Chapter Text
When the Lord and Lady Drake perished, the country mourned. Jack Drake was beloved for his contributions in piecing together the history of their fair land, and Janet for her family’s long line of businesses that had prospered and brought good fortune to the people. It was a shock, therefore, when the Wayne family uncovered that the Drakes had given birth to an until-then unknown heir. A daughter, Timothea, who padded around in an empty house full of artifacts, barely willing to make a sound even with no one around to hear her.
The head of the Waynes, Bruce, already well-known for his tendency to adopt lost children who needed a home, announced for the sake of the kingdom that she had been sequestered for most of her life because of her sickly constitution, and that he would take her on as his own ward. There was much rejoicing at the announcement. The Drake line had not died, and their child would be raised by one of the kindest and most generous men the country had known. What could there be to worry about?
She’s too small, too quiet. It’s like she’s trying not to be noticed, by anyone.
Richard Grayson, eldest of Wayne’s adopted children, had returned quickly from his travels abroad when he heard he was going to have a new addition to the family. He’d expected someone confident and bright, like Janet had been, or intelligent but distractible, like Jack. What he found was a thirteen-year-old who looked more like she was ten, who barely spoke without careful encouragement and acted like she was doing her best to just not exist.
Bruce had refused to let him see her until they’d spoken, having wisely predicted the likely smothering reaction that Timothea would invoke in his eldest. They stand in the doorway, keeping watch while the girl sat calmly by a window and read through a book that should have been much too complex for anyone of her age.
“What happened to her, B?”
Bruce sighs heavily. “We don’t know. Some of us knew Janet had borne a child, but when there was no announcement and no child presented, we all thought it had been stillborn and did not ask out of respect. But she was in their home all along.”
Richard tilts his head slightly. “Because she was sick.”
“No.” Bruce shakes his head, doesn’t look at the confusion in his eldest’s eyes. “We announced that, but as far as we can tell, she’s only as prone to illness as any other child her age. No,” he adds, holding a hand up to forestall Richard’s next question, “we located and spoke to the midwife that helped deliver her – she was as healthy as they could have hoped for. As large, too – we asked her what could possibly have caused Timothea to grow up as small and delicate as she did, and the midwife told us only that some children who are starved of a parent’s love from a young age do not flourish as well as others.”
He did not have to look at Dick to know that there was anger in his face at the realization that the Drakes had apparently chosen to have a daughter and discarded her like a worthless piece of detritus from one of their digs. “So what do we do with her?”
“Feed her. Take care of her. Love her.” Bruce sighs again. “It’s all we can do.”
Their main concern was Damian Wayne, the youngest and only biological son of the Wayne family. Unlike Jason and Dick, he had been born into wealth and taught by his mother that he would inherit the Wayne estate and anything else he chose to take over, by force or cunning. He had been left at Bruce’s doorstep at the age of eight, outwardly arrogant but secretly terrified and hurt that his mother abandoned him to live with the father he never knew.
It was difficult to guess how he would react to Timothea. He had treated Dick and Jason terribly at first, considering them his inferiors and pretenders to the Wayne family. It had taken Dick’s careful love and Jason’s refusal to put up with any disrespect that convinced him to behave more civilly. To everyone’s collective relief, he had even begun showing signs of caring towards others, albeit largely directed towards his small collection of animals. It was a step forward for him, and one they encouraged greatly.
He could have responded very badly to the addition of a new child in the family, but instead, he seemed to appoint himself her protector. When they had first met, Bruce and Richard had practically been holding their breaths, waiting to see how it would go. Damian had narrowed his eyes at her, taking into consideration the careful way she held herself, the bright spark of intelligence that she could not hide completely no matter how she tried. Then he had nodded sharply. “I will accompany you for a walk,” he announced. “Your skin may be fair but that pallor cannot be healthy even for you, Drake.”
From then on, whenever they were present together, Damian could be counted on to care for her welfare. Although he fussed whenever some exercise left her drained and panting for breath, he encouraged her to keep strengthening her body. Unlike many others in his age and position, he had been taught that women should be graceful and well-tended for as a sign of respect, not as compensation for an inherent weakness. Richard had once listened with a warmth in his heart as Damian ranted at him about how imbecilic and cruel her parents had been to take someone like Timothea and lock her away, deny her the birthright she so deserved.
Richard had given Damian a warm hug that the younger boy accepted with resigned annoyance before going to Bruce’s set of state rooms, where he conducted most of his affairs. He’d leaned in the doorway and waited for his adoptive father’s attention. “You know, Little D doesn’t know it yet, but he doesn’t see Tim as a sister.”
“I’m aware,” Bruce answered mildly.
“Someday, he’s gonna realize it, too, and he’s gonna come to you. Do you have a plan for when that happens?”
“She’s my ward, not my daughter.” Bruce stands and stretches, relieving himself of the few aches he gained from sitting in his chair going over reports from his lands for so long. “A union between the Drakes and the Waynes would be advantageous to both of us. And the Drakes’ solicitors will look on it favorably because of how well we’ve been providing for her already. As long as Tim is amenable, I see no reason to deny him.”
Richard tilts his head so he can see just outside the window in Bruce’s room, where Tim is just visible resting comfortably under a tree with one of her books. Damian approaches her with a blanket and wraps it around her shoulders, doubtlessly having noticed the chill in the air that was only going to become worse as the day drifted into evening.
He smiles. “Me neither.”