself carefully before answering. “I shall endeavor not to, Your Grace.”
The faintest trace of approval entered Myriah’s expression then. “Good.”
The Queen rose smoothly from her seat and crossed toward one of the open chests near the hearth. After a brief search she withdrew a Valyrian steel necklace on an ornate chain, with a deep red stone no larger than her thumb centered on three interlocking circles. “Come.”
Saerys obeyed immediately. Myriah stepped behind her and fastened the necklace carefully around her throat before adjusting the pendant where it rested against the dark fabric of her gown. "You are soon to occupy a very visible place at court,” the queen said as she worked. “The realm will look to you differently now. Better to grow accustomed to it gradually than all at once.” Saerys touched the pendant lightly once Myriah stepped back.
“It is lovely,” she said softly. "I feel the weight of the steel."
“It was a gift from Daeron, upon our first meeting.” The Queen’s expression warmed faintly at Saerys’ surprise. “It was his mother’s before me. And if rumor is true, this necklace has quite the history. A symbol of the resilience in your heritage. Not only fire, but steel in your blood.”
Saerys’ shoulders straightened at that, a look of thoughtful pride on her face. “There,” Myriah said with quiet satisfaction. “That expression suits you far better than solemnity.”
Saerys smiled despite herself. The Queen’s demeanor shifted subtly then, warmth giving way once more to practiced royal composure. "Now,” she said, “Prince Maron and Princess Daenerys along with the Dornish party will be arriving shortly, and once announced I expect half the court will spend the entire visit trying to determine what sort of woman their future Princess of Dragonstone might be.”
Saerys felt her stomach tighten slightly at the reminder. Myriah noticed immediately. “You need not perform for them,” the Queen said calmly as she extended her arm toward her. “You need only stand beside me.” The simple certainty in the words soothed something in Saerys she had not realized was still bracing for judgment.
She rose and accepted the Queen’s arm. “Welcome to my retinue, Saerys,” Myriah said as the doors opened once more and attendants hurried back into the chamber around them. “We’ll make sure you’re ready for what more is to come.”
A faint smile touched Saerys’ mouth. “I suspect,” she replied softly as they crossed toward the waiting bustle of servants and silks alike, “that may prove a greater challenge than governing kingdoms.”
Myriah laughed outright at that, rich and warm enough to draw startled glances from the nearest handmaidens.
"Oh,” the Queen said as they disappeared deeper into the chambers together, “I think you will do just fine.”
Saerys' day and evening had been so occupied with the Queen that it had truly escaped her notice that Baelor had been kept away for the rest of the day.
No doubt he had been pulled away almost immediately by councils, preparations for the Dornish delegation, and the endless demands that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Even so, she found herself glancing instinctively toward doorways whenever voices stirred beyond the chambers.
Any worries Saerys had possessed about entering the Queen’s service were quickly eased by the welcome she received. What had begun as a quiet evening of preparation transformed almost immediately into something lively and warm once Myriah formally introduced her amongst the women of her household.
Valaar’s wife, Kiera, sought her out first. “Come sit beside me before the others descend entirely,” she laughed softly as she looped an arm through Saerys’ and guided her toward one of the cushioned divans near the hearth. “The first days are the most overwhelming.”
"And you had to journey across the Narrow Sea, too," Saerys murmured. "How ever did you adjust so quickly?"
“It was not without help. If you ever find yourself uncertain,” Kiera told her quietly while servants poured sweet Dornish wine nearby, “come to me before you listen to court gossip. Half the Red Keep survives on whispers and the other half survives on pretending not to hear them.” That coaxed genuine laughter from Saerys.
There was something immediately reassuring about her warmth. Kiera spoke easily where Saerys hesitated, laughing often and touching people affectionately as she spoke to them. Yet beneath the softness, there was unmistakable intelligence.
The Queen’s chambers gradually transformed into a flurry of overlapping conversation and cheerful chaos as word spread amongst the ladies that Saerys would wed the Prince of Dragonstone within a few moons’ time. Queen Myriah herself seemed quietly pleased by how quickly the women gathered around her newest addition.
Questions and excitement descended upon her from every direction. “How ever did you get so lucky?”
“Seven heavens,” one of the Dornish ladies, Alyse Dalt, breathed as Saerys settled beside them. “After all these years, I truly believed Prince Baelor meant to remain as he was.”
“With two grown sons already?” another agreed. “No one expected him to wed again unless the realm itself demanded it.”
“And certainly not so suddenly,” a younger lady added eagerly.
"Some will say he saw her once and lost all sense thereafter,” Kiera teased lightly, steering the narrative before leaning into whisper, “Almost out of a book,” just for Saerys’ ears.
“Half the unmarried ladies in King’s Landing are likely inconsolable as we speak,” one woman said wryly.
A fresh ripple of laughter followed, and Saerys found herself briefly caught on the notion. She had always known Baelor was admired, excessively so for his wit and command. But somehow it hadn't occurred to her that the ladies of court might bemoan his coming nuptials.
“I begin to suspect the court shall take this marriage rather personally,” Saerys murmured softly, earning fresh laughter from the women around her.
“That man could read grain ledgers aloud and ladies would still stare at him as though he were the Baelon the Brave reincarnate,” Lyra Manwoody laughed. Even Queen Myriah joined in at that.
“And there is something terribly romantic about it,” sighed Selene of Tarth happily. “A princess arrives quietly at court and before the week is done she is promised to the future king. The singers will feast on it for years.”
“That alone would make half the realm desperate to know what passed between the two of you,” another agreed.
“You're lucky he is so handsome for his age,” sighed one woman unapologetically.
“Painfully so,” another muttered to general agreement.
Saerys shook her head softly at that, though by now she could not entirely suppress her smile.
Alyse waved a dismissive hand. “They will all recover soon enough. By the end of the moon the entire court will insist they expected it from the moment you arrived.”
“And by the end of the year,” Lyra added dryly, “the singers will claim Prince Baelor crossed half the realm for love and challenged three knights for your favor.”
“That is not remotely close to what happened,” Saerys protested through fresh laughter.
“No,” Kiera agreed cheerfully, “but it makes for a far better song.”
That sent the women into renewed amusement while Saerys sat smiling amongst them, no longer quite so overwhelmed by the attention as she had been when the day began. Only Queen Myriah seemed entirely unsurprised by the frenzy.
“Enough,” the Queen finally interrupted with amused authority. “You will frighten the poor girl away before she has properly joined us.” The women quieted only slightly.
“One of the first matters to address,” Myriah continued smoothly, “is that a future queen cannot continue dressing as though she means to disappear into the walls.”
Several ladies murmured agreement immediately while Saerys looked down instinctively toward the severe black gown she still wore. At some point through the years practicality had become habit. Dark colors were simple. Unobtrusive. Easy to mend and easier still to overlook. Saerys had not realized until that moment how much of her wardrobe had been chosen precisely so attention might pass harmlessly over her. That would clearly no longer be permitted.
Before she could protest, armfuls of silks and gowns began appearing seemingly from nowhere. Spare dresses were produced from wardrobes while handmaidens carried out boxes of ribbons, jewelry, lacework, and embroidered veils. Rich Dornish silks spilled like flowing water across cushions and chairs in shades of crimson, wine, gold, and deep burnt orange.
By the end of the evening Saerys had been made to try on no fewer than six gowns beneath the delighted supervision of half the Queen’s household.
“Tomorrow morning,” Myriah informed her firmly as the women finally began dispersing for the night, “you will return here before breakfast. The delegation must be greeted properly.”
Saerys curtsied obediently. Before she left, she grasped Myriah’s hand. “Thank you, Grandmother” she murmured, bringing a fond smile to the Queen’s face before she parted.
The next morning the Queen’s chambers were already alive with activity by the time Saerys arrived. Dornish voices drifted warmly through the rooms alongside the rustling of silks and the clatter of jewelry being arranged upon trays. Queen Myriah’s female relatives from Sunspear had joined them now, and each seemed eager to examine the woman who would someday wed the Dragon of Dorne.
Saerys was wholly unused to such attention. At Summerhall she had been the only grown woman in residence. When her duties allowed it, she had often escaped instead into libraries and quiet corners with her books for company. Being surrounded now by women laughing, teasing, gossiping, and eagerly seeking her favor felt strange enough to border upon unreal.
Yet there was warmth in it too, kinship. For Saerys, solidarity amongst women had been a rare thing.
“Come!” Queen Myriah called the moment Saerys entered. “I have something better for you today.”
At once two handmaidens carried forward a newly finished gown.
Saerys stopped short.
The dress was exquisite. Deep crimson silk shimmered richly beneath the morning light while embroidered sprays of dragon’s breath curled along the sleeves and bodice in gleaming threadwork.
“It’s too fine,” Saerys protested softly. “Your Grace, I could not possibly—”
“Nonsense,” Myriah interrupted at once, rising to cup Saerys gently by the cheek.
“But yesterday there were some darker gowns as well,” Saerys attempted weakly.
“You Targaryens,” Myriah sighed with affectionate exasperation while several Dornish women laughed knowingly nearby. “You are not in mourning, child. Quite the opposite”
The Queen stepped back, eyeing the crimson silk critically.
“It will suit you beautifully. It is a fitting gown for a princess, particularly one who will wed the heir to the Iron Throne.” Her expression softened slightly. “Go put it on.”
Blushing faintly beneath the attention fixed upon her, Saerys obeyed. After insisting rather firmly that she was perfectly capable of dressing herself, she emerged sometime later to an immediate chorus of approval from the assembled women.
“Oh, that color was made for her.”
“The embroidery catches the eye beautifully.”
“And her hair should be worn down—”
“Yes, with gold combs perhaps—”
The chamber dissolved once more into cheerful commotion around her. Women circled her adjusting sleeves, discussing jewels, and debating hairstyles with startling seriousness. So much excitement had gathered around the mention of her match that the page waiting near the doorway went entirely unnoticed until he raised his voice awkwardly above the noise.
“A delivery for Princess Saerys,” he called. The room quieted at once.
Saerys turned quickly toward the door. “Yes?”
The young page stepped forward carrying a polished wooden box in one hand and a bouquet of fresh flowers in the other. Bright dragon’s breath mingled with deep crimson roses.
“I’m called Addam, my lady. I serve Prince Baelor.” His expression brightened slightly as he presented the gifts. “His Grace wished for these to be delivered to you directly this morning.”
A soft murmur immediately rippled through the gathered women. Saerys accepted the flowers first before carefully taking the box and accompanying letter into her hands. Around her the ladies had already begun whispering excitedly amongst themselves until Queen Myriah waved them all firmly back.
“Give the girl room enough to breathe at least.” That earned a few guilty laughs. Saerys carefully unfolded the letter
Saerys,
I regret that my duties kept me from resuming our conversation, I hope you can forgive me. ‘Tis but the beginning of our courtship and already I was unable to keep a promise. You have my sincerest apology. I only wish I could promise that it won’t happen again. Though the crown keeps me elsewhere, my thoughts are with you. I’m counting the hours until I can behold you once more. Your formal betrothal gift should arrive within the week.
Ever yours,
Baelor
The whispers of the ladies only became more animated as they watched Saerys’ expressions as she read his words. Once she reached “yours,” the letter was folded up tight and placed within her gown. Those words were hers. “Show us what’s in the parcel, Princess,” exclaimed one of the dornish cousins—Elyra perhaps?
Saerys opened the box and found a bracelet of garnets and rubies, as well as two jeweled hair clips in the shape of dragon’s wings. A fuss was made of arranging Saerys’ hair just so to highlight the pins and the natural wave of her hair. It was styled down for a change, and the bracelet was fixed upon her wrist with gentle helping hands.
Once finished, Myriah rushed the ladies out in order to join the lords for breakfast. As she passed Saerys she took her in arm and shared a secret smile. “A clever man, my son.” Saerys’ eyebrows tilted up in question and just patted her hand, the one attached to her newly bejeweled wrist.
And, Saerys supposed, it wasn’t not a clever thing to give your intended jewelry in lieu of one’s presence.
The lords from Dorne spread about the Great Hall, chatting merrily and getting reacquainted with the Targaryens and the Crownlands Lords.One of Myriah’s nephews, Prince Morion, was particularly lively, eagerly chatting especially with the sons of late Dyanna Dayne. He made quick friends of Daeron the Younger over drink and was currently trying to make a friend of Aerion as well. “Tell me Aerion, was it true that you were supposed to be betrothed, where’s the lovely lady?”
Aerion raised his eyebrows. “Currently doing whatever ladies do in the Eyrie, I suppose,” he said with a shrug. “She fosters there with her mother’s family, I’m told.”
"I must have heard it wrong then.The rumor was you were betrothed to a woman in your own household,” said Morion with a quirked brow. Daeron snickered.
Aerion rolled his eyes. “Oh, that. Yes, I had been set to wed another cousin, but that match was set aside.”
Aerion took a swig of Daeron’s wine. “Early for you, brother,” Daeron remarked before Aerion’s hand waved him away.
“All’s the better for it. Saerys was a sullen, dour thing. Glad to be rid of her. Better to wed someone younger, more docile.”
"That is where we disagree, my prince,” quipped Morion. “Dornishmen like me, we prefer a woman with a bit of heat. Docile is for horses, not for wives.”
At that moment, all the heads in the hall turned—the ladies had arrived, all clad in bright colors and merry with excitement. They all seemed to swarm around the Queen and her closest lady, a vibrant woman in red. They wanted her ear and to marvel at a piece of jewelry on her wrist. The lady’s head was held high when it wasn’t thrown back in laughter. Though it had been morning for a few hours yet, it would seem the sun had finally shone into the hall. Many eyes were drawn to the lady and the excitement that surrounded her.
"See,” Morion gestured to the lady in red. “That’s more like it!” He left the table and straightened his robes to greet the lady before she was ensnared by one of the other men in the hall.
Once in front of her and the queen, Morion sketched a bow and took the queen’s hand. He exclaimed, “It’s been too long my queen, though the capital agrees with you.”
The queen pulled him into an embrace. “It has been too long, nephew,t hough we are sorry to have pulled you away from the sunlight. Weather is so changeable near the Blackwater.”
"I will endure, my Queen.” His gaze shifted to Saerys. “Especially if I’m allowed to bask in the light of this one. I must beg an introduction,” he said as he took her hand.
"Ever the charmer, Morion,” the queen chided as the rest of the ladies filtered into the hall around them. “This is Princess Saerys.” Saerys curtsied in turn. “She has been residing at Summerhall ”
“You’ve been hiding this jewel away from court.”
“And she is newly betrothed,” said Myriah with a laugh
Morion tilted his head with mock horror. “Oh, say it is not so, Aunt!” he exclaimed, still holding her hand. He relinquished it with a kiss to the air above it.
He tilted his head at Saerys in good humor. “Tell me the name of the lucky man, Princess, so that I can congratulate him.” He added with a grin, “Or so I can duel him.”
Saerys, wholly unaccustomed to being addressed in such a fashion, could only let out a delicate laugh.
“Oh you mock me my lady, but I’m sincere,” Morion said with a chuckle as he put a hand to his heart. “Such a light could only be meant for Dorne. Tell me the name of your intended, and I shall meet him at dawn.”
Morion’s bravado and noise around her was such that Saerys didn’t even notice who else had entered until she heard a deep smooth voice from behind to her. “I fear that would not go well for you, Prince.” Saerys turned. The timbre was familiar, the one voice she’d been yearning to hear again.
Baelor, clad in all the regalia of a prince of the realm, came up beside her, and before propriety quite caught up to instinct, one broad hand settled lightly at her waist, warmth seeping through the silk between them. His.
Baelor eyed Morion up and down then, with mostly mock threat. “Surely you remember the last time we met at a tourney.”
Saerys took in a breath and met his gaze. Baelor inclined his head towards her and spoke softly, just for her. “Good morning, Princess.”
Morion’s eyes gleamed with sudden understanding. He dipped into a deep bow with a laugh. Saerys made to curtsy as well but a slight nudge at her waist instructed her to stay still. Morion rose and clasped his arm, formality now out of the way
"Splendid news, cousin! Fitting that the Dragon of Dorne should be matched with such a sunbeam.”
Baelor turned his gaze to Saerys as he replied, “I agree.” Baelor’s thumb shifted once at her waist before he took her arm and escorted her into the hall. Morion trailed behind them, the queen now taking his arm.
Now Saerys was conscious of all the curious eyes and whispers. She’d been bedecked in Targaryen finery, and had entered the hall with a flurry of attention, from a Dornish prince no less. All for his flirting to be thwarted by the heir to the throne as he drew her effortlessly beneath his keeping. The Prince’s bride-to-be, already a sparkling fixation at court. A clever man indeed.A clever man indeed. He did not merely accept her, he wished for the realm to admire her as well.
Baelor maintained their conversation as they made their way into the hall. “We’ll announce the betrothal formally at the festivities at the end of the week.” He helped Saerys step up to the high table on the dais. “In the meantime, I’ve been parted from my lady for too long and should like to break fast with her.” He pulled out a seat for her at the end of the table and sat next to her.
"Of course, my Prince.”
Morion took a sly glance to the other end of the table where Maekar’s brood sat and spoke a bit louder. “I have but one question for the lady.” Baelor looked to Saerys who nodded, then inclined his head.
"I heard tell from another prince that he was to be betrothed to a Saerys of Summerhall, but his depiction is so inaccurate I must’ve misheard.”
At the mention of Summerhall, Aerion glanced up from the other end of the high table. Shock flickered across his face that the lady in red who enchanted the hall was his former fiancee. She was a woman transformed, resplendent in red, hair down in gentle waves, and an easy smile upon her face. She maintained her composure too, as he met her eyes from the end of the table.
Saerys’ eyes returned to Morion. “‘Tis true Prince. To my cousin,” she said with a nod to Aerion.
Morion sat down from them at the table with mock dismay. “But that can not be my lady,” he gestured, waving a hand to Aerion. “For he described his prior betrothed as dour and sullen.” Morion’s gestures and laughter now caught the attention of the rest of the table. "I can not fathom a lady as lovely and vibrant as you being described as such.”
Saerys looked down, trying to hide a smile while Baelor’s gaze slid over to Aerion, steely once again and devoid of the softness he gave Saerys. He tilted his head about to chime in, but not before Saerys responded, “Perhaps my new betrothed better agrees with me.”
Baelor’s gaze snapped to her with a wry smirk as he was tempted to reach for her hand under the table.
"Indeed, my Lady. I rejoice for you both, 'tis a splendid match.” Morion said, raising a glass. “To the Dragon of Dorne and his Sunbeam!”
207 AC - King Daeron has lived long enough to know that stories rarely end the way they should. Princes die too young. Princesses are promised to the wrong men. And every generation of Targaryens seems determined to repeat the mistakes of the last. So when a frightened princess seeks refuge from one prince and finds it in another, Daeron cannot help but wonder whether history is beginning another familiar song—or whether, for once, it might choose a different ending.
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Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Targcest (what it says on the tin), Arranged Marriage, Forced Betrothal (discussed), Emotional Abuse (referenced and ongoing), Verbal Abuse, Fear of Marital Abuse, Emotional Distress, Patriarchal Society, Family Politics & Dynastic Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Aerion Targaryen is His Own Warning
REMINDER - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT AND MEDIA YOU CHOOSE TO CONSUME
DISCLAIMER: All themes, plot, images used in general and characters from A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms + elsewhere belong to the rightful owners, I hold no rights to the original media - but my writing belongs to me.
A/N: This has been a labor of love since AKOSTK came out. I'm excited that I finally feel confident enough to post. There's no way this chapter wasn't going to be close to 10k to start, I apologize in advance. Banner and headers by me.
207 AC
Saerys’ back twinged as the wheelhouse rattled along the Kingsroad.
Their caravan made it's way to Kings Landing in haste. Prince Maekar and his household would be returning to Kingslanding for the first time since Dyanna Dayne's death for the twenty-year celebration of the Unification with Dorne.
Beyond the curtains, the Kingswood swept past in flashes of green and shadow while her stomach knotted tighter with every mile. Saerys had always known she was born to be maneuvered like a piece upon the board. But no length of preamble could quell the dread of what awaited her in King’s Landing.
Across from her, her cousin Prince Daeron Targaryen groaned softly and pressed the heel of his hand against one eye. “I swear, these roads worsen just to spite me.”
Saerys glanced up from the book resting against her lap. “I believe roads require intent for spite.”
"They have it,” Daeron muttered hoarsely. “I think I’ve offended at least three gods in the last sennight.”
“That few?” she murmured with a smirk.
He cracked one eye open at her and let out a laugh before immediately regretting it, wincing as the wheelhouse lurched violently over another rut.
Saerys smiled faintly despite herself and looked back toward the passing woods. Daeron had joined her in the wheelhouse after the second day of travel, too deep in his cups the night before their departure from Grassy Vale to stomach more days upon a horse. Maekar had called him soft for it while Aerion had called him pathetic. Daeron called it self-preservation. Saerys privately agreed with the latter.
The wheelhouse rocked again, jostling the worn green volume in her lap. Instinctively, her fingers tightened around the worn leather binding.
Daeron noticed. “You’re nearly through that thing already?”
“I like to reread my favorite parts,” she said with a small smile.
“That’s either devotion or madness.”
“The two are not mutually exclusive.”
“Gods,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the cushions. “Careful, else you’re on your way to becoming a proper romantic.”
“It is merely one story.”
“It’s the one you brought with you. I know you have scores at home and probably snuck a trunkful here.” Another reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. Then the wheelhouse slowed.
Both of them straightened as distant sounds drifted faintly through the curtains. Shouted orders. Hooves striking stone. The groan of gates opening. They had arrived. Saerys’ stomach tightened anew. Daeron noticed immediately–for all his aimlessness, he possessed occasional flashes of perception that caught one off guard.
“You’ll be alright,” he said quietly.
Saerys lowered her eyes to the book in her lap, not trusting herself to respond.
Princess Saerys was the only surviving child of the late Prince Aerys Targaryen, second-born son of King Daeron the Good. Her mother, Aelinore Allyrion, had died giving birth to her. While alive, Aerys felt that raising a child was merely a distraction from his vital scholarly pursuits at the Citadel. She had been taken to ward at Summerhall by the age of five and welcomed into Prince Maekar and Dyanna Dayne’s household,
Saerys would occasionally remind herself that there were happy years, especially while Dyanna lived. Shortly after she passed, Saerys was trained to be Lady of the Keep and assisted in rearing Maekar's younger children. Time at court, the first time since she was a little girl, promised more upheaval dictated by powers that be.
She knew only that the court would be overflowing for the unity celebrations, impending marriages and alliances would be discussed openly amongst wine cups and feast tables, and that Aerion already spoke of the future as though the matter had long been settled. Every conversation seemed only to sharpen the dreadful certainty of her future. Though she was a princess of the blood, Saerys possessed little ability to alter whatever course more powerful members of her family chose for her.
The wheelhouse finally rolled to a stop. Daeron exhaled heavily. “Gods preserve me from those stairs.”
A servant hurried forward and opened the carriage door. Afternoon sunlight spilled across the interior as the riders slowed their approach.Through the opening Saerys could see King Daeron and the royal family awaiting them.
Prince Maekar Targaryen dismounted first, boots striking stone with familiar force. He hadn't been honed for court halls like his eldest brother. Time and campaigning had instead hardened him further since he was last at court. He crossed the yard and dipped his head respectfully.
“Father.”
King Daeron’s sternness dissolved at once into weary affection. “Did you bring the entirety of the Dornish Marches with you, Maekar?"
Maekar snorted softly. “Only the less troublesome half,” he said, gesturing to his sons and young ward following behind him. His youngest children, Aemon, Daella, Aegon, and Rhae were left under the watchful eyes of maesters and septas at Summerhall. The king clasped his forearm firmly before drawing him briefly into an embrace.
Behind Maekar, Daeron slid inelegantly from the wheelhouse, grinning already.“Your Grace,” he called toward the king. “If you intend to keep us standing in the yard much longer, I’ll need wine before I expire dramatically.”
“I’m wounded, Your Grace. I had been hoping for ‘handsome’.”
“You’ll receive that once you’ve bathed,” replied the Queen dryly. Prince Valar Targaryen barked out a laugh at that from where he stood next to his father and his wife, Kiera of Tyrosh.
Prince Aerion Targaryen descended next. Even dismounting, he managed to make it look theatrical. Sunlight flashed across polished armor as he removed his gloves finger by finger, eyes already roaming the gathered company with sharp coiled confidence.
“Grandsire,” he said with a shallow bow.
Daeron acknowledged him evenly. “Aerion.”
Prince Baelor Targaryen watched his nephew carefully. If the rumors that had drifted from Summerhall were true, something feverish ran beneath the prince’s charm, like a viper waiting to strike.
Then the final member of the party approached–Princess Saerys, who had been long away from court. She removed herself from the wheelhouse carefully with the assistance of a household knight, black riding skirts gathered in slender hands. Baelor seemed to notice her only because she did not immediately seek attention, or perhaps she was just practiced at avoiding it.
She was a woman grown since the last time he saw her. It had only been in passing–she couldn't have been older than five or six, sitting cross-legged beneath a table in the library at Summerhall while her father studied nearby. She had not been properly reading, only painstakingly sounding out letters to herself from a crumbling history she had no hope of understanding. When Baelor had asked what she was doing, she had informed him quite seriously that if no one taught her fast enough she would simply teach herself.
With a wave of melancholy, he found himself struggling to reconcile that bright child with the subdued woman before him. Her face was drawn, hopefully only from the road. Her dark waving hair was pulled back simply, streaks of silver among the dark, one of the few visible markers of her Targaryen lineage. Brown eyes that he had last seen shimmering with curiosity were now careful, wary. One gloved hand clutched a worn green book close against her chest while the other gathered her skirts. She wore black from throat to hem despite the summer heat, the fabric finely made but deliberately unadorned save for subtle red dragons stitched in thread so dark they vanished unless the light struck them. There was not a jewel to be seen upon her, so unlike the glittering ladies of court.
Aerion passed nearby as she descended, his gaze flicking toward the book in her hands.
“Gods,” he muttered beneath his breath, not quite quietly enough. “You dragged that thing all the way from Summerhall?”
At once Saerys’ fingers tightened around the volume before she slipped it quickly beneath the folds of her cloak.
The exchange lasted scarcely a heartbeat, yet somehow Baelor saw all of it. Her vigilance unsettled him. Even before she fully straightened, her eyes flicked briefly toward Aerion first, then to those around her, as a hunted doe might glance around the forest.
Myriah stepped forward before formal introductions could begin. “Saerys.”
At once Saerys sank into a deep curtsy. “Your Grace.”
“None of that,” Myriah said gently, extending her hands to bid her rise. “You are family, my girl.”
Something in Saerys’ expression softened unexpectedly at the word before composure settled back into place. “Of course."
The King came to stand by his wife and beckoned her closer as well. “Come now, let me look at you properly. It has been far too long.”
Saerys obeyed at once, quiet and composed, pulled together so perfectly. So quickly, Baelor thought, like someone forever bracing for correction. He mulled over this as she approached him next, and sunk once more into a curtsy
“Saerys,” he said as he offered her his hand, his gaze open and welcome. “It’s a pleasure to finally welcome you to Kings Landing.”
An odd sort of warmth spread through her at the proper sound of her name on his tongue. Aerion for all of his talk of their Valyrian heritage always butchered it. "Ser-res" always drawled with annoyance. Though she didn’t speak the tongue, she knew how it should sound. The long Valyrian vowel and stressed “R” sounded wholly different in the deep warm timbre of Baelor’s voice.
“She’s been keeping Summerhall running for us all,” Maekar remarked absently as a servant took his gloves. “Far more competent than the rest of the household put together.”
Saerys lowered her gaze immediately at the praise, almost uncomfortable beneath it. “Only because Lady Dyanna taught me so well,” she replied softly.
Something complicated flickered across Maekar’s face at the mention of his late wife before vanishing beneath habitual sternness. Then Aerion’s voice cut smoothly across the yard. “She’ll have the keep reorganized before week’s end if you allow it.” A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “Saerys would sooner balance inventories than navigate court. The gods do love their little jokes.”
A few polite chuckles answered him. Saerys smiled automatically, though it was wooden. Then Kiera, all pink hair and bright smiles, stepped forward with an easy warmth that immediately changed the atmosphere.
“I’m very glad you’ve arrived,” she told Saerys sincerely. “I was beginning to fear there would be too few of us women trapped between dragons and vipers during these festivities.”
To Baelor’s surprise, Saerys gave a small genuine laugh. “That would be a grave fate indeed.”
“They’re already conspiring against us,” Valarr said cheekily.
“As is their right,” Myriah replied dryly. Aerion rolled his eyes, while Baelor’s gaze drifted back toward Saerys.
With Kiera beside her, some of the tension had eased from her at last. There was a keen intelligence in her face when she forgot to guard it. She had been a precocious little thing with endless questions and no hesitation whatsoever in asking them. He had expected that sharpness to remain, not this skittishness. He did not know what to make of this subdued woman dressed in severe black, who seemed to fold inward each time attention found her.
Then Kiera said something too low for him to hear, and for a fleeting moment Saerys forgot herself entirely. A laugh escaped her, soft and genuine, her eyes brightening as she turned toward the other woman. The expression transformed her utterly, warmth and wit flashing suddenly through her careful restraint. And then, just as quickly, she seemed to remember herself, her shoulders drew back, and the prim composure returned.
But not before Baelor had seen the difference.
Something uneasy settled beneath his ribs. When Aerys insisted his studies were of too much import for him to continue to rear a child, Summerhall was deemed the best place for her, a keep filled with children, removed from the politics of court. Watching her now, Baelor found himself wondering if that had truly been the case.
Dinners at the Red Keep were a wholly different affair from those at Summerhall, if her maid was to be believed.
Most dinners took place in the Hand’s small hall or the Queen’s hall, rather than the Great Hall, while dinners at Summerhall were stiff and staid in the main hall. Rhagel and his family, when in residence, typically ate in their own tower with no offense or repercussions. Attendance had been expected at Maekar’s table, and Saerys never got away with taking a tray in her own chambers. Here, as she saw at the earlier luncheon, while the setting itself was more formal, the conversation and mood were far more relaxed–o much so that Saerys dared to bring a book with her to the meal. At the very least, it would remind them of her father.
Outside night had swallowed King's Landing whole, but within the chamber warmth lingered pleasantly. The small hall in the Tower of the Hand glowed gold beneath candlelight and polished brass. Books and reports littered the sideboard. It would seem Baelor and the King often worked through their meals, but tonight was devoted to family. Mulled wine was poured into silver goblets, and servants wove quietly between chairs with platters of river trout, buttered carrots, roast potatoes, and dark bread still warm from the ovens below.
King Daeron sat at the head of the modest table rather than upon any dais, one hand curled around his wine cup while conversation drifted lazily through the chamber. Beside him, Queen Myriah smiled softly as Valarr animatedly recounted his latest frustration with the master-at-arms. “I swear the man delights in humiliation!” Valarr declared. “He paired me against Ser Donnel in the yard after dawn drills, knowing full well the brute outweighs me by four stone.”
“You won,” Kiera noted as she nudged him from his side.
“That is hardly the point,” Valarr said with exaggerated dignity. “The point is that I could not feel my shield arm for the entire day afterward.” A few soft chuckles circled the table. Valaar entertained them with a practiced ease, Saerys noticed. He engaged those around him with humor and self-deprecation, rather than holding the table hostage to his wit like others she could name.
Baelor noted that Saerys had scarcely touched her wine, or most of her plate for that matter. She sat poised and proper beside her cousins, hands folded carefully in her lap whenever she was not moving food around her plate.
The King noticed her reserve as well. “Tell me, Saerys,” he said mildly, “is it true the septa at Summerhall still insists every corridor remain quiet enough for silent prayer?”
Saerys blinked, visibly startled at being addressed directly. After recovering she spoke, “She insists. All the better for contemplation, Your Grace.”
“So did my mother,” Daeron replied quietly. “She found more comfort in prayer and quiet halls than she ever did in court." A fond sort of weariness touched his expression then. “Though my mother at least understood the gods do not strike men dead for speaking above a whisper after supper.”
“I can’t say I blame Septa Desmera, though,” Saerys continued. “Not with the way Aegon and Rhae carry on”
“Well, you said it, not me”
A soft laugh escaped Saerys before she could suppress it. Daeron’s expression gentled at once. The sound reminded him dearly of another princess who had laughed far too rarely in her life.
Across the table, amidst the chatter, Baelor felt himself pause at how the small mirth transformed Saerys' face completely. She appeared almost lit from within–alive in the way she listened attentively to the king’s teasing, in the shy amusement she traded with Kiera, and in the softness that entered her face whenever Queen Myriah spoke kindly to her. Baelor found himself quietly caught off guard by how different she seemed during these rare moments, so unlike the skittish girl he had first witnessed in the yard.
Resting beside Saerys’ untouched cup sat a worn green volume. He remembered it from the yard below when the wheelhouse arrived: Saerys descending last, clutching the book close to her chest before Aerion mocked something under his breath and she tucked it quickly away.
Baelor reached for his wine. “You brought a book from Summerhall,” he said to her mildly. Saerys looked up quickly, almost surprised to be engaged on the matter. Across the table, Aerion smirked faintly into his cup.
“The green one,” Baelor clarified, his lips lifting at the corners to try to put her at ease. “I saw it in the yard.”
For the briefest instant embarrassment crossed her face. “Oh,” she said softly. “It is only a trivial thing.”
Aerion snorted. “That means it’s a romance,” he scoffed, cutting in before Baelor could contradict her.
A faint flush rose immediately along Saerys’ cheeks. Baelor glanced between them. “What sort of romance?”
Saerys touched the worn spine with careful fingers, reluctant and protective all at once. "One from the Reach,” she admitted quietly. “A courtly tale about a knight who serves a lady faithfully years before she realizes she loves him in return.”
Daeron laughed immediately. “How is it a romance if they're always so miserable? I swear, someone is always looking out a window forlorn.” A few smiles flickered around the table. Even Saerys managed the shadow of one.
Baelor leaned slightly forward. “And are they happy in the end?”
Aerion’s gaze narrowed in on Baelor then.
Saerys looked up, surprised by the sincerity of the question. “Yes,” she said softly. “Eventually.”
Aerion barked out a sharp mocking laugh. The sound sliced cleanly through the fragile ease gathering around the table. “Seven save us,” he drawled. “She’ll be mooning over The Knight Beneath the Willow for the rest of supper.”
Saerys’ smile disappeared immediately. “I'm not-”
“It’s a story for little girls,” Aerion interrupted, insistent. “And foolish ones besides.”
Baelor watched the transformation happen instantly as Saerys’ shoulders tightened by the barest degree. Her eyes lowered. Her hands disappeared beneath the table, a complete and well-practiced retreat, as though she had learned long ago the safest thing to do was make herself smaller. Something cold settled beneath Baelor’s ribs.
Aerion continued casually, sensing no resistance. “All that simpering nonsense about honorable knights worshipping women from afar,” he mused. “As though real men truly behave that way outside songs.”
Saerys stared fixedly at the tablecloth now, swallowing roughly, unable to meet the eyes of anyone.
Aerion saw the opportunity to hold court then. "She likes them because she believes that’s what love is,” he continued with amused disdain. “Surely by now you’ve learned by now those tales are lies, cousin." Venom crept into his tone, just for her.
Baelor felt himself stop moving entirely, his jaw locked. Anger pulsed through him at how Aerion mocked Saerys.
At the head of the table, King Daeron felt memory crash into him like ice water, paralyzing him completely.
Another table with another princess shrinking into silence with the same defeat, as another handsome royal son smiled as he wounded her for sport. All the while, another gallant prince watched with sadness and fury, coiled to come to her defense. For one terrible moment the years seemed to blur for him. His Uncle, Aemon, rigid at the table. His mother, Naerys, lowering her eyes. His father laughing smug and self-satisfied over wine.
Baelor, still fuming, realized with growing revulsion that Aerion was not merely mocking Saerys’ interests. He was mocking the very idea that she could ever be genuinely cherished. These stories were an escape, perhaps the only place Saerys allowed herself to imagine tenderness at all. Aerion knew this, and he enjoyed diminishing her further. Baelor glanced instinctively toward Maekar. Surely he would stop this, his own household.
Maekar cut another piece of trout with measured calm, expression unreadable. His jaw only tightened faintly, though whether at Aerion or the interruption to his meal, Baelor could not tell. As though this were merely familiar family friction. That unsettled Baelor as much as Aerion’s mockery, if not more so. It was horrifyingly clear this was a regular occurrence, and Saerys had no expectation anyone would stop him.
“She is hurting no one,” Baelor said evenly. The room fell silent.
Aerion turned toward him with lazy amusement. “No,” he agreed lightly. “Only filling her own head with inane fantasies.” His smile sharpened as he looked back toward Saerys. “A handsome prince coming to the rescue to adore you endlessly?” He gave a soft scoff. “Join us on the mortal plane.”
Heat crept beneath Baelor’s collar as Saerys seemed to withdraw further. He nearly missed her reply altogether.
“Do you think I can’t tell fact from fiction?” said Saerys. Her words were barely above a whisper, yet for the first time that evening there was something fragilely defiant beneath them.
Aerion turned sharply at that, the mocking ease vanishing from his face. “What did you say to me?” There was a lethal edge to his voice now.
Saerys recoiled from it immediately, with the awful familiarity of someone who knew exactly what usually followed that tone.
Aerion swirled his cup lazily as he eyed Saerys. “What? Nothing else to say now?” He leaned back further in his chair, pleased with her silence, her submission. “Pathetic.“
Saerys stiffened even further at the bite in his words.
“Though perhaps silence is preferable after all,” Aerion mused, leaning back in his chair. “Gods know no man wishes wit from the woman who's to warm his bed.”
Saerys pressed her eyes shut, wishing she could disappear.
“That is enough.” Baelor’s voice was like steel, quiet, and deadly. The words cut cleanly through the chamber, worse for the restraint. Baelor’s focus was so sharp he didn’t sense his father’s gaze on his face.
Across the table, Saerys froze as if he had spoken to her. Aerion blinked once in surprise. Baelor held his nephew’s gaze steadily. “You forget yourself before the ladies of this house.”
For a long moment Aerion looked almost tempted to provoke further, but even he knew what would surely come from this meeting of wills. He instead gave a careless shrug and lifted his goblet. “As you say, uncle,” he replied lowly. But the damage had already been done.
Saerys remained still for another heartbeat. Then, slowly, she looked up, not at Aerion but at Baelor. As though he was the first one to ever call the cruelty what it was. She looked at him with something akin to gratitude, as if something was owed, when she had been the one so cruelly mocked. Baelor felt something twist painfully in his chest at the sight.
Across from him, King Daeron saw it too. Saw the exact moment his son looked upon her not merely with courtesy, but with a fierce protective sorrow.
At this table, in this hall, the Dragonknight born again.
Aerion watched Saerys as she refused to meet his gaze for a moment longer before giving up his game. “Gods, I’ve had enough of this sanctimony,” he muttered. He tipped his goblet back only to find it empty. “Daeron,” he said to his brother with a smirk “Come help me raid the good casks before they’re pulled for the fete"
Daeron, already ruddy from his wine, shoved back from the table. “At last, someone speaks wisely.”
Myriah sighed softly into her cup, and Maekar pinched the bridge of his nose, but neither prince waited for permission. Aerion flashed one last amused smile toward the table as he departed, Daeron stumbling after him with poorly concealed delight at escaping formality. The doors shut behind them, and suddenly the room could breathe again. The silence that followed felt different now, tender around the edges.
Saerys remained still beside her untouched wine. Before the silence could settle too heavily, Kiera spoke lightly from beside Valarr. “I confess I’m starting to prefer these Reach romances. They're certainly much better than the morality plays that your septas spread about.” The sudden shift in topic seemed to catch Saerys off guard. Kiera continued without embarrassment whatsoever. “The Knight Beneath the Willow made half the ladies at court cry last year.”
Valarr snorted softly beside her. “Yes, and you were one of them.”
Kiera lifted her chin with dignity. “Only at the scene where they are parted.”
“There are at least three scenes where they are parted, supposedly never to see each other again.”
“And all of them romantic,” Kiera sniped back with a playful smile as she reached for her wine. That earned a ripple of genuine laughter around the table. Even Queen Myriah smiled into her cup.
“Kiera has half the royal seamstresses designing dresses inspired by heroines from those stories,” Valarr added dryly.
“I haven't heard you complaining,” Kiera returned right back at him.
Through it all, Saerys watched them–the familiarity and the ease between them, and the way affection softened every barb. Slowly, cautiously, the tension in her shoulders eased by the slightest degree. Not because anyone denied Aerion’s cruelty, but because no one had agreed with him. The realization seemed almost unfamiliar to her.
Baelor watched the shift quietly, watched the warmth begin returning to her by careful increments. Then at last he spoke again. “When I first became Hand,” he said, his voice gentler now, “I used to hide books for leisure inside my ledgers during those early meetings.” Saerys blinked and looked up at him, meeting his gaze directly at the table for the first time.
“The Master of Coin would send me bound reports thick enough to stun a horse if dropped from a height,” he continued dryly. “Eventually I learned if I hollowed the center stack properly, I could conceal something far more interesting within.”
To Baelor’s quiet satisfaction, the corner of Saerys’ mouth twitched faintly upward. “And what did you hide?” she asked softly.
“Histories, mostly.”
Valarr scoffed. “Only you could make shirking duty sound dull”
Baelor finally smiled faintly at that. “I enjoyed the accounts of Nymeria’s voyages.”
That seemed to genuinely surprise Saerys. “Nymeria?”
Baelor nodded. “Her crossing, her leadership, her iron will.” He leaned back slightly in his chair. “Her people leaving everything they knew and still managing to build something lasting afterward.” His gaze flicked briefly toward Queen Myriah then back to Saerys.“And the joining with House Martell afterward always interested me.” His expression grew thoughtful. “Not conquest. Not surrender either.” He swirled the wine lightly in his cup. “But something new being made from both.”
For the first time since Aerion’s mockery, Saerys looked fully engaged again, light beginning to return to her eyes.“My septa said Nymeria must have been terrifying,” she admitted softly. “That no sensible man could survive a woman who burned her own ships.”
Valarr barked another laugh. “She sounds marvelous.”
Saerys ventured again. “And what do you read to distract you from the ledgers now?”
“I just procured a new tome from Dragonstone’s libraries.” He met her gaze again with a wry look. “On how tyranny and bravado in Old Valyria led the dragonlords to their downfall,” he said with a knowing smirk. That coaxed a real smile from Saerys again. Baelor felt a strange sense of relief settle quietly inside him at the sight.
At the head of the table, King Daeron watched the exchange in silence. Watched how Saerys slowly unfolded again beneath kindness, and the care with which his son spoke to her now. He could feel something almost stirring in the air, and tried to shake the queer feeling of history threatening to repeat itself.
The corridors outside her chambers felt stifling after the evening meal. Saerys walked beside Maekar in brittle silence while the sounds of the hall echoed faintly behind them. Aerion’s laughter seemed lodged beneath her skin alongside the memory of the terrible stillness that had settled over the table after Baelor spoke.
Maekar kept his usual measured pace, hands clasped behind his back. For several moments he said nothing at all, and Saerys almost foolishly hoped he intended to let the evening pass without further misery. “The timing is unfortunate,” he said at last, his tone practical as ever, “But the matter cannot reasonably be delayed much longer.”
Saerys felt her stomach knot instantly though she kept her face composed. “Any matter in particular?”
Maekar glanced toward her briefly, surprised by the question. “Your betrothal to Aerion.” The words settled heavily between them. “I intend to present it to the King on the morrow at morning council,” he continued. “Once the King gives formal approval, arrangements can begin properly before the celebrations conclude.”
By tomorrow evening the course of the rest of her life would already be sealed. Saerys kept her eyes fixed ahead as they walked. “I understand.”
Maekar exhaled quietly through his nose, mistaking her restraint for ordinary bridal apprehension. “You could do far worse than Aerion.”
“Could I?” she asked softly, though with what she knew of men she realized with a shudder that Maekar might well be right.
Something in her voice drew his attention more fully this time. “You’ll be able to stay close to family, as you’ve always wished.” Saerys swallowed roughly.
“The Gods know he's difficult,” Maekar admitted after a moment. “Proud. Quick-tempered. But I’d like to think that I’m a testament that he can grow out of his worst faults.”
Saerys thought at once of Aerion leaning across the dinner table, his voice gone sharp enough to draw blood. What did you say to me?
They arrived outside her chambers. Maekar paused while a servant moved to open the door. “For what it’s worth,” he said gruffly, “I do believe he’s fond of you in his own way.”
The comment struck her harder than cruelty might have, because Maekar believed it sincerely. Saerys lowered her eyes before he could see the tears threatening there. “As you say, Uncle.” She took in an unsteady breath before murmuring, “Goodnight.”
Saerys entered her chambers then leaned back against the closed door, grateful for the time alone, the time to think. For a long while she remained standing where she was.
The room felt too warm, the walls too close around her. She crossed slowly toward the window and pressed trembling fingers against the stone ledge. Below, King’s Landing glittered beneath the darkening sky while Blackwater Bay churned against the cliffs.
At dinner, Aerion had humiliated her before half the royal family and only one person intervened, and even that had barely stopped him. She could still hear Aerion’s voice in her mind, smooth with mockery, and the look on his face at being rebuked. The memory settled cold and heavy in her stomach. She could only imagine the ways that Aerion might take out his anger at her when he got the chance.
As trying as today had been, marriage to him would be far worse. Once she was Aerion’s wife there would be no feast tables filled with witnesses, no prince quietly cutting through the tension with a single command. No one would interrupt what happened behind closed doors when she was his. She pressed her eyes closed at the memory of Baelor coming to her defense. Where had that kind of intervention been at Summerhall?
Her breath caught painfully, and despite herself, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from returning to Prince Baelor and a fleeting moment from her youth.
She could not have been older than six the first time she properly remembered Prince Baelor visiting Summerhall. Her father had been buried somewhere amongst the library stacks with two maesters while Saerys entertained herself beneath the tables with histories she could not yet properly read. She remembered painstakingly tracing letters with one finger across yellowed pages, determined to teach herself faster than the adults around her thought appropriate.
A shadow had fallen across the floor beside her then. She had looked up expecting a scolding and instead found Prince Baelor blinking down at her curiously, one arm still full of books.
“You appear to have conquered half the library already,” he had remarked with a quirk of a smile and a twinkle of humor in his mismatched gaze.
She had informed him quite seriously that the books must have been arranged incorrectly because her father could never seem to find the tomes he wanted. To her astonishment, he had crouched beside her and helped her puzzle through the page rather than ignoring her.
The Lady Jena had ridden onward to Blackhaven to be with family, leaving Baelor lingering at Summerhall for several weeks before duty called him back to court. Then before long he became Hand of the King, and scarcely visited at all.
They had been small moments, forgettable until now. More than that, she remembered what happened to Summerhall whenever Baelor was in residence. The keep itself had seemed softer during those weeks. Servants laughed more easily, the halls warmer somehow, even Maekar less severe in his presence.
Then at dinner, when Aerion’s voice sharpened and the entire table froze around her, Baelor had not raised his voice, his restrained authority had cut through the hall more effectively than shouting ever could. That’s enough.
The impression of those words lingered with her now alongside the warmth of Summerhall’s library and the recollection of a prince who had once crouched beneath a table to listen seriously to a lonely little girl.
Before she could lose her nerve, Saerys pushed herself away from the window and crossed toward the door.
The Tower of the Hand loomed above the inner ward as she made her way through the quieter corridors of the Red Keep, her pulse racing harder with every step. Twice she nearly turned back.
What was she truly thinking of asking of him? To oppose Maekar? To publicly humiliate Aerion? To risk discord within the royal family over a frightened woman who could offer little in return beyond gratitude? Yet with every attempt to reason herself into retreat, another thought rose stubbornly to meet it.
Baelor was clever and respected in the realm, careful where others were impulsive. If anyone could find some convenient reason to halt the match without provoking open conflict, it would be him. Surely there was some graceful solution Maekar could not see.
And perhaps, if the gods were merciful, she might yet be wed to someone decent. No knight from a song, Aerion had made certain to grind away those fantasies years ago.
A handsome prince coming to the rescue to adore you endlessly? Join us on the mortal plane.
The memory of his voice twisted bitterly inside her. Oh she knew men like that truly did not exist outside of fantasy. But surely there remained some middle ground between romance and terror. Some lord somewhere who might be gentle, kind, or at the very least indifferent enough to leave her in peace.
By the time she reached the Tower of the Hand her hands had begun trembling in earnest.
Ser Roland admitted her after only brief hesitation, announcing her arrival down the hall. “Princess Saerys to see you, your Grace”
The corridors beyond were quieter than the rest of the keep, lit low with candlelight and heavy with the scent of parchment and sealing wax. Somewhere deeper within came the faint scratch of a quill against paper. Saerys paused outside the chamber door, suddenly struck by the enormity of what she was about to do.
Then, before courage could fail her entirely she entered the Hand’s study.
“Saerys?” Baelor called before her face fully emerged into the candlelight.
His surprise faded almost immediately into a sense of foreboding as he caught sight of her expression. As she came forward his gaze caught on how she wrung her hands, the way she fidgeted with her rings, so similar to his own habit.
“What has happened?” he asked as he turned away from the desk, so quickly that he was unable to ponder how easily she captured his attention. How many times had Maekar, Valaar or even Jena been able to truly pull him away from his reports and ledgers? As soon as he saw the fear on her face, his center of gravity shifted, his pressing report an afterthought.
“Please, sit,” he insisted as he moved to the counsel table, drawing out the chair next to him.
Even near him, Saerys had trouble meeting his gaze. She’d been so long away from court and other family, she was unused to conversations she didn’t have to flinch away from.
She curled in on herself in the chair, shrinking herself as she said, “As I’m sure you know, my father wanted me off his hands and settled before his death. For simplicity’s sake, he proposed a match between Aerion and I. Maekar agreed and plans to bring the match to the King on the morrow." Her voice was brittle as she shuddered
Finally she met his gaze with watery eyes. “I can’t marry him, I won’t,” she vowed.
Baelor heaved a heavy sigh. The memory of the dinner table rose before him, Aerion’s amused cruelty, and Saerys shrinking inward beneath it. The unmistakable fear ran through her when his nephew’s voice sharpened. This wasn’t the first Aerion related quandary he’d been involved in and he doubted it’d be the last.
He swallowed roughly, as if what he was about to say already disagreed with him, “Marriage changes the shape of a man’s predilections," he said carefully. The words sounded weak even to himself. “Some men are improved by the responsibility. I know Maekar was.”
Saerys looked away and sucked in her cheeks as if she had been forced to bite down bitter medicine. With a rare disdain she replied “Some men." She forced out a laugh with such venom that Baelor almost flinched “But this is Aerion.”
She reached for one of Baelor's hands, imploring. “You see what he is, and that is what he’s willing to expose around family. Summerhall has been a torment ever since I reached my majority.” She paused and took in a wavering breath as her eyes began to glisten, “I don’t have to imagine the terror he’ll inflict once I’m his property.”
Baelor’s jaw ticked at how Saerys referred to herself. “You’re a princess of the blood, you’ll never be any man’s property—”
“—And he is a prince of the blood and I’ll be his to torment as he pleases." Saerys choked out a sob. She felt her desperation increasing the more her thoughts swirled about the torture Aerion might visit her once under his control.
Baelor, imagining it too, squeezed his eyes shut. Though always pragmatic, he hated having to think the worst about his family. “Maekar denied your request, I take it?”
Saerys shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks “I didn’t go to him,” she whispered, holding his gaze. I chose you. “Maekar has inured himself to Aerion's true nature. I think on some level he knows but he doesn’t let himself see.”
Saerys rose from the chair and sank to her knees before him, taking both of his hands."Please, Uncle, I came to you because you’re the most honorable man I know.” Her voice broke. “I’ll do anything, marry anyone else, any house, I just ask that he might be good and kind, please.”
Saerys pressed her head against the hands that held his and heaved another sob. “Please, your Grace,” she whispered, giving herself over to tears.
Something in him shattered seeing her on her knees before him.
Wrong. Why haven’t you already given her what she asked?
Of all the things she might have asked for, it was those simple words that undid him. She kneeled before him, not asking for a crown, nor wealth, nor some great romance from the songs. Merely a man who might not make her dread the morrow. A man who would not turn her life into something to be endured. That she thought she needed to beg for it, Baelor's revulsion settled somewhere deep within him and twisted.
Baelor freed his hands and leaned forward, kneeling on the ground as well. He wrapped her gently in his embrace, as he ran a soothing hand down her back.
The words "good" and "kind" continued to through his thoughts as he held her close. For one disquieting instant he found himself seized by a certainty so resolute it frightened him. It arrived before thought, before reason, before all the careful habits of restraint that had governed the better part of his life. As he looked into the fire there were plans, matches, alliances, all reforming in his head. Each heaving breath from Saerys further cemented his plan of action.
Finally he nodded with a sigh, bringing his hand to cup the back of her head. “Sweet girl, I will take care of it”
Saerys drew back and stared at him disbelieving. “Truly?”
“I promise.” Baelor brought his hand to her cheek to wipe away her tears. “I’ll go to the king directly.” He stood bringing her with him, and as he stepped away she held on to one of his hands.
"Uncle," she said, her voice hollow. “I’ll be forever in your debt.”
He brought his other hand to hers and drew it up towards his mouth for a fleeting kiss. “You owe me nothing, Saerys.” He led her from the room into the hall.
“Ser Roland,” he called to the knight posted outside. “Please see the princess back to her rooms, I should like you to guard her door this evening."
“Of course, Your Grace. And for your rooms?”
“Any other will do, I suspect I will have a late night.”
“Uncle,” Saerys called before she was escorted away. “I will never forget this.”
Baelor only nodded back as he watched her figure retreat down the hall. Neither would he. He only hoped they both could both forgive him come morning.
As Baelor walked towards his father’s chambers, he pondered the family line and wracked his brain for houses with eligible sons, for a mental exercise if nothing else.
“Is he awake?” Baelor asked Ser Corbray once outside the door to the king’s solar.
“Come in, son,” Daeron called from inside. Baelor found him pouring over a familiar report.
One look at Baelor’s face informed him that this would not be a casual conversation between father and son. “It better be a pressing matter, if we’re getting started this late.”
Baelor tilted his head in deference before clarifying, "It’s a family matter.”
“What’s Aerion done now?” Daeron scoffed.
Baelor sighed as he tilted his head and admitted haltingly, “It’s not not an Aerion problem”
“Oh it’s a problem now? Seven Hells,” Daeron bit off before muttering under his breath.
“Before Aerys passed, it would seem he and Maekar were playing at matchmaking down south. They settled on Aerion for Saerys.” Baelor met Daeron’s gaze with a thinly veiled disdain. “Maekar means to bring the match before you tomorrow.” He swallowed roughly before continuing. “Saerys came to me tonight weeping, and begged me to wed her to anyone else.”
He took in a heavy breath. “The way she came to me,” he said, his eyes faraway now. Memories flashed before him, the threadiness of her voice as she pleaded, the way she looked at him, beseeching. He swallowed down what might've been bile before he reached the heart of his request. “I can not allow her to wed that boy”
Daeron tilted his head then, keen. “It is rather peculiar that she brought her petition to you, rather than myself or Maekar.”
Baelor mused on this a moment before answering, curious that this caught his father’s attention first. “I don’t think Saerys believed Maekar would be of any help.” He closed his eyes then and uttered the next few words as if they were very precious. “She told me that she came to me because I’m the most honorable man she knows.”
For a moment they fell quiet. Daeron studied his son. Curious, he thought. Of everything that had passed between them that evening, that was the detail Baelor seemed least willing to release. The king filed the observation away and moved on.
”Maekar’s been turning a blind eye to that boy for far too long,” he said wearily instead. “My namesake’s wastrel ways are the main cause of his ire while Aerion is merely an annoyance—”
“And so the worst of Aerion infects everyone around him,” Baelor finished.
So often were he and his father of like minds, Baelor thought, though his stomach began to sink. This was perhaps the only time he had ever wanted his father to disagree with him, to persuade him otherwise.
“I was mulling it over on my way to you," he continued. “If you approve it tomorrow, they’ll expect to announce it during the festivities a sennight from now. If we draw this out, they may force the issue. II think it may be too late for us to make overtures to other houses.”
“I agree,” said Daeron. “And we risk less offense should the match remain in the family.”
Baelor paused, swallowing, not quite ready to have that option eliminated in earnest. But he carried on. “Daeron would be an ill match for anyone, the other boys of Maekar’s line are too young, Aelor is to wed Aelora… Matarys is too young…”
“There will be a bounty of Dornish lords with us in just a few days.” Daeron proposed.
“I worry that matching us further to Dorne may risk alienating other houses.”
“Ah yes” Daeron agreed loftily. “The houses that we don’t have time to arrange a match with.”
"Yes,” Baelor nodded seriously, seeming to ignore his father’s flippancy.
“Besides,” Daeron muttered to himself, “at two and twenty she’s a bit older than these lords would like for their sons.” Baelor tilted his head only slightly, his jaw ticked as though Daeron said it as a slight.
“Did we rule out Daeron too quickly?” his father mused.
“—He wouldn’t be able to protect her from Aerion, and we’re back at square one,” Baelor interjected, almost short.“The whole purpose of this is to put an end to it. If we leave her to the same torment, then we've accomplished nothing.”
The look in his eyes was piercing as his chest rose and fell in frustration. Daeron tilted his head, once again careening through time. He’d seen that look before, long ago. Righteous fury, intense devotion, the need to protect no matter the cost.
He considered for a moment. Then, watching for his son’s reaction, he posited, “Maekar could remarry.”
“He won’t.” Baelor’s answer came much too quickly.
Daeron’s eyes sharpened infinitesimally. “Matching her to Maekar would certainly protect her from Aerion. The boy wouldn't dare then.”
“He practically raised her, along with his four sons,” Baelor said at once, the words clipped now. “He has no need to wed again.”
“Need rarely governs these things.”
“He and Dyanna were a love match.” There was a surprising force behind the statement. “He mourns her still.”
Only after the words left him did Baelor realize how tightly strung his voice had become. Strain or no, he knew he was right in this. Though Maekar was the brother farthest in age, they were closest in heart. Baelor knew the workings of his brother's soul, in this moment, perhaps better than he knew his own.
Daeron regarded him quietly then with a keen eye. “And what of you, Baelor?”
Baelor looked away from the gaze that saw too much, saw what he was not ready to confront.
“Were you and Jena a love match?”
Baelor swallowed. The mention of Jena caught him off guard “You know we weren’t.” He glanced back at his father, faintly bewildered by the turn in conversation. “I was happy to do my duty for the realm though our union, and she blessed me with my sons—”
"Two sons,” Daeron corrected mildly.
"Yes,” Baelor replied, irritation creeping faintly into his voice now. “Two healthy, dutiful sons. What are you getting at?”
Daeron held his gaze steadily. “Do you want to know what I think, Baelor?”
Baelor looked down once in shame and back up again.
He was now fixed with an even steelier gaze. “I think you came here, mind made up, hoping I’d talk you out of it,” Daeron said quietly. “Instead I’ve done you the inconvenience of agreeing with you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re next in line for the throne, my boy, unmarried.” Daeron said, almost chiding. “Ascending with a Targaryen queen would strengthen us against the Blackfyres without alienating others. A young wife like Saerys? All the better. She can give you more heirs, strengthening your line.”
“She will not bring alliances or coin.”
"Nor does she need to." Daeron's voice softened slightly. "The crown will require you to wed again.” He paused. "I imagined we'd spend months weighing daughters and alliances and grievances. Instead we find ourselves discussing a woman whose character you already know." His gaze remained fixed upon Baelor. "There are worse foundations for a marriage."
Baelor swallowed thickly and strode over to the window. He braced himself against the ledge, his shoulders creeping up towards his ears. He didn’t want eyes on him for this.
He let out a controlled sigh and grit out the words as if they pained him. “She came to me because she trusted me. What kind of man would I be if I took advantage of that?”
Daeron walked over to his son. “She asked you to find her another match, did she not?”
Baelor looked down at his hands, the very hands Saerys had held as she wept and pleaded with him. He then repeated her words haltingly, words that he’d since committed to memory, "She said ‘I’ll do anything, marry anyone else, any house. I just ask that he might be good and kind’.”
Baelor pressed his eyes shut at the recollection. His shoulders tensed once more. Were he a weaker man, he might have yielded to the certainty that had seized him beside the hearth.
Daeron squeezed his shoulder. “She asked that he might be good and kind… and you’re the most honorable man she knows”
“Good, kind and honorable men don’t marry their nieces,” Baelor practically spat through gritted teeth.
Daeron breathed out slowly, giving voice to the truth he’d long fought. “We aren’t simply men, we’re Targaryens.”
In a lower tone he said “I wed you all to great houses to strengthen our esteem and ties in the realm after a perilous time, and I certainly believe that uniting with Dorne gave us strength. I love your Mother, after I met her I would have no other. But the only reason we were matched was for the sake of the realm. He heaved a heavy sigh then "For the sake of the realm, you are not the first Targaryen to wed his sibling’s offspring, nor will you be the last,” he said, as if offering a benediction.
Baelor wanted to shake his head, not yet willing to give voice to his actual torment. For he wasn’t conflicted about marrying Saerys. The true torment lay in discovering how little of him wished to resist it.
Finally, he nodded in an almost resigned agreement “As is your will, Father.”
“We’ll go with that then. I trust you’ll inform all involved, we’ll meet on the morrow.”
Baelor left his father’s chambers then.
For the sake of the realm. At least that’s what he’d tell himself.
Daeron returned to his bedchambers, braced already for the conversation he was about to have with his wife.
They had done so well, improved so much from his father's dissolute court. They had forged a true loving partnership from an arranged marriage to unite the realm. They had brought four magnificent sons into the world and saw them each married to worthy women of noble houses. They were forging a new path ahead—or they had been, before the Blackfyres rose up. Somehow the past always found its way back into their halls.
Daeron knew not why the realm seemed to demand dragon’s blood upon dragon’s blood for stability, but try as he might, he felt it to be true. Even if that truth ultimately had little to do with the necessity of this match.
Myriah looked up from her book smiling as Daeron entered. “What kept you?”
“Baelor came by, had a pressing matter.”
“Nothing too alarming, I hope?”
Daeron smiled with a tilt of his head. “Baelor will be taking a second wife.”
Myriah put her book down fully at that. “Oh?” she said with a quirk of her brow. “I wasn’t aware that we had found a second match for him.”
There it was. Daeron knew his wife well enough to feel the storm brewing.
“Unless he found a match of his own?” she added, her voice a touch lower. “Pray tell, who’s the lucky lady?”
Daeron felt his shoulders sag, already admitting defeat. “Saerys.”
“What?!” Myriah cast the bed covers off, intent on having it out with him on her own two feet.“Why?” she hurled at him. “Daeron, I thought we were doing things differently!”
He sighed, resigned. “Saerys went to him.”
“Why would she do such a thing?”
“Maekar planned to petition me to wed her to Aerion.” He sighed again. “And I probably would have said yes.” Myriah merely shook her head. Daeron continued. “Saerys asked Baelor to intervene, to find her someone else.”
“So why didn’t he?”
“I think he meant to.” Daeron looked out to the sea below. “She went to Baelor because she trusted him above all others and asked that he might find her someone good and kind. Baelor came to me seeking another answer." Daeron scoffed out a laugh. "The trouble was that every option placed before him seemed to displease him more than the last."
“I’m having trouble believing that Baelor would choose this for her, for himself.”
“You didn’t see him.” He met her gaze. "I have only seen that look upon a man's face once before." The words seemed to pull him backward through the years. "When the Dragonknight stepped onto the field to defend my mother."
He could still remember it if he allowed himself. A man who had been leashed by restraint, finally able to channel his true feelings. A man who had already counted the cost and ceased to care what it might be.
Daeron let out a slow breath. "It is not a look I have ever forgotten."
Myriah sighed and shook her head, though this time not in complete disapproval.
"It is always the same story," Daeron said quietly, turning toward the dragon tapestry upon the wall before them. "A marriage made for necessity. A heart placed elsewhere. Then years spent paying the price." His gaze lingered upon the stitched dragons winding through black and red thread.
“Surely you don’t think denying this would cause a schism?”
“That’s not what I meant at all,” Daeron shook his head. “It’s not what they do, it’s what comes from the aftermath." He heaved a heavy sigh. “If Aegon only weds Rhaenys as was his desire, we don’t have the terror Maegor wrought. If Daemon is Rhaenyra’s first and only marriage, perhaps we avoid the dance entirely." He let out another deep sigh, letting it deflate him.
"If Aemon and my mother…” He broke off then started again. “I don’t want to imagine what I might risk, what ripples out from this if I stand in the way.”
“What does Saerys think of the match?” Myriah questioned.
“She doesn’t know yet”
She almost advanced on him again “Daeron—”
“Baelor and I only just settled the matter. She’ll be told on the morrow.”
“How do you think she’ll take it?”
“I’m not sure. She was opposed to Aerion not for his blood but for his cruelty. She has nothing to fear from a man like Baelor.” Daeron paced away and began to ready for bed.
“She asked for someone good and kind,” Daeron murmured.“And I think Baelor heard it as though the Seven themselves had placed her in his keeping.”
Myriah was quiet for a long moment. “A handsome prince coming to her rescue,” she said at last, faint amusement threaded through her voice.
“For a girl so fond of songs, the poor child may never recover from discovering one of them was true.”
Bruce Wayne learned about your death six months later.
Not from the gods.
Not from magic.
From a boy standing in the Manor foyer with sea-green eyes full of fury.
Percy Jackson looked at the Batfamily like he couldn’t decide whether to scream or break something.
“You really didn’t know,” Percy said quietly.
Bruce’s stomach dropped.
“Know what?”
Percy pulled a folded letter from his jacket.
Worn. Bloodstained.
“He died saving Olympus.”
Silence.
Dick frowned immediately. “What are you talking about?”
Percy stared at them in disbelief. “Your brother. Your son.”
Jason went pale.
Bruce took the letter with numb fingers.
And for the first time in years-
he saw your handwriting.
The room became deathly quiet as he read.
I kept waiting for someone to notice I was unhappy.
Then I kept waiting for someone to notice I was gone.
Bruce’s hands started shaking violently.
No.
No.
This couldn’t-
“He was one of the bravest people I ever knew,” Percy said harshly. “And all he ever wanted was for you people to care.”
Nobody spoke.
Because there was nothing to say.
Not when your room had sat empty for years.
Not when none of them had searched hard enough.
Not when you had died in a war they never even knew you were fighting.
Bruce finally looked up, eyes shattered.
“Where is he now?”
Percy’s anger faltered slightly into grief.
“In Athens,” he answered softly. “Buried with heroes.”
They noticed when you skipped meals.
Noticed when nightmares kept you awake.
Noticed when you looked sad and actually asked why.
It was unbearable.
You almost didn’t know how to survive that kind of care.
Then you met Percy Jackson.
“You’ve got the Gotham stare,” Percy told you during sword practice.
“The what?”
“The ‘I have emotional problems and trust issues’ stare.”
You snorted unexpectedly.
That was the first time anyone at camp heard you laugh.
Years passed strangely after that.
You became stronger. Faster. Deadlier.
Children of Aphrodite were underestimated constantly, but love was not a weak thing.
Love inspired wars.
Love ruined kingdoms.
And when weaponized by a demigod who had spent years emotionally abandoned?
It became terrifying.
You could manipulate emotions in battle, overwhelm monsters with fear or grief, twist affection into distraction long enough to strike.
But despite everything-
part of you still checked Gotham news.
Just to see if anyone mentioned you.
They never did.
The war started when you were nineteen.
Olympus called every available demigod to fight.
Cabins emptied overnight. Campfires turned quiet. The air itself tasted like fear.
Even Percy looked exhausted.
“You don’t have to be on the front lines,” he told you once.
You adjusted your armor silently. “Yes, I do.”
Because for the first time in your life-
you had people worth protecting.
Camp Half-Blood had become home in all the ways Wayne Manor never managed to be.
And you would die before letting monsters destroy it.
Maybe that was the cruelest part.
You finally learned what love felt like right before a war threatened to take it away.
The last letter you wrote was never sent.
Bruce Wayne,
I used to think there was something wrong with me because it hurt to be ignored so badly.
Turns out even demigods aren’t meant to survive without love.
You folded the paper carefully and tucked it into your armor.
By the time you were sixteen, you had mastered the art of disappearing without physically leaving a room.
It was easy in Wayne Manor.
You spoke less.
Walked quieter.
Stopped expecting people to notice when you entered or left.
Bruce was consumed by Gotham.
Dick visited when he could.
Tim practically lived in the Batcave.
Jason came and went like a storm.
Damian tolerated you at best.
Nobody was cruel.
That somehow made it worse.
Neglect wrapped in politeness was harder to point at. Harder to fight.
So eventually, you stopped trying.
The first sign should have been the monsters.
Strange figures lingering outside your school. Shadows with glowing eyes watching from rooftops. Creatures that vanished whenever Batman arrived.
But nobody noticed your shaking hands at dinner.
Nobody asked why you started carrying a knife in your sleeve.
And nobody saw the golden shimmer above your head the night you were claimed.
You stood alone in the Manor gardens when it happened.
A glowing symbol of a rose wrapped around a dove burned bright in the darkness.
Aphrodite.
The air itself seemed to whisper:
My son.
You stared upward, heart pounding.
Then the light faded.
Inside the Manor, laughter echoed faintly from the living room.
Nobody came looking.
You left two weeks later.
No dramatic goodbye.
No note.
You doubted anyone would read it anyway.
At dawn, you slipped through the gates with a backpack over your shoulder and bruises hidden beneath your hoodie from the monster attack the night before.
Alfred was the only one who noticed your empty seat at breakfast.
“Master Y/N?” he asked softly.
But Bruce was already discussing patrol routes with Tim.
And by the time someone checked your room that evening—
you were already halfway across the country with a satyr named Ellis driving toward Long Island.
Neglected! Meta! Reader x Bat Family (Chapter 3)
Inspired by Ode ti amo by the Amazing @itheunknown
TW: Mentions of death and violence, prescribed drug use, vaping, ooc(?) writing :p
Jason had come home a few days ago, it was as awkward as you’d expected it to be. He came through the doors, duffle bag slung over his shoulder and an easy smile on his face. The whole family was there to greet him. Bruce had said it would be nice to have everyone there to greet him, which was code for, you have to be there when he gets there, otherwise we’ll have another problem. Even Stephine and Barbara showed up to see him. You stood on the outskirts, near enough to the service stairs for it to be unnoticeable when you slip away, not wanting to ruin the reunion by being the outsider.
Richard and Tim were the first to greet him, sweeping the man into a hug. Laughter filled the air as Duke joined them, flanked by Stephine and Cassandra; she was even smiling, you don’t think you’d ever seen her smile before. Damian walked up to the group. He smirked as he said something you couldn’t hear, before Jason grabbed him and pulled him into a noggie. You chuckled to yourself lightly, enjoying the image of Damian being embarrassed in even the lightest of ways.
(You wondered if they’d ever treat you like that. If you’d open that grand door and see spread arms and smiling faces, you knew that’d never happen, but you couldn’t help but enjoy the image of a real family, of a real home. You pushed the image down; it’d never happen, these people would never see you as one of their own. You don’t even know them well enough to properly imagine their reactions, but still, you wish you did.)
Bruce tilted his head slightly to look at you, a weary smile on his face as he gestured for you to join him as he walked over to Jason. You desperately wanted not to, to slink off before you ruined this, but your father wasn’t one to bend, so on you went, to give your awkward greeting to the man you’d met about 3 times maybe? Bruce approached first, Jason stopped whatever conversation he had as he saidy him. He didn’t say anything initially, only staring at Jason, as if he’d disappear at any moment.
He extended his hand, “It’s good to have you home, Jason.” The room fell silent, like everyone was holding their breath. Jason grabbed his hand, pulling him into a hug before exhaling the words, “It’s good to be home,” and all of a sudden, the room felt lighter, like something had been lifted and the room could finally breathe. You didn’t know why, but you smiled. Then it was your turn, and then you wanted to disappear, have the floor swallow you whole just so you didn’t ruin the mood. Bruce looked to you, as if trying to reassure you, but you felt everyone else's half grimaces, their glances to each other, their slight revulsion at your presence. But still, you took a step forward into the herd and clasped your hands together.
“Good to see you, Jason. It’s been a while.” You smiled at him, trying to sound as normal as possible. You expected a quick acknowledgement, a hum of approval, or something like that, then you’d slink off just like before. What you didn’t expect was to be pulled into a hug. Jason’s smile was just as warm as his hug, as you stiffened in his arms. It was nice, really; you felt yourself lean into the embrace.
“It’s good to see you, too, sis!” He said. And just as fast as it appeared, the hug ended, and the Wayne family slowly worked their way back into a circle, surrounding Jason, talking with him, laughing. You felt yourself being pushed away from them, being removed. You looked to Jason or to Bruce, to see if they’d pull you back in, to see if they cared if you left. No such move happened, and you took your cue to leave.
You slinked up the stairs, pushing open your door, and crumpled into your bed. Curling up in the blankets, you pulled out your phone. You planned to spend the evening doomscrolling yourself into emotional numbness. You thought about going down for dinner, but you’d probably ruin the mood. Family dinners never really went well when you were involved.
Most divulged into Damian insulting you, followed by awkward silence from everyone else. No one would even notice you weren’t there, which is why hiding in your room worked out so well. This is also why you were so surprised when Alfred asked you to go downstairs for dinner, that Jason had specifically asked you to join them.
You were confused, you had no idea why Jason wanted you to join. You weren’t particularly close with him. He was never really at the manor, at least when you moved in, and you thought he was dead.
Well, you guessed you were wrong after he came to the Manor, screaming and fighting with Bruce. But before that, you could’ve sworn he had a headstone in the Wayne private lot. But rich people were weird. Maybe Bruce had put a headstone in to represent that Jason was ‘dead’ to him.
(The lot was a place you had begrudgingly visited with Bruce during one of his attempts to bond with you in the early days. He thought he could share his own experiences with loss as a way to get you to open up to him. It… didn’t work. You’d visit the lot more after Bruce buried your uncle there. He’d put in a headstone for your mom, too, after you asked him to. ‘Nicholas and Evelyn Moonie,’ ‘Together in life, Together in death’.)
Jason was always fighting with Bruce, or Richard, especially with Tim. He was weirdly close to Damian when he moved in to the Manor. But then he was gone again. Disappearing for years before occasionally popping back in to their lives. Your interactions with him were small to say the least. An angry glance your way. A shove in a corridor. Nothing to make him like you.
(A plate pushed across a table late at night. A face looking for pity but finding none.)
So you didn’t know what to think as you and Alfred descended the staircase together. Your heart hammered away in your chest. You smoothed out your shirt about three times and kept patting your hair to make sure it looked good. You didn’t know why you cared so much, you shouldn’t care so much.
You hardly knew Jason, hell you hardly knew anyone in the Manor, but still, this felt… you couldn’t find the word… exciting? threatening?
Alfred smiled warmly at you as you two entered the dining room together. Everyone was talking and laughing as you came in, no one noticed your arrival, a small courtesy as you don’t think you could’ve handled everyone in the rooms attention on you. Even thinking about it gave you the chills. You took a seat next to Barbara at the empty foot of the table. At the head was Bruce, flanked by Grayson and Jason. Next to them were Tim and Damian, followed by Duke, Stephanie, Cass, Barbara, and then you.
You were both grateful for your seat and a little sad that you weren’t in the middle. You wanted to be surrounded by family, surrounded by people who wanted you, but that wasn’t what you had so it’s better to be on the outskirts, to be at the farthest possible seat.
Conversations were flowing all around you, Stephanine, Duke and Tim all debating about whether it was better to drink espresso or redbull. Jason had Grayson and Bruce all listening in to hear about what he’s been up to for the past month.
Cass leaned in to Stephanie, and Barbra was laughing at whatever Duke had said. Damian was… well, Damian was staring daggers at you, but that was expected at this point.
As you settled down, Barbara turned to look at you, your name tumbling slightly awkwardly from her mouth. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Okay, don’t freak out; you need to be normal; this is it; converse like a normal fucking person, and don’t make anything more awkward than it already is.
“It really has been too long.” You try to smile in a way that isn’t off-putting or creepy… You aren’t sure if you pull it off, but Barbara only seems half put off, so you take it as good enough.
“So how is it at the ol’ stoping grounds? God, I haven’t been to Gotham Academy in years. Tell me all about it!”
How do you even answer that question? Oh, you know I couldn’t even tell you, since if I’m not skipping, I’m being violently ridiculed or getting high in the bathrooms.
“Well, you know, school's good.” Is what you decide on.
“Oh, that’s good!”
A beat between you two passes, then another, and another, and anoth-
“So, how’s Professor McLaughlin? I remember how much I hated him when I had to take his Calculus Two class.”
CALCULUS TWO? There’s a SECOND Calculus?
You chuckled nervously, voice bobbing in your throat, “Oh well- I haven’t had the opportunity, you know? I mean, right now I’m just taking-”
“She’s taking pre-calculus; she never has and never will take Calculus, let alone Calculus 2. She’s a senior and is still taking entry-level math. I heard that even with that, she’s still struggling, so there’s no reason to talk to her. Barbara, you won’t find an intellectual equal there. You won’t even find the mildest drop of intelligence coming from her; all the courses she’s taking as a senior are ones everyone here already finished before their Sophomore year.” Damian said. You felt your face flush and focused squarely on your plate. The table grew quiet, all silencing as Damian spoke.
You wished you could just melt into the floor; it wasn’t your fault that your family was filled with geniuses. You were taking some pretty advanced classes- I mean, Biochem was pretty difficult, and your AP Lit teacher said you had some of the best analysis essays she’d seen in the year. But it’s true: you’d never compare to your family; they were all just above your level; in some way, they’d always just be better than you.
You felt your face grow hot and your mouth twist and that specific sharp pain in your eye that is the telltale sign that you’re about to- NO. You will not cry. This will not be what makes you cry. HE will not be what makes you cry; you’ve heard worse; he’s told you worse.
So why? Why is this getting to you?
You sneak a sideways look out to the table, you hope not to catch anyone's eye, but you see a few, Barbra, Duke, Dick had spared you a look before glancing back to his sparkling water, Damian… was of course staring, glowing with his victory. You looked to the man you for some reason you wanted to look at the least, Jason.
Jason wasn’t here often; he was untouched by your own mediocrity; he even brought you back into the fold. You didn’t want that ruined; you most of all didn’t want Damian to break this daydream you were living, adding just one more person to the pile of people who’d already forgotten you exist.
You didn’t want to see how he looked at you, didn’t want to see the pity mixed with realization and awkward discomfort with what to say… You glanced up anyways.
There he was, eyes wide with shock, before he broke into a smile and pulled Damian into a Noogie…? Of all the things, you hadn’t expected that.
This is what snaps you out of your soon-to-be sobbing as you watched as he pulled at Damian, much to the boy’s chagrin, and playfully mess with him.
“You seriously don’t have one nice bone in your body, do you? You can say all that, but you can’t even give me a good morning? Get your priorities straight, dude!” He released Damian from his grasp, and he fell back into his chair. He looks you dead in the eye, and you feel yourself tense (Barbra and Duke tense with you).
“Hey, while I’m here, I’ll make sure to beat the shit outta ‘em if he ever starts acting up, okay?”
He holds your gaze, smiling brightly and slightly flexing his muscles. A laugh bubbles up in your gut, and you don’t pull it back; it’s the first laugh you’ve had in weeks; it’s the first laugh several people at the table have ever heard from you.
As you laugh, the table laughs with you, even Damian, who seconds ago was sputtering defenses of ‘everything I’m saying is true!’ and ‘I’m simply reminding her of her place’.
That all seems so distant now as he laughs with his family, as your laugh becomes theres, as you fall back into your silence with a smile on your face and the conversation goes back to flowing and he can’t seem to find his hatred for you again.
You go back to just being an observer, but this time the silence feels warmer, like you were included in the conversation now.
It felt nice…
I'M SO SORRY THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO LONG! But during the 8-month-long break I was in college, Deltarune chapter 5 came out, I was in more college... I HAVE EXCUSES! Hopefully this chapter is long enough to keep you satiated! I fucked up by making chapter two 3,000 WORDS LONG!! My interests fluctuated in college, but I AM LOCKED IN! I HAVE MADE A PIN BOARD AND A LIST. THIS FIC IS GETTING FINISHED!!
Neglected! Meta! Reader x Bat Family (Chapter 2)
Inspired by Ode ti amo by the Amazing @itheunknown
TW: Mentions of death and violence, prescribed drug use, vaping, ooc(?) writing :p
You fell onto the plush bed, your robe splaying out on the comforter. You huffed and turned to your side. Your robe was not the proper attire to be this angry in so you huffed over to your dresser and pulled out a pair of PJs. Now, in proper sleep, where you throw yourself back into the bed and bury your head into the pillow.
All you did was take a protein bar, which wasn’t a crime. Why was he so pissed? You didn’t know what about that interaction had made you pissed either. You needed to let it go; you needed to relax. Your feelings always made their way into your dreams; the negative ones always seemed to be a trigger.
You took a few deep breaths, closed your eyes, and tried to calm down.
In
2…
3…
4…
Out
2…
3…
4…
In
2…
3…
Fuck it
You sat up and crossed your room to reach your desk. Opening one of the drawers, you dug through the papers and junk till you retrieved your prize. Pulling your vape up to your mouth, you inhaled the blue raspberry flavored smoke.
It’s a bad habit you’d been trying to kick for a while. But nothing helped soothe your nerves like the candy-flavored cancer you held in your hands. Crossing the room quickly, you opened the door to your balcony and smoked away your worries. The vaper filled your lungs, and instantly, you felt the smoke work its magic. After a few cursory coughs, you felt your breathing steady and your anger fade. You sighed deeply. Taking a few more puffs. Your future self would definitely hate you, but that would be a problem for later, when you were old enough to care about your health. You re-entered your room and placed your vape back in its hiding space.
It was stupid, getting that angry about Grayson. Your anger wouldn’t change anything; you weren’t truly part of this family, even if you lived in the same house, you weren’t one of them. It’s not like you wanted to be either; you’d made that choice when you entered the manor.
God, how long ago was that? 4… 5 years back?
Your grandparents had given up taking care of you (and good riddance at that), and after your 3-month stint in foster care, your social worker told you they’d found your biological father, that your grandparents had actually been right, you were a Wayne.
None of it changed the fact that your uncle was still gone, none of it filled the space he’d left behind. It didn’t fix your situation.
And that’s how you entered the manor, with your arm still in that cast and a TBI for your troubles.
Honestly, this part of your life felt like an entirely blur.
The only part you remembered was the incident, and you didn’t like remembering that very much.
The only cohesive first memory you had in the Manor was Alfred calling you for dinner one random day in July.
(You didn’t talk, for the first few months, you would refuse to talk. Was it that you refused to talk, or that you physically couldn’t? No one knew which it was, and no one even mentioned it; you didn’t even know about it. No one bothered to celebrate when you started talking again. Bruce assumed you had finally warmed up, and Grayson didn’t really notice; he wasn’t home enough to care. Tim saw it, but didn’t care to investigate further; he was too busy.)
You flopped back into your bed, burying yourself under the sheets.
You tried not to think about those first few months in the manor; it’s not like anything good came out of them. It was probably better than your grandparents' house, which even now you can’t recall with complete clarity what happened then.
You closed your eyes and tried to clear your mind. It’s best not to think about your grandparents, especially before bed; your psychologist highlighted it as one of your ‘triggers’.
You rummaged around your nightstand and pulled away a handful of pills you’d been prescribed. You double checked the dosages and downed all five pills in one go.
You took a deep breath and slowly
drifted
off to
Sleep.
_____________________________________________
You were on a stage…
The smell of the cotton candy and Funnel cake….
You heard jeers from the crowd to get going…
Peanut shells littered the floor…
A light music filled the air of the…
Well, it looked like it was a circus tent…
You were sure it was your first time in this place, but for some reason, you knew it so very well…
You tried not to fight it as the wave of emotions and flashes of images (memory?) washed over you like a typhoon...
None of it cleared your confusion, but it left you not remembering your questions in the first place…
You were on stage…
You had no time to question this further…
You had a show to perform…
And perform you did…
Aerial tricks, flips, catches, returns, and remounts. You did it all.
The crowd's applause was deafening…
And so was their screams…
As you turned around…
To see your (pmrsnւs) fall to their…
You fell to your knees…
Staring at their broken bodies as the floor pooled red…
You couldn’t save them…
(The room spun)
You couldn’t save anyone…
(Your clothing had shifted)
You had tried your whole life to be someone other could rely on and you failed…
(Stiff and padded, with firm guards and uncomfortable gear)
You failed to save your parents and you failed to save
HIM
Flashes of faces you could almost recognize flooded your mind.
A boy.
Young and full of life.
A boy.
Crumpled and beaten on the floor.
A man.
Angry and cruel.
You couldn’t save him.
You couldn’t save them all.
More and More flashes flooded your vision…
A girl in black.
A women in a wheelchair.
A boy with a missing tooth.
A man with stark white hair.
More and more flashed through your brain…
Tears began to spill….
You couldn’t do anything to stop it…
You felt your feet lift and take you somewhere…
You didn’t care…
You needed to clear your mind…
Stop the reminder of every citizen you had failed to save…
And finally…
Your vision cleared…
You were standing on the edge of a ledge above a dark city…
You knew what you had to do…
It was your job….
Y o u h a d a c i t y t o s a v e . . .
_____________________________________________
You woke up barely holding on to the railing of your balcony.
Looking over the steep edge, the coldness of the air caught up to you and your sleep-dazed eyes widened, and in your shock, you nearly let go of the bar.
You quickly made up for your mistake and clung to the railing behind you, pulling the back of your body against the cool iron.
You couldn’t breathe.
Your inhales and exhales came too quickly as you tried to regain your footing on the edge.
Calm down… You need to get back on the floor.
Your hands tightened around the bars.
Still breathing too quickly to focus.
Calm down.
You began to shake.
You tried rationalizing.
This wasn’t the first time you had slid over a railing.
Your heartbeat nearly drowned out the winds around you.
You were a broke kid in many, many cities before; you’d scaled millions of buildings before. Buildings far less secure than this
Your hands started to grow sweaty
Stop freaking out and Calm Down!
Your hands shook as you pulled them tighter around the guardrail.
Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath.
You focused all your mental energy on steadying your hands, and you leaned back against the bars, not trusting yourself to turn around and actually climb over the railing.
Steadying your breath, you rocked yourself over the railing and landed on your head. Hard. But, thankfully, on solid floors.
You weren’t dead!
You took a moment to mentally celebrate that.
The adrenaline rush was slowly but surely fading, and all you could do for a long moment was sit there, crumpled on the floor, as you waited for your heart to stop breathing so fast.
You took a few breaths trying to steady your shaking form, and you began to uncurl yourself from your position and crawl your way back to your room. You didn’t trust your legs to support your weight anymore as you layed on your plush carpet for a long moment.
What had just happened?
Sure, you sleepwalked, but never had you almost died waking up!
What had you even been dreaming about? The shock of the morning must have forced any memories of your dream to fade.
You climbed back into bed not long after, unsure of what to do next. You decided the best course of action would be to try and forget what just happened by doomscrolling your way back to sleep.
You and Dr. Lauksen would have a lot to talk about next session.
_____________________________________________
You were so lucky it was Saturday because you had no plans of getting up early after the morning you just had.
You had woken up after your phone-fueled fugue state to the sound of your alarm, which you’d apparently forgotten to turn off the night before. You turned it off with considerable annoyance and rolled over, pulling your blankets closer and flipping through your phone once again. You knew you should probably get up, the growl of your stomach adding further to that point, but… You honestly didn’t want to deal with your family, primarily Damian.
Your stomach gurgled again, thus proving that staying up in your room was not going to be an option anymore. You sighed as you got out of bed and pulled on your slippers. Before you left, you grabbed your headphones too, if you were going to have to deal with Damian, you at least wanted a way to drown him out.
As you approached the kitchen, you saw the spread layed out before everyone. Eggs Benedict, smoked salmon with kippers, omelets of any kind, and even a waffle bar! Alfred had really outdone himself this time. Then, a ruin to your happy mood, seated right at the dining table, a few feet to the left, was Damian. His Green eyes stared daggers at you. Tim was to his right, reading some files or documents? You didn’t know, but it looked important. When his eyes snapped up to meet yours, you dropped your gaze to the spread layed out on the counter. Taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen, you grabbed a plate and tried to fill it with your breakfast quickly.
Just as you grabbed a hold of a bagel and Lox, you heard Damian. “Don’t you ever get tired of living off of our father’s guilt?” Tim huffed out a small chuckle. You felt your ears start to burn.
“I just want to eat breakfast, Damian. I don’t want to start anything.” You half mumbled to yourself, refusing to look at them.
“You already started something when you entered the Manor for the first time.” Damian huffed out. “I understand why Father would want an heir, but even before he knew of me, he had so many alternatives than you. Grayson, Todd, Drake, all better choices.” His face changed to the mix of a grin and a snarl, an expression you only saw on him when he was tormenting you. “The only thing you really have going is that you're biologically his, but still, you're a bastard.” Tim choked on his coffee, still refusing to make eye contact with you.
You gripped your plate tighter, hands curling with a rage only Damian could seemingly ignite in you. You looked up from the table, eyes meeting his for just a moment. Damian swore he saw something sinister glint in your eyes as you coldly stated, “And what does that make you? Last time I checked, your mother never stops by the manor either.” His face fell; you felt some sick pride in making him falter. “Because if I’m a bastard, then so are you, Blood son.” Damian grimaced as you turned to walk away, footsteps pattering on the tiled kitchen floors. Followed by a cacophony of utensils clattering, chairs scraping, and louder steps before your body met the floor for the second time that day.
Your bagel and lox was now pressed between your body and the floor as Damian followed through on his tackle and went to flip you around to face him again. You moved on instinct alone. Raising a foot to kick him, only for it to be pushed off course. Your hands lifted to push away his. You scooted back a few inches, the exposed skin of your legs being cut by the shards of plate that lay around you.
He moved quickly. Closing the distance between you. You pushed and shoved all you could, but nothing would work. He grabbed handfuls of your hair, and you tried to pry off his grip. His other hand met your face. Tears stained your eyes as you dug your nails into the flesh of his arm, turning your head to your chest and kicking him squarely in the gut. His fist met your side as you finally felt him being pulled off of you.
You pushed yourself further back as your vision cleared enough to see Tim restraining Damian with all his might, as Alfred rushed to the entrance of the kitchen to see what the commotion was. He rushed next to you, helping you up onto your feet. You had a feeling you just created far more issues for yourself than you had ever intended to.
_____________________________________________
Alfred had done his best to patch you up, Band-Aids for your cuts, ice packs for your bruises, and Advil for the killer headache you would surely get when Bruce decided to talk to.
Speaking of Bruce, you were currently seated on a bench outside his office. Waiting for him to call you in. Like he was the principle and you were waiting for expulsion. You saw the door slam open and out came Damian and Tim, Damian was smirking at you in a way that triggered your Fight response, when you heard Bruce call your name, and so you entered.
He had his head in his hands, rubbing his temples. As you sat down he let out a sigh and finally looked at you. You couldn’t help but feel some anticipation rise in your stomach, hoping that maybe he’d take your side, that maybe he’d agree with you, tell you that you did nothing wrong.
But that was not the words he said to you.
“Why am I having to deal with you and Damian today?” You felt your face flush.
“Your acting like it’s my fault.” you muttered
Bruce let out another exasperated sigh. “Well I’m not saying it’s not.”
You huffed out “I didn’t even do anything!”
“You antagonized him.”
“You should’ve heard what he was saying to me, it was so much worse than anything I said.”
“And I have already delt with Damian. But as you know how he is. The least you could do was not respond to him.”
“And just let him insult me? Insult my mom?”
“I know this may seem unfair but-”
You raised your voice, you knew you shouldn’t have but you could no longer keep down the hypocrosie of it all. “Why are the rules different for me? Last time I checked he attacked me! Your telling me I just have to sit there and take it but if I ever say anything back–!”
Your dad slammed his hands onto his desk, stepping up and bracing himself.
“I am your Father, and I will not have you speaking to me this way in my own home!” You shrunk back in your chair, pulling your limbs taught against the seats backing. “Yes! The rules are different for you two. You are older. You should know better.” He calmed himself a little, “Damian came from a very cruel place, you can’t expect him to be as well adjusted as you are. Believe me, I am working with him but please, do not make this any harder on me by starting things with him.” You swallowed back anything else you had wanted to say. You knew the script, you said it a thousand times before, and all you had to do was just say it again.
“I’m sorry,” You pulled back as much venom from your voice as you could but it still came out tight. “I didn’t mean to make Damians stay here any harder than it should’ve been. In the future I’ll pull back on such,” You paused, thinking of the right word Bruce would want to hear. Nasty… Rude… Cruel… “Antagonizing comments. May I now please be excused.”
Bruce’s face fell as he examined how withdrawn you’d become. He didn’t mean to be so… Angry, it’s just, you. You have this way of pushing his buttons, of pulling every hateful emotion out of him. He’d make it up to you, he promised himself this as he responded. “Yes, I’m sorry I got so… emotional… it’s just me trying to transition Damian into the home has been–”
You didn’t hear the rest of what he was going to say as you quickly got up from the chair and left the room. Bruce wanted to call after you, and your name did quietly leave his lips but… he didn’t want to disturb you more than he already had to today. Besides, he had more on his plate than he thought he would.
The charity gala was far behind schedule, he was having a hell of a time trying to track down Scarecrow after his recent escape from Arkham, and, in more pleasant news, Jason would be returning to the Manor tonight.
He just didn’t have time for you right now.
_____________________________________________
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(That's chapter 2 done!! lmk what you think! Also if you want to help me out with some college work pretty please answer these questions in my PMs or in comments! I need some quotes for an essay on Tumblr as a site! PLEASE, GOD HELP ME!)
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