Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Like being doused in cold water, the quiet bond in Danny’s mind opened and surged with emotion. He gasped, reeling, trembling. Echoed through two other bonds, he felt Dan and Jazz react in the same way. Their emotions layered on each other, echoing back and amplifying one another.

Shock, overwhelming and cold, then a surge of warmth.

Danny was on his feet and moving before he realized. The instinct to see-besafe-please stronger than any other thought in his mind. He didn’t care what obstacles may be in his way, Danny leapt over his desk, vaulted over the guards at his office door and sprinted down the hall. He tasted the sharp metallic ozone of wild magic on his tongue, over his soft palette as he breathed it in, pushing his limbs faster than they could humanly go.

Already, he could tell Dan and Jazz were with Ellie, their bonds impossibly fond and aching with a soreness like a tooth cutting gums as it came in.

He burst into the courtyard. It was impossible to miss the knot of people he loved most in the world — Jazz wrapping her arms around Val and Ellie, Dan lingering close and scrubbing a hand through Ellie's hair. From his angle, Danny couldn't see Ellie's expression, only the wetness on Val's face.

And it drew him up short.

The anxious knot in his chest finally relaxed — Ellie, home, safe, looking to be hale from the perfunctory scan. But a familiar grief filled in, and Danny didn't hide it. No, hiding it would only draw attention to it. Instead, he let it breathe, but only a few heaving gasps before letting a quiet and confident content warm his chest.

The strange little connection between Ellie and Val would never not be a source of jealousy, would never not inspire a pang of grief. Danny resisted chewing his lip as he watched them, remembering a time when he was that small, how his father had easily hefted Danny into his arms. How many times had he heard you look just like your father? But no longer, words caught in Danny's throat as he let himself lose focus for a moment, glad the traces of his father remained in Ellie, his eyes and hair color.

A part of Danny yearned to elbow his way into the grouping, to take Ellie's weight from Val, to hold her close and confirm to himself she was truly there. But he knew it would not be welcome.

Though he should be the one with resentment in his heart, after everything Ellie did, it was Danny that ceded to her space, that held himself at a cool distance. Danny could not bring himself to tread where he was unwanted. The old scar on his side, high up between two ribs and a gift of Ellie's blade, throbbed sympathetically.

Prince Timothy stood a careful distance away. There was something melancholy and strange in his expression, nostalgic as if was remembering something painful.

Danny drew even with him. This close, he could see the prince was sweaty and dressed in poorly fitting leather armor, his hair messier than Danny had ever seen it. Sparring, then. Danny tucked his hands behind his back, half to resist fixing his husband's hair and half content to watch his family in their reunion.

The prince caught him looking. A flicker of confusion played on the prince's face. But he did not flinch, nor immediately shy away.

For a breath, Danny had a temptation…. to allow the bond to catch. To let it be more than whisper in his mind, to let it hook beneath his ribs and —

Danny shoved the thought aside. The prince shifted, obviously wary before he tipped himself into a small bow. Ever polite and layered over discomfort, Phantom honestly had no use for it. But the stilted performance was better than cowering in fear, he supposed. As always, the prince was a skilled actor.

Together, they stood as outsiders. Danny, loathe to interrupt and the prince, a stranger observing. It was when Val turned, a spark of shock obvious, that Phantom finally pushed himself to join the reunion.

"Your Highness, I believe introductions are in order," he murmured to the prince while offering his hand. The prince seemed to hesitate a moment, glanced at his glove and then to the huddle of their clan. But there, the prince pulled on his polite smile and daintily placed his hand in Phantom's. Though the prince put up a brave front, Danny couldn't ignore the slight tremor of the prince's hand.

Nor could Danny ignore the way Prince Timothy fidgeted, tucking his hair behind his ear and chewing his lip. It was certainly out of the norm to see the prince nervous and so disheveled. The ill-fitting training armor was a far cry from the prince's usual shimmering appearance of brocade tunics, polished boots, capelets and circlets.

Danny wondered briefly, as they walked together, if the prince was bothered to be meeting Ellie under these circumstances. Perhaps he would have preferred to freshen up.

Not that Ellie would care, but Danny didn't know how to say that. Ellie had no use for manners or courtly things. They didn't fit in her traveling bag, and did not serve her in her worldly adventures. Like Phantom, she would likely have limited patience for the prince's chilly manners.

Suddenly, Danny had a bad feeling.

Ellie suspiciously watched their approach, turning towards them once Val released her from their hugging. The bond spoiled with something like resent and anger, all undercut with a curiosity. And it was the curiosity that seemed to win out as she settled her gaze on the prince, her eyebrows tilted into something that had Danny raising his hackles.

As they drew up, Phantom pushed into the bond calm-glad-missedyou.

"Your Highness, this is Mistral," he said, choosing to ignore the snarl starting to form on Ellie's face. She snapped her teeth at his hand, narrowly missing his fingers as he gestured. Stifling a rebuking chuff, he continued. "My youngest sibling. And Mistral, I'd like for you to meet Prince Timothy Drake-Wayne, my husband."

"Your prize, you mean," Ellie quickly added. Her eyes bright, she pushed against the bond in an obvious goad.

"Mistral!" Jazz hissed. Danny inhaled, slow and measured through his nose under his older sister's heavy wash of embarrassed-shame-guilt and tuned out the following lecture.

Because Ellie, while impolite, wasn't wrong. And there was no defense nor argument that Danny would, or could, make for himself. For Prince Timothy was his prize for a job well done, a new treaty and a future of peace Phantom was going to cement for generations to come. High Chief Phantom would fall in the future, it was inevitable, but there would be measures to safe guard this new fortune and economy for the Infinite Lands as well as her people, hopefully beyond his lifetime and the lifetime of future High Chiefs.

And if his husband hated him? Well, it was a shame but it would be as it was. Danny had no interest in convincing or coercing the prince otherwise. History would wash away the petty human emotions, it didn't matter in the larger scheme.

It wasn't even as if he blamed the prince. Ancients, Danny would hate the High Chief if he was in the same position as Timothy Drake-Wayne.

Quiet at his side, their hands still clasped, the prince shifted uncomfortably on his feet. A pinch at the corner of his smile the only sign that belied his own reaction to Ellie's unkind goad. Because, while it was aimed at Danny, it took the prince as a casualty.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the prince said, his tone measured and bright. Again, he shifted his weight. It was a clever act, making it appear as if he stood closer to Phantom than he did, all while a careful distance remained between them. "I've been told you travel a lot. I would love to hear of your journeys."

The prince's ability to maintain a ferociously pleasant mask prevailed. Under his unrelenting agreeable and charming air, Ellie softened. Danny felt it first in the bond, the barbed annoyance threated through with her curiosity. Soon, her face followed. She peered hard at him.

Her pointed attention did nothing to penetrate the prince's impeccable calm. And Danny felt a little like chuffing, or maybe laughing — because of course the prince was so unflappable. He was, afterall, the third son of the Dark Knight. One little girl's glare would do nothing to intimidate him. Which, Ellie did not take kindly. Danny could practically see the anger and frustration, so clear in the bond, wafting off her body.

Val chewed her lip as she watched the non-verbal exchange. She made a silent appeal to Jazz before taking lead, lest Ellie try for another goad. "How about we all get cleaned up? We were sparring, Mistral is filthy from the road. We'll get washed up and then have an early dinner."

Over Ellie's head, Val made eye contact with Danny. She raised her eyebrows, an unspoken threat quite clear. Attendance, it seemed, would be non-negotiable. And it wasn't as if Danny wanted to skip out on dinner. It was that… well, a solid one third of those at the table wouldn't want him there. Danny tried to convey this back, deliberately not looking at Ellie or the prince.

Not that Val cared, she continue to glare him down.

"That sounds wonderful," the prince interjected. Attention shifted from his staring match with Val to the prince, though Danny kept his eyes on Val. "I'm sure Mistral would appreciate a moment to breathe. Why, she hasn't even been able to set down her packs. Dan, if I could beg for your help — I believe we left the training ring in a state."

As if he spoke magic, the tension of the moment broke over the prince's words. And if Danny were not already so smitten, so continually impressed with the prince, he possibly would have taken a moment to admire the man. The temptation to prickled like heat at the base of his spine.

Danny breathed, willing the attraction away. It didn't matter, it didn't matter because the prince still shook with fear before they touched. Or that, as much as Danny ruthlessly stamped down the bond, the prince's own habit of concealing his emotions also stymied the bond.

It disgusted him, that Danny would feel attracted to the prince, in large part due to the power Phantom held over him. The knowledge that any sign of his own interest would influence the prince's consent sickened Danny, knowing how well the prince disguised his own disgust of Phantom to flirt, to allow himself to be kissed. He felt shame lick up his spine and form a sickly pool in his gut, appalled with himself.

The point where they touched — the prince's hand delicately clasped in Danny's — became unbearable. Carefully, he extracted himself. He did so ever so gently, like unhooking a vine and refusing to bruise the leaves.

His hands shook with the effort.

"Excuse me," Danny murmured. Turning, he avoided the knowing looks from Jazz and Dan, as well as the thinly veiled frustrated expression on Val's face. But Ellie caught his eye, something cold and assessing in her expression that Danny did not like the look of. "I'll speak with Povar regarding dinner plans."

And then he took his tactical retreat.

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The High Chief's back seemed broad to Tim — odd, that. Tim's family were an assortment of giants, with himself firmly average but appearing in miniature. Of course he did, amyone would in comparison to mountains like Bruce and Jason. It was simply unfair, honestly.

But even so, as Phantom turned from the touching family reunion, Tim could not help himself from noting the breadth of his shoulders.

It must be so heavy, he mused as his hand tingled. The care of which Phantom extricated himself from Tim left him feeling breathless but nerves alight at the same time.

Gods, Tim had the wherewithal to feel embarrassed for that. The man — his husband — scantly looked his way and offered only the most delicate of touches, and yet here he was….

"Your Highness?" Dan prompted, leaning back. Behind him, Ser Valerie and Mistral were pressed together and talking in low voices as they made for the interior of the Keep. Tim winced, much to Dan's amusement as he chuffed. "Swoon later."

"Oh, fuck off," Tim could not stop himself from complaining.

At that, Dan smirked. His eyebrow twitched — much too eloquent for it's own good — and nearly inspired Tim to violence. One good smack, he wished for. Tim spurred himself forward, planning to surprise Dan with a palm strike. But the large man, growing more and more familiar with Tim's fighting style, danced out of the way.

It mattered not, Tim sprung after him — fleet footed and nimble. He landed a jab between ribs on Dan's side. Then it was Tim's turn to scramble away, lest he be captured in a swift retaliation.

Tim took the victory with all of the grace of a middle child which included a mean smirk. The roughhousing came to an end, further clinching Tim's win. Though, it did mean Tim would be the subject of Dan's revenge. Vigilance, Tim reminded himself which would be paramount to surviving.

The consolation prize was that, at minimum, Dan would have to wait. All attention shifted further to Mistral and her return. Excited whispers of staff fill the halls as they rushed around the Keep, the Chief's guard shifted to accommodate, and an air of satisfaction became immediately obvious to Tim.

A tension and melancholy he hadn't even been aware of eased, both in the Keep and in Phantom's clan.

Tim chewed his lip, considering his apparel options as he finally managed to return to his suite. He didn't know how formal dinner would — or perhaps, wouldn't — be. After all, Tim had yet to see Phantom stand on formality, to demand anything but deference to his strength. There was no serving staff at the table, no changes of cutlery for the dinner course.

In fact, there were hardly courses at all. Instead, Povar served dinner in a parade of dishes all laid about the table to be served to one's own plate. The initial shock at the chaos of it still chafed Tim's formal upbringings. But, upon reflection, he did enjoy the freedom of filling his own plate with as much or as little of the dishes as he pleased.

Still, Tim felt a sort of expectation having come to a sort of comfort that was dinners with the ever changing combinations Phantom's clan offered — albeit, entirely absent of Phantom himself. He did not know how the youngest of their clan would impact that normalcy. What had Mistral called him? 'Phantom's prize'? Well, then Tim could at least maintain that expectation. Alfred had taken such care to pack him everything from thin Summery cottons to plush Winter wools, in all manner of tunics, shirts, trousers and leggings.

The heat of the day never lingered long in the Lands, a quirk of the weather Tim was still adjusting to. In quiet contemplation as Tim cleansed himself of sweat and straightenedhis hair, he considered the slant of the sun and made his pick. A much beloved tunic of red with subtle embroidery along the hems in a rich burgundy depicting leaf and floral designs. An intricately braided belt, his best breeches, the soft leather boots Phantom gifted him. After a moment of hesitation, Tim slipped a throwing knife into a sheath hidden at his wrist and another in his boot. In the end, he decided to forgo a more formal capelet, but opted for one of his more ostentatious circlets on his brow.

Feeling ashamed of his dallying and excessive primping, Tim hustled to the dining room. And thus, he was surprised to find only Dan in a fresh sleeveless jerkin seated with the large basket of buttery rolls pulled close. Though, the others had yet to arrive and Tim felt himself relax.

Deftly, Tim snagged one of the rolls on his way to the seat he preferred. Only Dan's eyebrow twitched in a way that betrayed his amusement, head bowed over his hands to fiddle with a small metal object in his hands. Tim took a large bite, happy to find the roll still warm from the ovens, and sunk into his usual chair.

From his seat, Tim could not make out whatever it was Dan had. The man's large hands almost fully obscured any glimpse Tim might be able to glean. Blocked of any view, he busied himself with entirely enjoying the bread roll. In the face of uncertainty, Tim knew in his heart of hearts Povar would keep him fat and well-supplied with the things. After a moment, Dan leaned back to sigh at his hands. Now, Tim could see the tiny cuff no larger than the tip of his smallest finger — golden, finely embellished with tiny engraved scrolls, all looping around a light blue stone set in a bezel. He'd seen similar beads. It seemed all of Phantom's clan sported them as hair ornaments.

"Mistral's," Dan confirmed, catching Tim looking. "She left it here while she traveled."

Then suddenly, he clammed up. Dan tilted his head, first one way and another. A stiffness entered his posture, his fingers turning the cuff over and over and over. Tim waited, patient, allowing Dan to find his words in the same way Jazz often did.

Even with that, Tim understood Dan had hit an invisible boundary. He didn't know what it was that stayed the large man's tongue, but Tim felt empathy well up in his chest. "A hair ornament, for a braid?" he asked, pleased with the answering nod. "I'm sure she'll allow you to dress her hair."

Another nod, shyer. Absurdly shy, in fact. Tim let himself a small smile.

A memory rose to the surface — the night of his first wedding in Gotham, the tired slump of High Chief Phantom's shoulders, the silky texture of his hair beneath Tim's fingers as he carefully picked out the elaborately placed pins. Shadow spent all day doing them. He'd be furious if I undid all his hard work, Tim recalled Phantom murmuring into the quiet of their wedding suite. Then, sharply juxtaposed with Dan painstakingly arranging Jazz's hair into intricate layers of braids.

We like to receive love the ways we give it, Tim pondered — recalling afternoon sun and Jazz leaning over Dan's shoulders to clean the edges of his crop, laying the braids smooth again with twists and clever fingers dipped in wax.

Something in Tim's chest tightened, a spike of pain in it's echo. Oh. Oh, he missed his family. With a sudden bright recall, he remembered the feeling of Damian standing stiff at his side, and melting minutely as Tim wrapped an arm around him before the dancing began at the wedding in Gotham. Or the ways Damian had positioned himself to be close, always in Tim's shadow as the deadline for the wedding — and Tim's inevitable departure — drew nearer.

Tim struggled to hold his small smile, but he did it anyway. Did it because he wasn't sure if he could ever allow himself fully acknowledge his homesickness.

The world seemed so large, just then. A sister returned home. A prince in a distant land.

Thankfully, distraction arrived. The door opening pulled Tim from his maudlin thoughts and the ghost of his brother at his side. In stepped Jazz, flushed and disheveled. She smiled sheepishly, sliding into her usual seat. As soon as she sat, she took a deep calming breath. Dan whistled, a pretty high-noted trill — prompting an eye roll and indulgent smile from Jazz.

"Yes, thanks, brother." Though she snarked, Jazz's playful swat came nowhere near actually landing. Dan leaned away in an easy dodge, still focused on the ornate bead in his hands. Tim supported his ally, and landed a swift kick to Dan's ankle.

With an outburst that turned into a growl, Dan hunched over his hands and shot a glare at Tim. "I know where you sleep."

"Is that a threat?" Tim returned, brightening. What fun! There was a sort of pleasure in getting a rise from Dan — the gross over-reactions, immediate default to violence, all threaded through with a grudging affection.

Dan smiled. With a sense of morbid curiosity and rising horror, Tim watched as Dan's teeth sharpened. The veins around his eyes darkened, doubling the unsettling nature of the grin. Jazz rolled her eyes at the dramatics.

The door opened again, this time admitting Ser Valerie with Mistral tucked under her arm. Both knight and girl were refreshed in clean garments and lightly pinked from scrubbing. The new presence seemed to suck every ounce of energy and lingering magic from the room — or from Tim at the very least. Jazz and Dan both swiveled to pin their full attention on Mistral.

And not that Tim was jealous of that; rather the issue was that he didn't know what this new variable meant. Finally, after weeks and now months, he'd managed a tenuous handle of what 'normal' was in Phantom's Keep. Tim felt he just barely grasped an understanding of the interpersonal relationships, expected behaviors of the residents and the staff. Then, in the few minutes he'd observed of Mistral, everything was thrown into a new frame. Suddenly, Ser Valerie cried, Dan appeared meek, Jazz immediately bracing herself to carry them all.

The change brought another mystery — Phantom. Well, honestly, Phantom remained a constant puzzling thought in Tim's head. He could not count one day, hardly a waking hour, where he did not think of the man, his husband, at least once.

Sickening. Tim was unwell, truly. He'd never been so… so caught, his mind captured by a single person. Ancients, even when Tim was in the throes of his crush on Prince Conner Kent, he'd never….

Anyway, Tim forced himself to smile genially. Not that it seemed to matter from the way Mistral's eyes skated right over him as she took in the room. There was a hitch in her step for a moment, then she swung her head to peer at Ser Valerie with a hard scowl.

"You don't get to say he stole your seat when you haven't been here to make a claim for it," the knight chastised. "If you wanted to keep it, you should have come home sooner."

Mistral wrinkled her nose, rolled her eyes and flopped into the chair at the head of the table in a fine display of teenager attitude. Dan's lips twitched, betraying his amusement in the overreaction. Tim tried to keep his glancing between the door and Mistral's impertinent lounge to a minimum, already calculating the odds of further drama destined to occur upon Phantom's arrival. In the months since his arrival, Tim had seen no one sit at the head of the table. Of course, Phantom simply didn't sit with them for dinner, usually passing through or making no appearance at all. Tim assumed the empty seat was his husband's…. but now he wondered. This dining room wasn't in Gotham. The residents of the Keep did not oberserve a formal seating chart, did not stand to observe the social norms Tim knew, nor any of the socialite machinations he'd learned with a hand clutching his mother's skirts in Star City. Did Phantom even care to observe the tradition of sitting at the head of the table as the master of the Keep? Tim wondered.

He tried not to be bothered how little he still knew — of his husband, of these people he was beginning to think of family. Tim ran his tongue over his teeth. Did they think of him as family? It seemed so…. but, he wondered.

The sudden appearance of Mistral served as a fine reminder of Tim's standing.

A prize. Not family, or not yet at the very least.

"So, what are we waiting for? I'm starving," Mistral proclaimed, coming out of her slump in order to poke at the cover of a serving dish nearest. It did well to draw Tim from his thoughts.

Dan pushed the basket of bread towards the center of the table, out of the guarded harbor of his arm. Tim resisted grabbing another roll, not out of politeness, but an acknowledgment he'd spoil his appetite to the rest of the offerings if he gorged himself early.

"We're waiting for your brother," Jazz confirmed, passing along the basket so that it could be picked over. Ser Valerie lounged carelessly in her usual seat next to the princess. But upon a raised eyebrow leveled in her direction, Ser Valerie straitened to sit properly.

Mistral tore into the roll. "My brother? He's yours too."

"Not when he's late for dinner," Jazz returned, with a pleasant smile. "I don't claim him when he's being a pain."

Whatever retort Mistral began died. Entirely because Dan reached over to the nearest serving dish, threw off the covering, and served a heaping spoonful of herbed barley to Mistral's plate. Then a similar sized scoop to Tim's plate. Dan raised an eyebrow at Ser Valerie, skipped her to instead serve a small mountain to Jazz's plate, and finally, a much more reasonable amount to his own plate.

Shrugging, Mistral stood and leaned over the table. She reached, rudely, to uncover dishes until she found a roasted fowl. With a total disregard to all decorum, she tore the leg off from the bird and deposited it onto her own plate. Dan made to follow suit in an attempt to claim the other leg for himself and was met by wordless cry of rebuke from Jazz.

"Ancients, its like neither of you have any manners!"

"I don't," Mistral noted smugly, chewing with her mouth open. "It isn't like anyone in this family does either."

"Who doesn't have manners?"

Tim's eyes snapped to the new voice, then blinked in surprise to see Phantom shouldering open the door. In his hands, he hefted two serving trays, a third dish balanced on his forearm.

After the courtyard, while Tim was primping, it appeared Phantom had rid himself of his usual leather riding armor for more…. casual attire. In fact, Tim had seen Phantom so dressed down only a handful of times — the night of their wedding in Wayne Castle and then on their travels from Gotham, the night where Phantom had pointed to stars and told him the stories of the constellations in the Infinite Lands. And, upon reflection, the day of their second wedding on the Summer Solstice, Tim realized.

Phantom sported just a linen shirt, the laces at the neck undone to reveal the hollow of his throat to the top of his clavicles along with the edges of the thick ropy scar there. Tim would have blushed at that sight alone, however he felt much more scandalized by the tight cinch of the high waist of Phantom's trousers, pulling into relief the trim cut of his body and exaggerating the width of his shoulders. The trousers were a snug fit all over which made it possible for Tim to note the strength of Phantom's legs — and rear end.

Spirits above, Tim tore his eyes away and could find nothing safe to stare at in place of his husband. What torture. The man made it clear, had let Tim down with a stunning clarity and Tim was… what? Lusting after him? He stared at the pile of barley on his plate.

He took a deep breath. In and out. Then, Tim felt himself ready and raised his eyes to watch his husband with a placidity Janet would be proud of. Phantom deftly navigated the room, Povar on his heels and tutting the man loudly. Her hands flapped, unhappy to have the High Chief claiming her task of serving the clan.

"Hand that to me!" the older woman was scolding as Tim brought around his attention. Her face folded into a mighty scowl as she trailed behind Phantom. "I'm plenty capable of serving dinner, I can still put you down, boy!"

"Yes, Povar," Phantom agreed, a crooked smile aimed at her. "Everyone in the Lands knows who's really High Chief. Without you, I'd have starved long ago."

"Don't you sass me." But there was a shimmer of amusement in her eye. "You aren't fooling anyone."

"No, Povar," Phantom agreed again, the crooked smile dimpling his cheeks. His eyes glittered with mischief. He successfully dodged Povar to deposit the dishes in the scant remaining space on the table. Satisfied, he propped his fists on his hips and turned to the portly woman. "And you ate?"

She swatted him. Phantom chortled, scarcely managed to dodge the second swat and raised his hands in surrender. Povar leveled him with a stare, a pointed finger that was a clear warning retribution would follow if Phantom did not quit trespassing upon her duty. "If I find out you've skipped another meal," she started, voice dark.

Hand over his heart, Phantom shook his head. "Never, you know me, I never miss a meal." Jazz snorted, undermining the performance. Phantom tossed her a glare over his shoulder, but Povar seemed mollified enough to sweep out of the room. It was only then that Phantom surveyed the table in a quick glance, found the singular open seat and dropped into it without protest.

Which happened to be directly across from Tim, and next to Ser Valerie. It surprised him that Phantom did not make to reclaim the head of the table from Mistral — though, Tim reflected, he shouldn't be surprised that Phantom did not demand the seat of honor. After all, it had remained empty since Tim's arrival, a conspicuous gap in the seating that seemed to denote Phantom's absence from the dinner table.

But perhaps it marked Mistral's absence.

Any decorum for having the High Chief at the dinner table lasted roughly a single heartbeat. Dan deposited approximately five grains of barley onto Phantom's plate with a self-satisfied smile. "Thanks," Phantom remarked, voice dry. "That's definitely enough. Honestly, I'm full even looking at it."

Dan nodded in a way that was both mocking and appeased. As Dan followed Mistral's lead to uncover other dishes, Phantom shook his head in a way Tim knew well. It betrayed a soft affection and amusement. Which, Tim related to. Siblings, he knew, were engineered specifically to be as annoying as possible. Delicately, he brought his napkin to his mouth and feigned a cough to cover a low laugh. Then, dabbed at an invisible crumb as he managed to get his features in order.

Only then, once he could control the unflattering smirk, did Tim lower his napkin. Seeing his hands now free, Dan recruited Tim in a battle against Phantom. Tim employed the vastness of his grace to avoid fumbling the dishes Dan passed to him. The goal seemed to be to keep as many of them out of Phantom's reach as possible, meaning Dan used his greater arm-span to snag a dish, serve himself, and then immediately pass it to Tim. This created a sort of bottle neck, as Tim struggled to both serve himself and properly receive the dishes while not spilling. Soon, he had a cluster of bowls and platters and tureens gathered around him.

And still, only the pile of barley Dan served him earlier had made it to Tim's plate.

Dan's attention shifted down the table. He honed in on a dish at Ser Valerie's elbow. Which then started a sort of down-table negotiation to get her to pass it along and release it from her possession despite the way she pushed it further into a defensive position. Glad for the distraction, Tim took the opportunity to serve himself — first some root vegetables he'd been introduced to since coming to the Infinite Lands, and then some of the fowl. Before the bird could be picked clean, he covertly passed it to Phantom.

The man's eyebrow twitched, his arms darting out from under Dan's where he was reaching down the table towards Ser Valerie and the desired platter. Before his brother could notice, Phantom served himself and slid the dish towards Jazz. She hardly glanced at it from the corner of her eye, leaning away from Ser Valerie where she was waging a battle against Dan's grabby hands. Deftly, she snagged the rim of the dish and pulled it towards herself. Tim watched, deeply impressed, as Jazz served her own plate and then Ser Valerie's without detection.

Mistral, all while chewing, stole the serving of meat from Ser Valerie's plate. Her face betrayed zero emotion, stone cold. Without pausing, she shoved it into her mouth. The only trace of her crime was the smear of fat on Ser Valerie's plate, and her overfull mouth.

Tim averted his eyes. If he continued to watch, he would laugh. Which would give away the game. Suddenly, he was quite thankful for all the finishing lessons. He escaped with only a twitch of his mouth as he turned back to the dishes fencing him in. Phantom rolled his eyes at Mistral's antics.

Too bad, Dan caught that. "What?" he demanded, voice pitched into a low growl. Phantom whistled in return, a half-trill of bird song lilting upwards into a question. "What was that face for?"

"Face?" Phantom returned, frowning slightly. Dan stared at him, eyebrows dropping into a scowl. Phantom stared back, wide-eyed and innocent.

Tim glanced between them, trying to figure out where on his plate to serve himself the herbed legumes he'd come to appreciate. The mountain of barley Dan created was making it a logistical nightmare. Giving it up, Tim angled the dish towards Phantom in silence askance. Phantom covertly flicked his fingers despite being under the unerring focus of Dan's stare.

Turning to pass the dish down the table, he found Ser Valerie staring at Mistral. Her eyebrows tilted as she considered the girl. Tim could not tell if she was incredulous or impressed. "Oh, thank you, Tim," Jazz murmured, taking the dish from him and sliding it around in front of Ser Valerie. "I don't know why they're like this."

"It's no worse than breakfast at Wayne Castle," Tim said from the corner of his mouth. "It becomes all out war when Alfred serves coffee." Jazz rolled her lips in against a smile, nodding as she leaned around Ser Valerie to grab the dish that Dan had failed to trade for. Tilting it in his direction, Tim declined her silent offer.

But, he caught Phantom glance to the bowl, stare for a moment, glance away. His eyes landed back on it again. "Actually, may I?" Tim asked. He accepted the dish from Jazz and passed it to Phantom.

Just as it moved from Tim's hands to Phantom's — their fingers barely brushing, Tim ignored the shock to his nerves from the contact — Dan let out a shout.

"Give that to me!"

Calmly, Phantom doled the roasted mushrooms onto his plate. Dan made to reach for the serving spoon, but Phantom's deployment of his elbows kept him at bay. "Ancients, just a moment."

Only after Phantom returned the spoon to the dish, looking to gather another scoop, did Dan snatch the bowl. Rather than fight for it, Phantom released and held his hands limp in defeat. He raised his eyebrows, watching as Dan nearly emptied the rest of the mushrooms onto his own plate. He paused only long enough to slant a look at Tim.

"Your Highness?" he offered.

"No, thank you." Dan bounced his eyebrows at Tim's refusal. Covertly, he glanced to Phantom's plate, then Tim's, and back to the bowl — now home to just a few mushrooms. The message was clear: if Tim did not take some now, he wouldn't get any at all. "No, I insist," he demurred. Of all the dishes he'd been introduced in the Keep, the glazed mushrooms just did not agree with him.

Dan shrugged, taking all but one mushroom. He seemed to think twice about it. A side-along glare to Phantom, Dan dipped a hand into the bowl and popped the last mushroom into his mouth. Phantom, again, rolled his eyes.

"So," Mistral said in a loud voice. It seemed she finally made it through the pilfered slice of pheasant. She swallowed and smacked her lips. A part of Tim twitched at the lack of manners. "Is his lordship pleased to have all his toys back within his immediate reach?"

If the question annoyed Phantom, he didn't show it. He made a grand production of looking over the company at the table. His eyes rested on each person in turn, pausing for less than a heartbeat on Tim before moving on to Jazz and finally ending on Mistral. A slow smile grew. Phantom's eyes, already so bright green, seemed to shimmer and glow in the firelight and an internal content.

"Yeah, I'm pleased. All the people I love most are in one room," Phantom confirmed. He raised an eyebrow at Mistral. "I won't ask if you're happy to be home though."

Mistral sneered, earning a cuff to the back of the head from Ser Valerie. They scuffled with each other, much to Jazz's protests. Phantom leaned back in his chair. He watched over them. Dan scantly looked up from his plate as he ignored Ser Valerie pulling Mistral into a headlock, instead methodically making his way through the mountain of food he served himself.

But Tim could hardly control himself, warmed all over from Phantom's response to Mistral.

All the people I love most.

It didn't mean anything. Tim was collateral, he happened to be sat between Dan and Jazz. Phantom didn't include him in that assessment. But still, Tim's traitorous heart skipped a beat at the words. Tim suddenly wanted so badly. He didn't know what he wanted. His chest ached with it, never the less. And behind that, a tug of a nameless emotion that felt foreign, like a pebble in his boot.

Nostalgia? Rose-tinted regret. Tim blinked against it. Between breaths, he resisted raising a hand to press against his sternum and the figment of pain there.

Phantom's face spasmed. Dan stilled. His head head tilted. Tim watched as the large man tensed, his shoulders creeping up towards his ears. He then turned slowly to Phantom. Studiously, Phantom ignored him. Something odd passed between them as Dan tried to summon Phantom's gaze by staring hard at the side of his face. And Phantom ignored him with as much fervor.

The sliver aching in Tim's chest lessened with a few breaths.

Phantom slanted a look at Dan from the corner of his eye, face still trained on Mistral as she settled back into her chair properly now that Ser Valerie released her. If Tim weren't watching so closely, he would have missed the minute shake of Phantom's head. Dan snorted and made a rude gesture.

"I didn't come all this way to eat dry pheasant and over-salted barley," Mistral complained loudly. Dry? Over-salted? Tim looked over his own plate. He couldn't agree less with Mistral's description of Povar's cooking. "Tell me something. I pray to Zimen that you all haven't simply been sitting around and staring at Phantom's pet this entire time."

"Mistral," came Jazz's immediate rebuke. "That's not nice."

A roll of her eyes that would impress Jason with the amount of sass infused in it, Mistral speared another portion of pheasant. She made a point of chewing with her mouth open and gestured towards Ser Valerie with her fork. The knight was not impressed by this. Tim didn't know Ser Valerie well, beyond her penchant for goading Phantom, but it seemed she would not become folly of the same tricks of Mistral's attempted incitement.

"Jazz has been making all sorts of discoveries about dragons," Ser Valerie said calmly. Sedately, she served herself some of the pheasant, then smoothly fended off Mistral's repeated attempts at thievery with a clever use of her elbows.

"Oh, it's all so boring," Jazz said. Ser Valerie voiced her dissent with a low wordless grumble, invoking a small sheepish smile from Jazz. "Really, I doubt —."

"Ancients, just tell me," Mistral interrupted.

Jazz, now with the blessing to do so, launched into a lecture. It was incredibly interesting and Tim found himself entirely engrossed. For all the reading he'd done, dragons remained a consistent mystery. Jazz espoused the 'latent magical nature' as she outlined how science didn't seem to always apply to the creatures they shared the Keep with. She went on, summarizing some of the ways in which magic followed known laws of science, and thus they could extrapolate additional understanding of dragons.

Eventually though, Dan elbowed him. With a gesture to Tim's untouched plate, he moved as if to poke a tender spot on Tim's ribs where Ser Valerie had landed a good hit during their spar earlier that afternoon. Tim tucked his arm against his side to the protect the bruise. But he did as Dan wished and dug into his plate.

Thankfully, Phantom said nothing of their little wordless exchange. He watched from the corner of his eye, his head still turned towards Jazz.

"I've been able to pin point some traits that might make a specific dragon type more susceptible to the egg wasting disease," Jazz finished. "It's been so helpful to have access to the libraries in Gotham and Wayne Castle. The prince has been helping me make requests for specific scientific tomes, I couldn't have made this newest breakthrough without him."

The princess smiled widely. Tim shook his head and hastily swallowed. "No, don't thank me," he plead. "I simply sent notes to Lady Barbara. She curated the selection of texts from the castle's library. It's been her understanding of the nature of your research that's allowed her to select the best volumes to assist you. The only thing I did was facilitate that."

"Lady Barbara," Jazz repeated. Smiling, she took a sip of her wine. "Is that the name of my fellow scholar in Gotham? She signs everything off with 'His Majesty's Scribe, Gordon'. I've been curious."

"I would think you would be friends, should you two ever meet," Tim found himself saying. As soon as it left his mouth, he knew it to be true. Why, they were both sensible ladies with stunning intellect, and a sly sense of humor. In fact — "The resemblance is astounding, actually. I thought you two could pass for cousins when I first met you, Jazz."

Dan squinted. Phantom tilted his head.

"Lady Barbara Gordon." Dan spoke slowly, eyes pinned on his sister. Phantom frowned.

A beat. Mistral raised her eyebrows in silent mockery.

"Ah," Phantom said as he nodded. "The lady in the wheeled chair? That greeted us at Wayne Castle." He looked to Tim for confirmation. At his nod, Phantom continued. "We met only in passing. I don't think I had the opportunity to speak with her."

"Red hair, blue eyes," Dan added through a mouth full of food. Tim resisted the quip on the tip of his tongue about manners. "She sat with an older man at the ceremony."

"Her father," Tim provided. "Constable Gordon. He's worked with Bruce for decades. Barbara's been friends with my oldest brother just as long. In fact, there had been an announcement of their betroth —."

A loud groan made Tim pause.

"Boooor-ing," Mistral declared with the table's attention on her. "Who cares about Gotham?" Certainly, Tim did — but he was beginning to suspect a trend given Mistral's attitude towards him.

It was a sinking feeling in his gut. Thus far, having Phantom dislike him weighed heavy on his mind. At least the High Chief was subtle about his distaste and poor opinion on Tim as his husband. Mistral, perhaps due to being younger and brash, didn't seem at all interested in leaving it to question.

As a first impression, Tim felt at a loss.

"What else?" Mistral grunted as Ser Valerie held her back with a single long arm as the girl set her sights to pilfer from the knight's plate again. She wolfed down her dinner with her free hand. "Jazz being a shut-in bookworm can't be the only exciting thing. I've been gone for a year."

"Ten months," Phantom murmured. His gaze was on his plate, finally laden with a reasonable serving of barley that he must have secured at some point during the conversation. However, his head tilted towards Mistral in a betrayal of his true focus.

"Almost a year, there. Better?"

"Yes, thank you. Honesty is a virtue."

"Ancients, you suck." Mistral blew her bangs away from her face, though Phantom only smiled benignly at her. Tim kept his eyes on his plate to avoid staring at his husband smiling, spirits above. He was handsome, and it pained Tim in the worst ways.

"Speaking of virtues," she started. Ser Valerie raised her eyebrows. "I hear patience is one."

For a moment, it looked like Phantom might grin. Rather, his face stayed on that bland smile. "I think a year is long enough to wait for my little sister to come home."

"Ten months," she mocked as he took a bite of bread. "I think you could stand to wait a full year."

Phantom hummed. Slowly, he chewed. Frankly, he made a show of it, as if giving an example of table manners and not speaking around mouthfuls of food. Tim wanted to snicker, so he schooled his expression and focused on his dinner. Food thoroughly chewed and swallowed, Phantom finally said, "It's the longest you've been away. The dragons miss you. Ma'ri cried a full fortnight after you left."

"Whatever," she sighed. "Spoiled wyvern. It's your fault she's like that." Phantom responded with a silent chagrined expression that ceded the point. Charged and found guilty. Tim added the proof from multiple people that Phantom was the most responsible for Ma'ri and her proclivities. At this point, Tim took it personally as a victim of Ma'ri. "Where is she, anyway?"

"With Wraith," Dan said, speaking up for the first time since plates were served.

"Not with Aquila?" Jazz asked.

Phantom tilted his head towards the ceiling. Tim tried not to watch too closely, but he couldn't keep himself from noting the long column of Phantom's throat or the way his eyes became half-lidded. Then, enchantingly, Phantom stilled. It was as if he became stone, or perhaps ice.

"Aquila's hunting. He's at the lake," he confirmed after a deep inhale. "He's annoyed with her, so he's hiding out."

"No one's answered my question," Mistral said, piping up to a near shout. "What's new?"

Ser Valerie rolled her eyes at Mistral's antics. But that launched the knight into a brief summary of the changes in the Keep — some of which Tim had seen, but did not have the historical context to understand.

"Your friend started workin' in the Keep," she ended with, in between bites. "Frisling's finally old enough to start her apprenticeship. Povar's annoyed to have her as a scullery maid, but she's proud, you can tell."

Mistral rolled her eyes. "Sure. I bet it's real annoying to have your kid at work. I still don't get why she wants to be a cook like her mom."

That… was news to Tim. He kept his surprise to himself. The two did not act as family, other than Povar's tendency to be especially demanding of Frisling. On reflection, Tim could see the resemblance now — their shared features, the freckles. Though, Frisling didn't exhibit even half of Povar's strong personality.

Perhaps she took more after her father there.

"Not everyone wants to be a wandering whirlwind," Jazz said. Her voice was aimed teasing, pulling a pout out of Mistral. "Some people prefer structure."

"Sounds boring," the girl returned with a wide smile. "But I guess she can be a cook anywhere, if she wants."

"It's a good trade," Ser Valerie agreed. "Who knows, maybe she'll get work in Justria and you can travel to visit her there."

Mistral rolled her eyes. "Fat chance."

"You're just jealous, she might get to travel somewhere before you," Ser Valerie said. She ignored the scowl Mistral levied at her. "Hm, I wonder. Your Highness, is your father hiring?"

Tim dabbed at his mouth, surprised to be called upon to contribute to the conversation again. "Father always welcomes good help at Wayne Castle. Though, I know Queen Dinah is a connoisseur of exotic dining. I'd hate for Frisling to apply herself only to Gotham."

"What," Mistral started, "My friend wouldn't be good enough for Gotham?" Her tone, though light, hinted at an offense. Even her expression was churlish where she aimed at her plate.

Taken aback, Tim quickly amended with, "Frisling would be welcomed in Gotham. Young labor is hard to find all through Justria. She'd have free rein to work and seek employment wherever she pleased, especially with talents like hers. There's no end to the opportunities."

The explanation didn't seem to convince Mistral — given that she rolled her eyes and slanted a look at Ser Valerie. Phantom tilted his head but did not speak. He twirled his fork, fingers nimble over the utensil as he watched Mistral. The angle set his face into relief and Tim had to pries his eyes away from staring at the sharp angles of his husband's face.

"Be nice," Phantom said just as Mistral opened her mouth. She snapped it shut with a withering glare at him. Her eyes almost seemed to glow a frosty blue due to the fierceness of her sneer — and Tim was very glad to have it not pointed at himself. Phantom continued, undeterred, "Frisling would hate Gotham, either way. There's no argument to be had."

The easy declaration stung. Tim loved Gotham, truly. The salt of her harbor, the dreary summers and rainy season that longest longer than it should. But also, the hearty people that lived there, the stunning rose tones of her sunsets. And his family — all the people he loved most in the world lived in Gotham.

Tim placed a smile on his lips, but felt cold beneath it. Of course, it wasn't like Phantom had any reason to proclaim the many virtues of Gotham. The man had made it point to spend as little time there as possible. He could almost hear his late mother's voice over his shoulder, as if they were sitting before her mirror together as she made him practice — and perfect — his smiles.

How much those lessons had hurt, Tim was glad for them. For it was easy practice to flatten himself into a pretty little prince even as Phantom insulted his home.

Dan coughed, possibly choking in his quest to inhale his dinner as if someone might steal it from him. With Mistral at the table, Tim ceded it as a distinct possibility. Phantom thumped him on the back, making Dan splutter and growl in reply.

"Perhaps if you chewed," Phantom advised and was undeterred by the violence shining in Dan's eyes.

It served well to shift the subject from Gotham — and any dislike of it. Still, Tim kept himself in careful check. He picked at his dinner, appetite lost and listened as the siblings bickered. Jazz reached under the table to pat his leg. Glancing up, she smiled apologetically and Tim discreetly waved her off.

Turned away, he did not see Phantom set aside his utensils. Phantom pushed his chair back and stood, which caught Tim's attention. "Where are you going?" Jazz asked, leaning forward.

Phantom swirled a finger in a small circle and said, "Nightly rounds."

"Leave it to the guards," Ser Valerie said before taking a sip of her wine. "Sit with us by the fire a while."

Shoulders tensing, Phantom raised his eyebrows at her. There was a deliberate sustained staring match where Tim felt like an unaddressed ten-ton dragon in the room.

The temptation to immediately excuse himself, to surrender the space to Phantom bit at him. Tim knew his presence was unwanted — largely by Mistral and would drive Phantom away though his family begged otherwise. In fact, Tim was reaching for his napkin in order to excuse himself.

It wasn't needed. Even under the heavy weight of Jazz's pout and sad humming, Phantom shook his head. On his way out of the room, Phantom paused to viscously poke Dan in the armpit. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Jazz's head then squeezed Mistral's shoulder with a murmur too low for Tim to make out the words.

"Shithead," Ser Valerie commented, ducking Phantom's attempt to cuff her head.

"Bitch," Phantom lobbed back at her with sharp grin that had her snorting into her drink.

And then he was gone.

For a moment, the room was silent as the space adjusted to one less person. But then Mistral took up the conversation again, as if Phantom had never been there at all. As if his presence wasn't missed — though Tim felt awkward.

He twirled his fork through his barley, appetite truly lost. Dan slanted a look at him, Tim smiled in return. His fiddling was noted, and after a long hard stare from Dan, Tim forced himself through another handful of bites.

Suddenly, he felt warm and rather ill. Tim couldn't place it fully, if it was the product of over-tiredness or the stress of dinner. Perhaps his emotions were in free fall now that Phantom wasn't sitting so near. Or maybe Tim could no longer withstand the glares and sneers aimed at him from down the table.

Either way, Tim took one last sip of wine. His head felt foggy, like it'd been stuffed full of wool. A result of the stuffy room and the alcohol, Tim decided the best course of action was to find some fresh air. Even if it would be chilly outside, it would be better than this — too warm and too close to such open dislike.

"Excuse me," he murmured and pushed himself away from the table.

"What's wrong?" Jazz asked, worry turning her face into a sad mask. Of course, she immediately noticed. Such a diligent sister, Tim thought has he aimed a half smile at her.

"Dinner must have been too rich for me," he said. "I'd best get some fresh air and lie down."

Mistral rolled her eyes, no doubt finding fault or offense in the statement. Tim didn't have the energy to refute it. If she wanted to —.

No, Tim stamped down on the thought. There was no reason to entertain the thought or allow himself the anger. He smiled and begged the company remaining a good evening.

Outside, he relished the cool air on his heated face and sighed.

Tim coached himself through a handful to deep calming breaths. Tonight, the stars hung low and bright. The Keep was quiet around him, the courtyard fully deserted. Tim, after hours of being on his best, let his shoulders fall and relax. He ground his hands into his neck, muscles stiff as he kneaded them.

His boots were nearly silent on the flagstones as he turned. Tim brought his gaze around —

And met the eyes of Phantom.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

The night air was a relief, cool and crisp after the cozy but stifling warmth of the dining room. The wild magic of the Infinite Lands swirled around him and tempted Danny to breathe it in deep — to lose himself to it. It brushed against him like a cat his seeking attention. He twitched.

It was becoming a problem, an addiction maybe. Danny itched as he resisted, wanting to inhale until he could taste the wild magic on his soft palate. He knew what would follow — a jolt of energy, a surge of strength and sharpened senses. Lately, he'd been relying on it too much. Used it as a crutch, a way to sustain himself instead of sleeping. Anxiety spooled in his belly, reaching and writhing beneath his skin and along his veins.

After the dining room, stuffed full with his clan and a deluge of dishes as Povar pulled out the stops for Ellie's return… well, Danny resisted pulling on the ice in his core to cool his heated face.

He leaned against the railing where he perched on the third floor of the lanai. From here, he would have the perfect vantage point of his clan when they would finally retire for the evening to mosey towards their sleeping quarters. The shadows would do well to hide him, allow him to watch from above unseen.

Dinner hadn't been… terrible. No, not at all. It started as a stilted affair, the prince calm as Phantom took the seat across — as if he accepted no other place to sit but near his husband. It was with a shock that Danny realized it was their first formal meal together since the wedding in Gotham. And that they had not supped together since the mountains.

Danny resisted rubbing his hands over his face. Instead, he clenched them into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking against his knuckles.

A mess, that's what it was. Tangled and something beginning to rot in the center. Why, he'd have to be a fool to miss the ways the prince's mouth pressed into a frown he thought no one saw, or the stiffness of his posture throughout the meal. The discomfort in the prince was so much more obvious now, especially after seeing the prince so relaxed with Dan and Val in turns.

Danny didn't know where to start unspooling it. If they could not be lovers or even friends, he should like them to be allies. United in their beliefs and goals to forge a future where the League of Justria and Infinite Lands worked in tandem. But Danny could not make head nor tails of the issue. Where to start, when every single thing Danny said seemed to get lost in a translation barrier he didn't even know existed? When every time he spoke to the prince, Danny managed to put the entirety of his foot in his mouth?

He refused to think about the silent conversations the prince and his brother had, speaking of a familiarity he wasn't privy to. Nor would he think on the moment where the prince pushed against their bond, spilling over with an emotion Danny did not allow himself to dissect or analyze. Even Dan had noticed Danny's response to it as something hot and painful filled his chest. Danny dreaded the morning, where Dan would likely confront him about it. He was tiring of his clan's endless meddling in his relationship — or lack thereof— with the prince.

It was solely their business, not the clan's, despite their opinion. The matter was between him and Timothy Drake-Wayne with his auspicious name and affection for Ma'ri and Aquila. As far as Danny was concerned, the prince made it clear what their relationship would be.

There was no use belaboring it further. Already, it'd been overworked and overwrought. It should be allowed to rest as a done deal.

He was so tired.

The wild magic stung against his nose. He dared not breathe.

A presence, sudden and heavy, at his back had the hairs on the back of Danny's neck standing on end. After an exhale, he recognized the pressure and turned slowly to peer over his shoulder through the corner of his eye.

Fright Knight, half shadowed, stood at attention with his hands behind his back in a parade rest. Seemingly, the knight glared from beneath his shadowy empty helm.

"Sire," he greeted archly. An air of disappointment wafted around Fright Knight. Which, unfair. Danny didn't even know what he did to deserve that. Unsurprisingly, Fright Knight didn't bother to expand nor explain.

Even poking and prodding at their bond yielded little — just vague rebuke and a fathomless calm. As always.

"Fright Knight," Danny greeted in return, matching his tone.

"The Keep is well guarded. I have personally confirmed guards are posted at all entrances. Patrols will expand to include Mistral's rooms." A pause. "Your services are not required."

Ah. Danny looked away. Scanned the courtyard, what he could see of the lanais below him, the sky. Finally he turned back to Fright Knight.

"Not like you to be so firm in sending me to bed," Danny couldn't keep from commenting. It was quite unlike the knight, who cared little for Danny personally but only for —.

"It is my duty to keep the High Chief in good health and peak conditions."

Ah, there it was. The knight's priorities lay in caring for Phantom, High Chief. Danny nearly smiled. It there was one thing he could count on, it would be the strict adherence to that loyalty. Nothing more, and nothing less. As long as the Ring of Rage was on his finger and the Crown of Fire upon his brow, the Fright Knight would kneel at his feet.

When little made sense, at least Danny had that assurance. A foundational truth. He resisted counting them but couldn't quite reign in the compulsion, a rare moment of self-soothing.

Jazz loved him, Ellie would come home, Val would always be his friend. He could always count on Dan to keep him humble. Fright Knight would remain infallible in his loyalty as long as Phantom was High Chief.

Phantom turned on his heel.

A smirk twisted up on his face, a smarmy rebuke fresh and ready on Phantom's tongue. Instead, he let it go. And allowed Fright Knight this battle. For one night, Danny would rest. His family was all neatly ensconced in the Keep, his knight and guards would hold the walls, and Danny would force his mind quiet.

Probably. Maybe. It remained to be seen. Who knew what would happen, once Danny would try to rest? If his mind and body allowed it, but at least he'd try tonight. It was more than he'd done in the past weeks. But… Jazz would be elated to know he was going to try, at the very least.

Inclining his head, Phantom dismissed the knight. And by proxy, dismissed himself. Danny allowed himself to drift along with his hand skating along the railing, fingers just barely touching. Like a hook in the back of head, he could feel Aquila begging for attention. After that, a close cluster of his remaining bonds that were his family in the dining room like a warmth on the side of face. The bonds tangled together, a mess of layered emotions he didn't bother to pull apart, or name or assign to each owner. Danny let it reduce to a blanket of noise, his own emotions flattening down to a dull thrum that probably summed up to exhausted.

This exhaustion, and Danny tuning out, was probably why he didn't notice the prince.

In the courtyard, open and lacking any cover, Danny had nowhere to hide. Sure, he could dodge or duck into a hallway, but the avoidance would be obvious. Rude, as well.

Danny wasn't avoiding the prince, no matter what Val and Dan and Jazz all insisted. Simply, Danny's day and usual haunts did not overlap with the prince's. And, and, as Danny continued to insist, how could he be avoiding the prince when they sat for court together?

Thus, Danny had no choice but to maintain his course through the courtyard. The prince slipped through the door. And though his face was shadowed, Danny watched the way the prince's shoulders raised and dropped through a deep breath. Then, the prince rolled his neck. Timothy Drake-Wayne tilted his head, bringing hands to his trapezoids to knead the muscles. All the while Danny watched, the prince oblivious to his presence.

Surely… ducking behind a column wouldn't be rude, right? Danny had scarcely seen the prince so relaxed, and certainly never with Phantom so near. He didn't want to break the small bit of peace the prince snagged for himself, the moment of relief from the chaos of their clan, a gift of fresh cool evening air.

Of course, it was that moment of hesitation that was his downfall. While Danny considered the logistics of hiding, the prince turned. Then froze as he noticed Danny dithering.

The prince's mouth dropped open into a small 'o', and Danny's eyes fell to his lips.

Danny wished he had never defeated Pariah Dark. Or that he'd succumbed to Vlad's spell and perished in Amity all those years ago. This was torture.

Traitorously, Danny recalled in beautiful painful precision exactly what kissing the prince was like. He also recalled, in similar keen precision, the finest details of the prince's revulsion the moment the bond solidified between them, thrumming with Frostbite's magic. And really, Danny could not decide which was worse — that the prince feared him, or that the prince had been pretending to be receptive of Danny's affections.

There, it was easier to pull himself under control. Danny listened to the ugly voice in his mind, the one he usually ignored, and gave into the insidious rot it fostered in him. He was too monstrous, that only his family could love him. That he didn't need a heart, just a fathomless drive and will.

The Infinite Lands didn't need a High Chief with a broken heart. She needed a leader.

The prince schooled himself into a flattened version of himself. Danny watched it, a bit with sickening acceptance as the prince visibly clenched down and strangled their bond the same ways Danny had been. Then, that perfect mask and calm smile fell into place.

"I see we had the same idea to find a bit of fresh air," the prince said with that pretty smile and even tone. "The weather is beautiful." And even though the prince wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chill, he made the comment.

Ah. So we moved into outright lying now. Phantom made no comment. There was no need to, not with the rapidly cooling night falling around them, the warmth of the day slowly leeching from the stones around them. The prince pushed on, making inane chatter.

"It's so wonderful to finally meet Mistral." The smile twitched a little around the edges. "It must be such a relief to have her home safe."

It was, not that Phantom had much to comment on it. It was obvious, and painfully so, that Ellie returned under duress. He knew for a fact that Prince Timothy noted Ellie's snide comments, her thinly veiled aggression towards Phantom. Where Phantom rallied knowing his little sister was home and safe from the Labut Order, Ellie instead perceived a slight. By her judgment, it was further proof Danny didn't trust her, that he would stifle her.

In the following silence, the prince's mask began to show a little wear. He shuffled his feet, fingers digging into the material of his tunic where his arms were crossed. Without his usual capelet, only the prince hugging himself and his beautifully brocaded tunic warded off the chill of the evening. Their thoughts turned inward, Danny ruminating on Ellie's return.

And slowly, the prince's shoulders began to droop.

Ancients, Danny hated it. He hated it so much it felt like fire in his belly and turned his teeth rotten. His breaths felt labored in their calm measure.

The sadness on the prince's shoulders were an obvious and heavy burden. Even without drawing on their bond, Danny could see the way it wore on Prince Timothy.

He moved without thinking. Even gloved, there was electricity in his fingers as he pushed the prince's hair behind his ear. Something so paltry as leather couldn't dampen the effect contact with the prince had on Danny.

The barely contained flinch was all Danny needed to remember his place, the farce of their relationship and his standing. Carefully, smoothly, so as to not spook the prince, Phantom withdrew his hand.

Bile, in the back of his throat.

Some day, he might learn. Some day, he might not stop hoping and making the same mistake over and over.

Like a terminal optimistic or perhaps a maudlin masochist, Danny just couldn't help himself. The cost it came with was only his heart, and what did that matter in the grand scheme of it all? What use did a High Chief have for a heart?

"You're well?" he murmured, unable to leave well enough alone. Because Danny, under it all, was a self-suffering fool. And even though the prince kept his eyes trained on the toes of their boots, Danny couldn't fucking help himself.

"Ah," the prince breathed. Hesitated. He slanted a look up at Phantom through his eyelashes, his head still meekly angled down.

Subservient, almost. Danny hated it. Rather, he liked the prince he spied when they didn't know Phantom was there — the one with snarky remarks, a sharp smile and sharper wit. The prince that was confident and so light on his feet he often bounced.

"I'm well," the prince finally confirmed. "A tad homesick today is all. Ser Valerie and Dan kept me preoccupied with a little sparring." Here, the prince smiled in that vacuous pretty way of his. As if the admission wasn't carefully weighted against Danny's conscious.

After all, he was the exact reason the prince would be homesick.

Phantom watched him, the carefully worded barb, the pretty charade to trot the statement out as a inane comment. It was rather convincing.

If it weren't for the blaring signs that said otherwise. The flinch, a wrinkle in the prince's brow, a stutter and tick in his heartbeat obvious at the base of his throat. Phantom watched the pulse flutter beneath his skin idly with a sinking sense of despair.

The admission was true enough. And though the prince shared a sliver of himself — a tad homesick today — it came wrapped in deceit and sleight of hand. Danny might as well swallow his tongue. He had nothing to say, nothing he could bother to contribute. The game of niceties and empty exchanges just wasn't worth it.

With the lack of Phantom's reply, silence stretched between them. The prince broke it, tone light.

"Prince Damian wrote." Again, the prince found Phantom's face. But this time, he held Danny's gaze instead of peeking demurely. "He appreciated the sculpture you purchased for him. If you should like to see it, he did a drawing of it on the ramparts of Wayne Castle. He's rather talented."

With more effort than should be needed, Phantom tore his eyes from the prince's throat — the pale column of it, the flutter of his pulse, a bob as the prince swallowed. The evening felt syrupy and slow.

Too much time had passed.

Dear Ancients…. Danny was the worst, truly. He couldn't believe the way he was acting. Leering at the prince? Failing to hold a conversation? Not just that he was being a poor conversationalist, but also because he was too busy being a creep. Here, the prince put on a brave act, made nice and Danny… what? Couldn't control himself.

He drew back. Harshly checking himself, Phantom withdrew from the prince's personal space. In response, the prince seemed to almost shrink back into himself. Not physically, but behind that pretty mask again.

Everything about him became perfect once more. But cold.

And Danny knew cold. It felt like a shard of ice burrowed into his chest. Were he another man, one allowed weakness, it might even hurt to breath. Danny inhaled. Exhaled, a touch of frost burning the inside of his nostrils.

"I'm glad," Phantom found his voice, keeping his tones soft. "You have a good eye to have spotted it. The merchants hold your opinion in high regard."

"Oh." The prince seemed frozen for a moment, his limbs locking. It wasn't that the prince ever fidgeted — no, he was too refined and proper for that — but rather that he retreated further, expression closing off impossibly more. The trickle of the bond between flattened further, strangled by the prince's pristine control. In a soft voice, he murmured "Thank you."

Danny didn't know what he did wrong. Regardless of if he spoke, or stayed quiet, if he avoided the prince or made an appearance for dinner — all of it was wrong. Of course, he finally speaks with the prince, mindful of the prince's obligation to please Phantom, and yet….

The only good, it seemed, that Danny was meant to do was as Phantom, High Chief of the Infinite Lands. The ugly voice in his mind insisted it. The evidence proving it stood before him, his husband of convenience.

Did Pariah Dark suffer in this way? Trying to find a way to carry his humanity with him, alongside the weight of the Ring of Rage on his finger, the Crown of Fire on his brow? While Danny could not see himself sloughing off his inclination, but he could see the appeal of hardening his heart to it all.

A short breeze rustled through the courtyard. Danny felt it push at his hair, watched it brush the prince's tunic. Timothy clenched his hands deeper into his sides, a poor attempt to preserve some warmth.

"Go inside where it's warm, Your Highness," he murmured and angled himself away. It eased open a clear path for the prince to pass by without having to come too near to Phantom.

Even so, the prince hesitated. Even in the low light, his pale blue eyes seemed to gleam. And Phantom observed as His Highness glanced between the direction of the Master suites and Phantom, then up towards the lanai. His eyes bounced between Phantom and the now clear escape route one more time before landing full on Phantom.

How nice to have his husband's full attention.

The prince's attention landed fully on him. In the moonlight, Danny could not stop himself from thinking again and again how beautiful he was. The silvery light turned him into a pale thing, skin smooth and hair a dark contrast. It off-set the crystalline blue of his eyes — and Danny found himself caught.

"Dinner was delicious. Thank you for the care you took to arrange it," the prince said in a clear measured tone. As if Danny had anything to do with it and not that Povar's tyranny of her kitchen was the responsible party for the meal. "It's wonderful to share a meal with everyone. Rest well."

Then, the prince offered a short bow — a scant dip — before skirting past him. He turned with the prince, unable to tear his eyes away. It was only as the prince disappeared to the interior that Danny felt himself released.

Ancients, I'm so dumb, Danny bemoaned himself as he realized he had not responded at all the prince's parting words. Not that it mattered, he decided. The prince already hated him, a little rudeness would do no more damage.

Sighing, Danny let himself be hooked by the bond that let to Aquila. Sleeping beneath the wing of his best friend sounded like exactly what he needed.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

Tim woke softly. The morning bled from sunrise into morning around him, soft golden hues pouring through the curtains of the bedroom. He stared for a long time at the ray slanting through the gauzy curtains, watching the angle change as the sun climbed.

Who picked the curtains out? Tim found himself wondering. They were pretty things, a fine cream linen with an embroidered border of dragons that looked incredibly similar to Aquila. Someone had taken such care with this room. A sinking feeling filled his stomach. His heart clenched.

Tim knew. Tim knew exactly who. He frowned, eyes going sightless and his vision blurred as he stared at the curtains. For all his husband made it clear he wanted nothing to do with him, for all it was obvious this marriage was of political means, Tim felt… Well.

He felt as if he was missing something. Phantom, though distant and cold, seemed to care deeply for Tim. In so far that Dan spent an incredible amount of Phantom's gold on Tim. As per Phantom's instructions, allegedly. Then there was the clothes, the sleeping gown, a room given to Tim to be his own study, this entire suite. On and on and on the list went, every which way Tim turned his thoughts, he found more proof of Phantom's interloping.

It's fine, Tim comforted himself. And it was. Because even though Tim had been spirited away from Gotham, taken as the High Chief's Consort, Phantom meant for Tim to have the comforts that could be afforded to him. As thanks, Tim decided. Because Phantom wanted peace as much as the rest of them. If everything Phantom said was true, war was never a threat. Tim finally understood. The Infinite Lands were no more a danger to Gotham or Justria, and would not be as long as Phantom held the throne.

I'm doing a service, he breathed in deep, eyes closing. So Phantom is providing for me.

Tim exhaled. He kept his eyes closed, focusing on the warmth cocooned around him thanks to the heavy blankets. Focused on the feeling of the sleeping gown against his skin, the plush and dense fabric. He rubbed the hem of the sleeve between his fingers.

His mind turned towards the evening before — a brush of fingertips during dinner, a fire-lit smile, the stuttering of Tim's heart as Phantom pushed his hair behind Tim's ear and intimate murmurs. But then, in contrast that made Tim ache in a way he did not want to understand: the cold replies and silence in return to attempted conversation.

Tim's efforts were for naught. Phantom continued to be uninterested in his attempts to form even a congenial relationship.

It was fine. What a service to provide, to be a glass shield, to be a symbol of peace. Phantom would provide for him, Tim would sit and collect dust like a trinket on a shelf. And they would know peace.

After the horrific tragedies…. Tim couldn't even bring himself to hate it, or find resentment.

It wouldn't even be lonely. Just….

I'm being silly, Tim chastised himself. He forced his eyes open. It was time to begin his day.

Just as he sat up, Star bustled into the room. She paused for a scant second as she noticed him awake and beginning to rise. Then, she launched into a cheery, "Good morning, Your Highness!"

Tim smiled at her. He endeavored to make it as natural looking as possible — he still felt some sort of hesitance with the maiden due to her connections to Phantom's seamstress. In retrospect, Švadlena's act seemed flawless. How better for Phantom and Švadlena to hide their relationship? It gave Phantom the perfect cover to continue seeing his childhood love, all under the guise of purchasing clothes for the spoilt prince from Gotham. No one would be all the wiser.

Again and again, Tim felt adrift. Coming alone to the Keep with only a single carriage of belongings and his horse, not even his own serving staff or guards. Still, he did not know what conversations King Wayne and High Chief Phantom had regarding his care during the days before they departed Gotham, what was to be provided to him. All he had was what Alfred had packed, and what Phantom gifted to him since.

Everything he had, Tim felt, was by the grace of others.

It burned terribly to rely so much on others when Bruce had fostered endless independence in his children. Especially Tim, as he flourished out from under Janet's tyranny.

In the end, Tim had traded one master for another. At least Phantom didn't seem to care to make any demands of him, not in the ways Janet required perfection at every moment.

At least there was that, a small favor.

And even so, Tim found himself grieving that Phantom would have nothing to do with him. A marriage of convenience still meant partnership, common goals and bringing houses together, an heir. Tim had none of those things, would provide none of those things.

Enough, he was over it. He was done with the self-pity and moping. Last night, he had a conversation with Phantom, however short. Progress had been made, and Tim focused on that.

Tim threw off the blanket, and rose to face the day. Star fluttered around him, confirming a fresh basin of warmed water was available in the en-suite. A luxury for the delicate prince, Tim couldn't imagine hot water was hauled up for anyone else in the Keep. Not that he didn't appreciate it but…

Well. If they insisted on treating him like a prince that required indulgences like a warm bath nearly everyday, then Tim didn't know how to correct the record. So he accepted that the staff likely viewed him a burden and accepted the wasteful excess.

Tim sighed and met his own eyes in the mirror. Quit it, he censured. Enough negative talk. It failed to serve him. He continued to briskly clean himself in the shallow basin. A splash of water on his face did wonders to help clear his mind. In short order, he returned to the main room to find Star laying out a garment for his day's attire.

She bustled away with a curtsy. The tunic was new to Tim, a beautiful poppy red muslin that would do well to keep him cool in the heavy late Summer heat. Laid out with it were a pair of Tim's raw linen breeches from his wardrobe in Gotham and a pair of brown suede boots. These were new as well, the leather supple beneath his fingers. They were in a style he saw here more in the Lands, closer to a tall riding buskin rather than the shorter ankle-height boots he usually favored.

Tim dressed. He refused to think too hard about the new tunic and the person behind gifting it. Rather, he focused on fussily tying the laces at the wrists. He dithered over the case of jewelry before picking a brooch to pin at the base of his throat. For a moment, he considered one of his more fluttery of capelets but decided against it in the end.

There. Tim felt suitably dressed. Pretty enough in his role, but sensible.

At that, Tim gave in to his rumbling stomach and set off.

The new face at the breakfast table wasn't a surprise. Actually, it was a given. Mistral's arrival the day before may have been a surprise but it quickly bled into the clan's delight.

Well, almost the entire clan it seemed. Phantom remained aloof, sliding out of the dining room early. Almost admirable — the move would have been a flawless escape. Sadly, Phantom's clan remained small and he lacked the proper cover for his retreat.

Phantom's blank face in response to Jazz's "Where are you going?" had been impressive. To be so immune to an older sibling, Tim would never be unaffected by Dick…. though, Tim considered, it was likely a symptom of being High Chief first and foremost, then a brother second.

'Husband' did not seem to fit on Phantom's list of obligations.

Mistral glanced up at his entrance to the small family dining room. Her eyebrow twitched, the only outward change of expression as she slouched over a bowl of porridge. Tim summoned a polite smile and nod. Though, that seemed to set Mistral's face into a stony frown.

Whatever she thought of Tim, it certainly wasn't positive. The snide comment during their introductions set a clear opening gambit. What Tim perceived as Mistral focusing on her family during dinner, was easily seen as a cold shoulder in retrospect. Then the additional border-line aggressive remarks when Tim was drawn into the conversation?

The outlooks were dim, at best. Grim with all the evidence present.

Great, Tim thought to himself, trying not to be forlorn. First Phantom, and now his little sister. They both hate me.

Unwilling to let the maudlin mood set in again, Tim set about making himself breakfast. The serving dishes showed signs that both Ser Valerie and Dan had been through already. He was pleased to see a pair of the buttery rolls under a cloth, still warm but only just.

With that, he settled in with vague thoughts turned towards his day. Now in the latter half of the summer, the days turned to a relentless heat during the day. Tim resisted feeling poorly for himself — for Gotham rarely saw such extreme warmth, northern seas lapping constant cool winds through the harbors of Bristol. He considered the merits of a nocturnal schedule, where he could conduct himself instead in the cooler hours of the day.

It seemed feasible. Were it not for Phantom's standing appointment to hear all manner of grievances of those who made the efforts to travel to the Keep. The High Chief's Consort was a familiar face at such hearings — and so Tim gently accepted defeat that his obligations to the court and it's people would prevent him from becoming one with the nocturnal wild life.

Alas.

Truthfully, there was little for Tim in terms of obligations. Some day, the tasks Tim could help with would expand, especially as trade became more established. And so, Tim would continue to study so that he could meet the demands of the trade agreement as a expert on magical items. There was little political pull he had in the Lands, but… Possibly, someday, his political capital in Justria would be of use.

Perhaps, as trade grew and relationships between the countries deepened, there would be duties uniquely suited to Tim. Serving as a knight to Gotham and her people had been fulfilling in ways Tim savored. Those talents weren't needed here, did not serve the High Chief. Phantom didn't need a consort that took up a sword or glaive.

A trinket. A pretty glimmering and refined consort.

Tim tore the roll in two. The buttery rich smell of it hit his nose. He considered the flakey layers. Strength formed the central pillar of respect in the Lands. Phantom himself traded in it — given the ring and crown that defined his rule, won from Pariah Dark in a battle so devastating it left an arena in ruin. Would… would Tim's own battle acumen and training under the Dark Knight not bestow some sort of value on him, despite having little other network or connections?

The roll was salty and practically melted on his tongue. Tim thought it through — sure, he had no diplomatic power or social connections in the Lands. And the robust intelligence network he built all through Justria, his trade in secrets and favors, did little to benefit him in the Keep. But the prowess of a Gotham Knight, that was a unique strength. Perhaps…. as Tim continued in his Court appearances, he might be able to curate a similar network that he could draw on in his new home.

As he ruminated, Mistral watched him, wary as a cat. Her eyes tracked him closely. Tim, deep in thought, did his best to ignore her. Neither of them made conversation. Through rude on Tim's part, he felt no need to force small talk.

He wouldn't even know what to say her, regardless.

For the very thing she snidely remarked — a prize for Phantom's efforts at negotiations — preoccupied him daily.

Astounding, that she had been witness to Tim at Phantom's side for a few mere moments and cut to the quick. Were they so obviously at odds?

Janet Drake knew her son's worth. She weighed him early to spend the rest her days wanting. Though Tim spent his adolescence wishing for a different fate, spent his teenaged and early adult years deluded to that 'different fate', Tim could not quite resign himself to be just a prize.

Yet, he could not find it himself to be resentful.

Even with all his heartache, Tim respected High Chief Phantom. To be so unscrupulous, it was the sign of a good leader. Ancients, he knew Bruce to be more than willing to bleed another if it meant a better future for Gotham. Tim would support the decision too.

No one would ever be able to doubt my loyalty, Tim resisted smiling to himself. He dragged the last of his roll through his kasha. Who could doubt his loyalty, when he so happily gave his freedom and future to protect his beloved Gotham?

Tim watched as Mistral pulled the bowl of dried fruits closer to herself. She dig through it, hunting and touching nearly every morsel. Finally, she found her prize. She released the bowl, sending it rocking and raisins spilling from it.

Challenging, she raised her eyebrows at him. Daring, Tim would call it. Certainly, that's what Damian was doing when he wore the same expression. He was so amused by it, he had to smother a smile. It felt so similar, and so different at the same time.

Well. Too bad, Tim had wanted a few figs. But he decided it against it, catching the faint line of dirt beneath Mistral's nails as she chewed on the date. She spat the pit into her empty bowl in a ting of the ceramic. Then, she thumbed her nose with a sniffle.

Tim accepted he'd not be having more fruit this morning. He aimed himself towards the basket of bread. As he lifted the cloth to peer within, a small hand shot forward. Mistral snagged the last roll. Smugly, she sat back and tore into the bread.

As she chewed, mouth partially open, Tim sat back. Povar would certainly have more of the rolls in the kitchens — Tim simply needed to make slight noise of hunger and the old woman would thrust upon all manner of bread and vittles. Mistral's theft wasn't even a loss, just unnecessarily rude.

And for what?

Tim smiled and reached for the pot of herbal tea Povar provided with every meal. It wasn't the dark teas Alfred brewed, but it served as a similar sort of comfort. He poured himself a cup and wordlessly offered to pour for Mistral. She frowned.

"The tea here isn't the same as I grew up with," Tim said as he set the tea pot aside. "But I find it quite nice, regardless. I'm glad we share an appreciation for Povar's bread." Tim indicated to the bread in Mistral's hand with a nod and set to dressing the cup.

"It'll do, though?" Mistral asked. And from the sneer, Tim wondered what offense he'd caused. "Gotham would be superior there?"

"No," Tim said slowly. "Simply different. There is no 'superiority', only differences."

Mistral quirked a brow, not answering. Tim floundered.

"It's…. comfort, I suppose. We appreciate more the familiar and comfortable. When faced with differences, one might not appreciate it appropriately," he tried. "But as things have come familiar to me, I have grown to appreciate them all the same."

No answer, and Tim couldn’t stop himself. He wanted so badly for Mistral to understand him. "My little brother, he grew up with his mother in another land. When he came to live with us in Gotham, he disliked everything in the castle quite fiercely, even us as his family." It was easy to recall, Damian's little voice and judging tones as he eschewed the virtues of life in 'Eth Alth'eban. Damian had complained of everything, how inferior and barbarous life was in Gotham. Even the habits of eating animal products, Damian deemed beastly.

In retrospect, Tim knew Damian was a little boy in an unfamiliar place. Nothing known, no comfort and his entire world upset. Tim related, as he continued to settle into his own new home. It offered a new empathy for his prickly brother, and Tim felt a surge of affection that quickly gave way to a pang of longing.

Ancients, he missed his family.

Perhaps lamely, Tim went on to say, "But he came to understand us, and to affection in his own ways."

With a roll of her eyes, Mistral pushed herself from the table. "I'm sure it was 'understanding'. I wonder, if he hadn't come to 'understand' the ways of Gotham that are so superior, what might have been the outcome."

But before Tim would reply, Mistral stood. She strode from the room, the door slamming behind her. Tim blinked. He looked down as his cup of tea and then took in the mess Mistral had left behind.

He rather felt like he'd been left sitting in the wake of a whirlwind.

Tim's heart sank. Hopeless and appetite lost, he stood to tidy the table.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

"Absolutely not," Danny announced. Dan peered up at him, a few turns down the stairwell of the Tower and hiding in the shadows. Like a freak that lacked social skills.

"It is too early for this," he continued in his complaining, but beginning to clatter noisily down the stairs. The sun carried on it merry way, rising and turning the plains of the Lands around the Keep into a hazy landscape. Soon, the dew would burn off and the heat of the day would settle in. Danny was determined to enjoy his breakfast in the remaining chill of the night before the demands of the High Chief kept him sequestered away in his office.

Dan rolled his eyes. "I don't really care," he shot back.

"I'm sure you don't."

"One of us has to be emotionally aware," Dan posited to Danny's amusement.

Dan and Emotionally Aware did not belong in the same breath, never-the-less the same league. But Danny held his tongue, instead raising his eyebrow as he silently begged Dan to continue.

"Shut the fuck up."

"I didn't say anything!"

"Yes, you did," Dan refuted with a scowl. He tapped the side of his head, as if that meant anything. "You soul spoke to mine."

"Oh, alright then," Danny scoffed and pushed past him. Their voices echoed in the stairwell, and Aquila shifted above them. The bond leading to the dragon crackled with annoyed-quiet and Danny resisted whistling to annoy him further. "What can I do to make you leave me alone?"

"Why would you ask a question you know the answer to?" Dan turned, following with loping strides.

"Why would you ask a question you know I won't answer?" Danny lobbed back and over his shoulder.

With a roll of his eyes, Dan retorted: "Why don't we talk about dinner last night?"

"Why, is there something to talk about?"

"Why are you like this?"

"Why are you still talking to me then, if you hate it so much?" And Danny grinned, sharp and smug as their bond lit up with frustrated-angry.

Dan took a swipe and Danny danced away. But the stairs offered limited space to maneuver and Dan, able to predict where Danny would dodge, was able to catch him with an arm around his throat. He made to tighten his grasp and trap Danny in a headlock, but he did not account for the stairs.

Danny's boot slipped. His stomach swooped as the world tilted, air beneath his foot where there has been solid stone. "Why don't you —," Dan started, his voice cutting off into a wordless shout as he was pulled with Danny.

There were two choices available to Dan. One, to let Danny go and allow them both to recover the fall. Or two, cling tighter and sacrifice them both to the forces of gravity.

For reasons Danny would never know, Dan chose the second.

Together, the two tumbled to final turn of the stairs. The ground floor rose to meet them in a dizzying cycle of stair-wall-ceiling-stair-wall-ceiling. Danny knew only that he couldn't even shout, given the vice of Dan's bicep around his throat and that whatever outcome, he would die knowing he affected good on the lives of the Infinite Lands.

He would die a happy man, if not regretful that his husband and little sister hated him. But overall, Danny could look back on his life and feel satisfied should it end now with a broken neck.

It did not end with a broken neck. The tumble did conclude with the two brothers spilling onto the hard flagstones in a sprawl. Somehow, Dan landed on top of Danny, flattening him.

They breathed, minds catching up. Then Dan groaned, and pushed himself to standing and squishing Danny thoroughly into the stones at the same time. A low moan of pain seeped out of Danny, taking whatever breath he had managed past his rabbiting heart.

Dan offered a hand to Danny.

"Why are you such a piece of shit?" Danny asked with a scowl he levied onto the offered hand.

Somewhere, their bonds of Ellie and Jazz stirred, their pain pulling the girl's awake. A spark of concern floated to the surface, and then something dark and pissed off followed behind it. No doubt, that was Ellie, ready make her ire known at being woken up.

"Why would you get us in trouble?" Dan groused.

Danny squawked, affronted. "Why don't you start running?" he warned, preparing himself for a swift revenge the hands of a cranky little sister.

Dan smirked. But he did heed the warning and took off at a dead sprint.

And somewhere in the back of Danny's mind, he felt another stirring and melancholy that he ruthlessly ignored before pulling himself to his feet to give chase.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

An unholy racket – one that Tim recognized well – greeted them as they turned the corner from the training grounds into the courtyard. The wailing grew louder in pitch as Ser Valerie and Tim made their way towards the armory. However, as Tim’s arms were laden down with newly repaired armor, he was unable to cover his ears.

Somehow, Tim had secured some time with Ser Valerie. And Mistral? Well, she was likely to interrupt and call Ser Valerie away. So he was making the most of it, even if it meant assisting Ser Valerie with some grunt chore work.

Gods, the little wyvern could be so noisy. And her latest game? It put even Jazz’s patience to the test.

“Ma’ri?” asked a voice that Tim would recognize with his eyes closed. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Ser Valerie winked, and slowly drew up on a door just barely ajar. She adjusted her grip on the load of sparring swords in order to lean around to peer through the crack. With a jerk of her head, she encouraged Tim to follow suit.

Now, Tim would never say he was above eavesdropping or sneaking about to hear something he wished to know. But to do it so blatantly? Well, it was a bit crass. But… Ser Valerie was doing it, so it would be no harm, right?

He joined her just in time to see High Chief Phantom step back from the bookcase in his office and stare quite befuddled up at Ma’ri. The little wyvern wailed brokenly, her tail lashing as she marched in place. Phantom's face crinkled, his confusion clear as he watched the display.

Tim took a moment to take in his husband. Today, he wore a dark silk shirt tucked into a wide belt and pants tucked into knee high boots. A jacket draped over the back of Phantom's chair, discarded. The ensemble threw Phantoms proportions — wide shoulders, narrow waist, long legs and powerful thighs — into relief. Though it was slightly marred by the deep shadows under Phantom's eyes, dark smudged bruises making it obvious how tired the man was.

Handsome, Tim's husband did have a pleasing form. Too bad about… everything else. He supposed it was only fair — a cold personality to match the attractive body. All things in balance.

But could Tim truly call him cold? Everything he saw of the man, what little he saw…. Tim couldn't rightfully make a judgment, he didn't have sufficient evidence.

Tim realized he was, unquestionably, attracted to Phantom. But that wasn't the problem, was it?

They were strangers, and Phantom made sure they would be no more than that.

"Do you want down?" Phantom asked the wyvern, drawing Tim from his thoughts back to the absurd tableau before him. Even as Phantom reached for her, Ma'ri continued to make a racket. "You silly creature, use your wings if you want down. No? Come here then."

Rather, Ma'ri ignored Phantom's instructions and pressed herself flat against the top of the bookcase. Phantom's mouth opened and closed multiple times as he watched the display.

“Should we tell Phantom about her new game?” Tim whispered, starting a feel a little guilty. At least when Ma'ri did this to him, she was only on his dresser and easily retrieved. In the current position, Tim didn't know how Phantom would manage to dislodge her from atop the bookcase.

“What? No, of course not. Let’s see what he does. I hope he tips the bookcase over on himself.” Ser Valerie hissed back, her voice cracking with the laughter she struggled to hold back.

Gods, the knight was a menace. For an ally of Phantom, Ser Valerie certainly did appear outwardly as an enemy. “You know, Ser Valerie, I do think you’re going to be tried and found guilty of high treason one of these days," Tim commented idly in a low whisper. Mostly, his attention was on his husband as the man considered a way to convince Ma'ri to come off the bookcase. The hall echoed with the wyvern's ongoing cries and howls.

At his words, Ser Valerie began giggling anew. She barely managed to keep from erupting, snorting inelegantly. Tim felt a smile twisting his own face. He pursed his lips, hoping to keep from laughing as well, and revealing their position to Phantom. “No, stop laughing," he started, voice bubbling with poorly concealed laughter. "I’ll be forced to testify against you, and I won’t have a shred of plausible deniability. Ser Valerie, why are you laughing? Stop, don’t you see how serious this is?”

She was now nearly bent double, mouth open wide in silent howls of laughter. Tim couldn't help leaning towards her, his stomach beginning to hurt with the efforts to keep from laughing. For a brief moment, just a heartbeat, he wondered what his mother would think of them — the Captain of the Princess' Guard and the High Chief's Consort giggling like children in the hallway.

Unbecoming, Janet would say. And Tim could not find it in himself to care, leaning more heavily onto Ser Valerie as they struggled to stay upright.

"Having a good afternoon?"

The sound of Phantom's voice shocked them both out of their quiet hysterics. Tim nearly flinched, snapping to attention and staring with wide eyes at Phantom. In their distraction, it seemed his husband had managed to retrieve Ma'ri from the bookcase. She now curled happily in Phantom's arms, her head pressed up against his shoulder and smugly purring.

"Nothing," Tim squeaked. And then flushed. Oh, spirits. He focused on adjusting the armor in his arms all while Ser Valerie grinned next to him, some shade of self-satisfied and smug.

She's enjoying this! He resisted stomping on her foot.

There'd be revenge, soon. Tim only needed to bide his time. Just… not in front of Phantom. If he could maintain some level of decorum, Tim would prefer it.

"The prince is helping with me chores," Ser Valerie said, that smug grin still in place.

Phantom raised an eyebrow. It spoke volumes. Tim did his level best to stave off the cringing embarrassment. Thankfully, Ser Valerie seemed wholly immune to Phantom's judgment.

"I wasn't planning anything," Ser Valerie defended, tone still mirthful. "We were honestly doing needed maintenance. Why are you being paranoid?"

"Excuse me for being suspicious." Phantom's voice took a gravel, belying his annoyance. "You don't usually accept help with sensitive tasks."

"Not everything is about you." Unimpressed with Phantom's glare, Ser Valerie threw her braids over her shoulder. "Some of us aren't punishing —."

But she did not finish the sentence. Something passed over Phantom's face that had her snapping her mouth shut with an audible click. Tim kept his own expression carefully blank, tamping down on his confusion.

He couldn't name the fleeting emotions on Phantom's face. Frankly, Tim didn't know Phantom well enough to interpret them. But anger was easy enough to read, even he didn't need a personal connection with the High Chief to know that. Tim cut his eyes to Ser Valerie in time to see her wince. Her face twisted in a mix of regret and disappointment that Tim didn't quite understand.

With a flick of his fingers, Phantom wordlessly dismissed the pair. Ser Valerie exhaled forcibly through her nose in a harsh sigh as Phantom turned and shut the door to his office with a snap.

"He thinks he's so dramatic, but he has Ma'ri still," she muttered. "He's going to have to let her out in like ten minutes anyways and leave the door cracked for her. Asshole."

Her head lifted smugly, Ser Valerie took off to the store room and ending their detour. Tim skittered for a moment to catch up to her. Of course, Phantom had barely looked his way again. And, of course, Tim couldn't help but think about it.

He drew up to Ser Valerie's side. His mouth pushed into a frown, she raised her eyebrow in silent prompting.

“Do you think,” Tim started, wondering aloud and not sure where his thoughts were about to take him. “If I climbed up atop something tall and cried, would Phantom finally pay attention to me?”

Ser Valerie snorted. "Oh Ancients, can we please? I can see it now: have you climb as high as you can in one of the fruit trees and start shouting for him." Bumping her shoulder into Tim's, he nearly went careening into a wall. In retaliation, he bumped her back and sent the both of them stumbling. "It might actually solve our problem with him avoiding you."

Tim's stomach sank.

Oh. That's right, it was so easy to forget. Tim climbing up onto a tree would solve nothing — it wasn't that Phantom avoided him due a lack of attention or Tim had done nothing to earn it. It continued to be a deliberate choice from everything Tim knew. Lectures from Jazz, Dan and even Ser Valerie had done nothing to change the situation.

Not that Tim had expected any change. Phantom had been clear. From the start, the marriage was not ideal. Forcing them together would only get in the way of Phantom's efforts to 'not be lonely' in their political joining.

It was fine. Truly.

There was peace. And from Phantom's efforts, the Infinite Lands would prosper from the hard work of the treaty meetings.

That knowledge would be enough to fill his heart, it would have to be.