Chapter Text
The morning dawned hazy.
It always dawned hazy over Gotham City and her castle. The people of the land of Gotham were long used to the dreary nature of their Northern country, blistering cold in the Winter, the Summer startlingly hot but short. Between them - long transitional seasons of half sun and incessant rains.
Still, it did not stop King Bruce Wayne on his habitual rounds. The people of Gotham City were used to the sight of the king more often among the people, more often with his children, training his soldiers, or keeping watch from his castle. King Wayne was not a distant royal, feared not in his remote nature, but rather for his relentlessness and astounding battle records.
The morning dawned hazy, just as many other days. Bruce Wayne stood on an upper balcony of his castle, overlooking the rolling neighborhoods of Gotham City. His hands rested on the railing. Behind, he could hear the barely controlled chaos of his children, running rampant in the hallways.
The balcony offered a moment of respite.
He was glad for the general cheer of his children. Welcomed with thorough gratitude after years of war, unmerciful and unending horrors. The years of peace started as abruptly as the war began and were welcomed. Though Bruce still harbored fears the peace was only temporary, planned for it with a fervor judged as paranoia by his peers.
Still, he persisted in his planning. He would not be deterred into complacency, or take part in their foolhardy trust in the years of peace. The armies of Gotham remained strong.
The fear lived on in him. He saw it daily still, reflected in the veterans and survivors of the war, in his elder children. It was a joke to call it a war. It had been a massacre, brought from above on dragon wings and from below by undead soldiers. Bruce scoffed to himself, eyes roving over the markets of Gotham City. The district recovered well, but the memory of it engulfed in dragonfire was not far off.
Despite the fear, Gotham survived. It would continue to survive long after King Bruce Wayne. His plans would make sure of that. It would not matter if he fell in battle or to old age.
King Wayne allowed himself a moment of rest, relishing the sounds of a city waking up. He smiled to himself at the sounds of his children laughing, their feet thundering through the castle as they began one of their long games of chasing and play fights. He mentally noted to check in on their studies after his meetings, to train with Jason and sit with Cass in the evening after the younger children were in bed. He wanted to take Duke riding again, he would have to make time for it.
In his musing, he almost missed it. His gaze far off, the shouts in the market snapped his attention into focus.
A dragon.
Fear gripped Bruce’s spine. Dragons meant only violence, and fire and death. Hell rained from above, heralded by the shadows of massive scaled bodies that blotted out the sun. He watched its approach with sharp eyes, looking for its fleet.
When it became clear it was alone, Wayne felt his fear ease slightly, making room for confusion. He had never seen a single dragon. What more was surprising was the size of the dragon, small and snakelike, completely unseen during the war with fleets of enormous creatures.
It landed on the railing directly in front of Bruce, who stepped back, hands white knuckled in their hold on the grip of his sword. The creature shuffled its clawed feet and draped its wings to hook its dew claws to balance on the railing. Only after, it proudly held its head high, fixing a brightly jeweled eye onto Bruce Wayne.
It was the smallest wyvern he had ever seen.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Bruce felt frozen in its gaze. He was unsure what such a small wyvern was capable of. He was confident his sword would be enough to dispatch it, but it had made no move to attack. It shuffled its feet, raising its head higher. His eye was drawn to a ribbon around its neck, a pendant bearing the emblem of the Infinite Lands hanging heavy from it.
It was then Bruce noticed a leather tube in a small harness strapped to the wyvern. His eyes flicked between the wyvern’s eyes to the tube. The wyvern bobbed its head in a nod, then trilled.
With slow movements, he neared the beast, one hand still ready to draw his blade. The wyvern bowed its head, long neck drooping to give him access to the tube. The harness and tube were finely crafted, leather oiled and dark, the brass fixtures gleaming. Bruce uncapped the tube, smothering his surprise to find a rolled scroll.
It was tied with a bright green ribbon. His heart stuttered.
A message from the Infinite Lands, unprecedented. Never had Gotham or the other kingdoms of the Justrian kingdoms received missive from the Infinite Lands.
It was then that Tim burst into his private study, a shout on his lips, ready to explain a new realization or maybe a harried plan to optimize Bruce's army. He stilled at the sight of the wyvern. Bruce had not even a second to warn off his son before Tim noticed the scroll in his hand bearing the color of the High Chief of the Infinite Lands.
He froze in shock, face cycling through a myriad of emotions. Bruce had never seen Tim so still.
“Tim, stay there,” he commanded, finally finding his voice. Bruce desperately wished Tim would listen to him for once, loathe to split his attention between his son and the wyvern.
“A message from the Lands,” Tim breathed.
“The wyvern bears the High Chief’s crest,” Bruce confirmed. He could hear the sound of Tim’s slow steps behind him. “Stay back, Tim. We don’t know if the creature is dangerous.”
“Wouldn’t it have attacked you by now? You took the scroll from it. Surely it would have maimed you then.” Tim’s reasoning, though rational, was based solely on limited information and Bruce stated as such. “Well, then it would have attacked someone on its journey here. Surely we would have heard of a wyvern sighting or attack by now.”
Tim neatly side stepped Bruce. He evaluated the dragon with his own sharp gaze. Took in the small beast, its long snakelike neck, angular head. It looked almost more like a hawk or eagle, scaled instead of feathered. Its winding tail wagged idly behind. It seemed to almost enjoy the attention, preening under it showing off its dark scales, shifting in the sun to make them gleam a rich purple. When Tim ducked to examine its dew claws, it trilled and blinked rapidly, its sapphire blue sparkling.
“How curious,” Tim murmured.
“Step away from it,” Bruce bit out. “Please.”
Despite the plea, Tim rolled his eyes but did straighten up. “Are you going to read it?” Bruce glanced between his son and the wyvern. “It would have attacked by now if it was going. I was certainly close enough for it to take out an eye, if it so pleased. I think it is here to make sure you got the High Chief’s message.”
Knowing further argument would be fruitless, Bruce tore his eyes from the wyvern.
“Get Barbara. We must call the kingdoms immediately.”
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Your Majesty, Bruce Wayne of Bristol
The Dark Knight, the Guardian of Gotham
It is my most ardent wish this message finds you and your family well. Peace has been hard won in the Infinite Realms. I hope Gotham and the kingdoms of Justria have flourished in this time of peace.
While the war has ended, Pariah Dark’s campaign continues to shadow over our lands. Though the violence is no more, an official declaration of peace and treaty can be the only true end. We must find an official armistice between Justria and the Infinite Lands.
It is with this want that I write to you. As High Chief, it is my goal to forge a future without violence, to lay our swords down and create a new era of prosperity and unity. However, this cannot be done alone.
We understand the hurt Pariah Dark caused is deep and only in the beginning stages of healing. It is deeply felt in the Infinite Realms as well. We are comrades in recuperating from the horrors of war and destruction.
In good faith and the spirit of a new future, we will set the place for our meeting and ask the kingdoms of the League of Justria set the time of our meeting. We name Trenton, the border wall city of Gotham, as our meeting place. I ask only you and the other monarchs allow us at least two weeks’ time from your reply for our travels.
With my utmost respect,
High Chief Phantom
Ruler of the Infinite Lands, Blessed Child of the Cursed Lands, Dragon’s Chosen Heir
King Bruce Wayne breathed deep as he finished reading the message aloud. He reset his shoulders, leveled a steady gaze on the mirrors before him. Rather than reflecting his own visage back, he took in the concerned faces of his fellow rulers and friends.
Barbara, known widely as Oracle for her unrivaled scrying magic, sat just to his left. She angled herself expertly to stay out of view of the mirrors.
Lady Diana scowled, her brow furrowing deeply. It was obvious she was rolling the words of the message through her mind, examining them for meaning. “It is a threat,” she decided. “Will you send me a copy?”
“I’ll have copies made for each kingdom, for official records and other uses as you each see fit,” Bruce confirmed, making a note for himself and nodding to a squire. “It is a threat,” he agreed after a long pause.
And he felt exhausted. Tired of feeling scared, tired of waiting for a fleet of dragons on the horizon, tired of preparing for a new unknown threat. The Infinite Lands were a mystery to them all, to all of Justria. All records regarding the Infinite Lands lost or ancient, their integrity highly dubious due to outlandish claims.
Sometimes he wondered how outlandish it truly was. After all, the dragons hailed from the far edges of the Infinite Realms. And if dragons, long assumed to be only myth or legend, were real, then what else of the tall tales were true?
“Do we agree to meet?” King Clark Kent mused. “Surely, we have no choice. He has intelligence of your family, Bruce. I am sure if we deny the invitation, it will be a swift violent reply. ‘This cannot be done alone’,” he quoted.
“There is no other option, we must accept. Queensland is a week's ride with my best horses. Longer with a retinue,” King Oliver Queen added. “John, how long will you need?”
John, druid of the Northern Isles tilted his head. The gesture was uncanny under his ceremonial dress, beads tinkling and eyes just visible under the shadow of his hood. “I shall come immediately and unaccompanied. Wayne, please expect me in 4 days.”
Bruce Wayne hesitated. The others of the League seemed to hold their breaths. “Old friend, will you bring no mages or warriors?”
“These are talks for peace. I shall accept High Chief Phantom's words as wrote. A threat, but only if we refuse to make treatise. Allow us to hear his demands before we commit to war again.” John's steepled hands spoke to his adamant opinion. The other rulers of the League were familiar enough with his nature to know he would not be swayed.
“What have we decided? Trenton of Gotham, and Phantom needs two weeks from our reply, but I doubt we would do well to delay or push him too long.” King Bartholomew Allen summarized. “We need to gather retinues, defenses. Though, Bruce, what is the state of Trenton?”
“Trenton remains at full battle functionality.”
“Well, that's a relief at least,” Oliver muttered. “I can manage three weeks, and I'm the furthest out other than John.”
Lady Diana folded her hands, exuding a calm that Bruce knew was half an act and half wisdom to acknowledge the circumstances. Best to remain calm and steady, even against all odds. They could do their damndest and naught more. An emotional response would only cost them dearly.
And they all knew the costs, the danger. Their lands were scarred from Pariah Dark’s campaign of endless death and terror. They survived on will and hardened battle sense. They would do it again, spirits willing.
A new High Chief, unknown and a mystery despite all attempts to gather information. The letter confirmed little beyond the rumor that Phantom had bested Pariah Dark and ended his rule, that his own people suffered in some way at the hands of the previous ruler.
A fearsome person. No knight or warrior or mage had been more than an inconvenience to Pariah Dark in battle. It raised only more questions who Phantom could be.
“Then three weeks from this date. We shall meet the High Chief. Let us consider our reply,” Bruce confirmed and lifted his inkpen to begin drafting the return letter.
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The little wyvern preened under Tim’s attention. He did not know what to feed it, and gave his best guess with cured meats. Tearing the strip into smaller portions her narrow snout could manage, he licked the salt from his fingers and watched her throat work. Her head was thrown back, neck undulating.
Well, he was guessing the wyvern was a ‘she’. He hoped he wasn’t wrong. All he had to work on so far was the emblem on the pendant, and “Ma’ri” stamped on the back. Still, he was too nervous to touch her. Not that he had any knowledge of dragon anatomy to sex the creature. His knowledge of dragons extended as far as any Gothamite’s – how to kill them.
Ma’ri acted surprisingly like a cat. She had stalked along the floor of the study, tail held high, using her wings as legs. It surprised him, the way she balanced on her rear toes as well. Her head swung back and forth, nostrils flared when Tim returned with the salted cured meats, wrapped in butchers’ paper.
What more, she was exceptionally calm as he fed her. Patient while he tore the strips, fangs carefully away from his fingers and never lunging. More often, waiting for him to place it on the floor fully before practically inhaling the meat.
“I don’t know how much you need, little wyvern. Will you tell you me you’re full, or make yourself sick?” Tim questioned her. She turned her head, pinning Tim with one eye. Then she primly sat back on her haunches, her wings falling in a leathery cape, tail in a wide circle around her. The tip twitched, and Tim watched it.
The moment stretched long – princeling observing wyvern, being observed in exchange.
There was a shocking amount of intelligence in her eye. She seemed to consider him, weighing him with a primal authority. He hoped she did not find him lacking, fearing the consequence if she did.
Whatever the test was or the parameters, Tim passed it. Ma’ri blinked. The smooth snikt of a second lid, then the wyvern tilted her head. Slowly, she extended her head to push her snout against the butcher paper.
“Message received,” Tim whispered. He continued tearing a strip apart for the wyvern. Halfway, she withdrew and left a portion on the floor. She heaved a sigh, little chest expanding. Tim froze, watching in awe and anxiety.
Could the wyvern breathe fire? How could he even check?
Records from the war stated not all dragons could breathe fire. Tim, too young to remember, poured over every battle report, intelligence record, soldiers’ journals he could find. Some could breathe ice and others summoned rains of acid. There had been beginning efforts to classify the dragons, but they were rudimentary at best. Dragons, drakes, wyverns. The only classifications they had were based on easily discernible physical forms. Very little indicated what a specific dragon may be capable of. Rather, the records focused on how to slay the monsters that terrorized their lands.
The way the little dragon moved entranced Tim. The carpet and hard floor of the study weren’t the most comfortable place to sit, but he found himself rooted as he watched Ma’ri lick her chops, thoroughly clean her face and dew claws in a post-meal ritual that Tim kept mapping onto his little brother Damian’s pet cat. His eyes followed her through the motions. When she balanced on the clawed ends of her wings and tip-toed rear feet to amble around the room, head alternatively swinging or lifting high to scour the room, Tim curled in his limbs to give her free reign.
She paused in front of the low settee couch. Bruce had added it under the excuse of guests, but really it was the kids’ napping couch. Tim preferred the plush armchair opposite it, but he’d be a liar if he denied having taken his fair share of naps on the settee while Bruce worked. Ma’ri arched her neck high, peering over the edge, then reared up on her hind legs with a single flap.
She trilled a happy noise, hooking her wings over the edge and scrambled up onto the couch. Tim crawled to the settee and grabbed one of the pillows wedged in the corner, moving it to make room as Ma’ri marched in a small circle. Wary of Alfred’s wrath, Tim carted the pillow to the small chest and properly placed it inside, instead of on the floor like Jason always did. When he turned back, Ma’ri was fully settled, curled on her side.
Tim blinked. Well, it made some sort of sense to him. He had no clue how long or difficult the flight from Phantom’s base was to Gotham City. And he assumed Ma’ri was ordered to return as soon as a reply was drafted. She must be exhausted, and a long journey ahead of her again.
He had planned to feed her, lock the door behind him, and return to his studies. But now…
Tim wanted to stay. The book he had brought with him to show Bruce was where he had dropped it on the desk before he had run off to the kitchens. Now, he grabbed it and walked silently to the armchair, mindful of a literal sleeping dragon just scant feet away. The fear of the wyvern did not stop him from curling up as usual in the chair, legs pulled up and book propped up against his thighs. He opened it to the bookmarked chapter but found himself unable to read.
Usually, Tim read with fervor, and a hyperfocus his siblings called obsessive. Dick always said it teasingly, and Jason derisively, but it was hardly far from the truth. Tim was obsessive. He knew that, there was no point in denying it.
But he found himself unable to concentrate. The battle journal of a soldier during the Dragon War was entirely unappealing when a real dragon – granted a very small wyvern, nothing like the beasts described in the logs – was directly in front of him. It wasn’t the same, but at the same time so much better.
He watched the gentle rise and fall of the wyvern’s chest. She was partially rolled onto one side, curled into a comma, tail pressed along her side and tucked under her chin. One wing was tented, her head buried underneath the veiny membrane to block out the midday sun. The caw of a bird, harsh and loud startled Tim, Ma’ri tensed in response. Then heaved a mighty sigh as she relaxed, kicking out a leg as she settled.
The sun shifted as a slight breeze ruffled a tree, dappled light playing through the room. Tim unabashedly took in the way Ma’ri’s scales glittered. The coloring amazed him. At first, he had thought she was pure black, but the sun brought out a glittering gem-like sheen, veins of cobalt and deep purple, tar-like in their sheen.
He was so wrapped up in observing her, the door swinging open made him jump. The book clattered to the floor. Loathe to let it be damaged, Tim dove after it, smoothing back the pages. Bruce’s small smile showed his amusement.
But it slipped from his face upon spotting the wyvern on the settee. She lifted her wing to peer at him from beneath. Deeming him unworthy of her concern, she slotted the wing back in place. A small snuffle as she settled again felt deafening in the tense quiet.
“Tim.” Bruce's voice was low, and so flat Tim knew it hid depths of emotion beneath it. Disapproval, fear, frustration.
“Bruce,” he said back, his voice not nearly low enough for a true mimicry. The look on Bruce’s face was thunderous at his mocking. “It’s fine, I promise. She isn’t a threat. Look how small she is! Titus could eat her. How did the meeting with the League go?”
Tim didn’t want Bruce’s worrying to distract him. There was a reason he had stayed in Bruce’s office. He knew his father. Bruce was fierce in his protection of Gotham and his family. If Tim didn’t stick his nose into things, Bruce would keep it from them. He had a suspicion Bruce was going to share only the bare minimum with his brothers and sisters later.
“We agreed to meet Phantom in three weeks’ time.” Bruce moved to his desk. He set his notes down carefully, movements as smooth and controlled as always. Tim squinted at him. He was hiding something and Tim didn’t like it. “There is much to be done. Our reply first, and then we get to work.”
A cloud scuttled across the sky, briefly dimming the gentle early afternoon sun. It felt like an omen to Tim. How strange, what were the chances? A rare sunny day in Gotham and they receive a letter from the High Chief of the Infinite Realms. A mysterious leader who had ruled for nearly half a decade and yet had not reached out to any nation of the League, neighboring or otherwise, the entire time. Tim ambled over to Bruce, leaning into his father’s side. Partially for comfort and partially to unsubtly look at his meeting notes.
“What do you think, Tim?” Bruce asked. And that still amazed Tim. How much his opinion mattered to his adoptive family. How much they cared what he thought and felt, cared about the things he cared about.
His mind skittered over it for a second. Was he really allowed to advise the King of Gotham? Was Bruce only asking to be nice? Or did he really care? Only one way to find out, Tim decided.
“You should probably add a postscript. You should tell Phantom I fed his wyvern.”
“Tim!”
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His advisors kept congratulating him. His sister told him it is worthy of celebration. It was unprecedented and his actions would be the beginning of a new era in the Infinite Lands. Even if it ended in failure, High Chief Phantom had already done great deeds as ruler. He ended the war. He defeated Pariah Dark. He freed the dragons.
Danny felt like a child pretending to be something he’s not.
Danny smothered the emotion and tucked it away. There was no space for it in his Keep. There was no room for it when there was so much more that needed to be done. It would never see the light of day nor be humored in the shelter of night. His bonds would never catch a hint of it. Phantom suffocated the feelings.
Sending a letter to the League of Justria was only the start of a long journey. Phantom hadn’t even succeeded in his goal of building alliances. All he had done was torment himself for days over a simple letter requesting an audience. The Infinite Lands needed this alliance, needed the trade agreements. His lands were starved, lacking in natural resources. An illness plagued the dragons, their eggs wasting and rotting before they could be hatched. The Dragon War had ended, Phantom made sure of that as he destroyed Pariah Dark. But now his people were suffering a long war of attrition.
So, Phantom waited. Carefully held hope in his heart and projected it with all his might through his bonds.
High Chief Phantom filled his days as he always did. He cared for the dragons staying in the Keep. He met with Fright Knight and reviewed threats to the nation. He ate breakfast with Jazz and sparred with Dan and his men. He looked for letters from Ellie, and teased Valerie for not proposing yet.
The days crawled on. Regardless of his anxiety, regardless of his pleas, time did not pass quickly. Dan chuffed at him every time Danny was caught staring wistfully at the horizon. Looking for a little excitable wyvern.
“Phantom.”
His distraction be damned. Phantom turned his attention back to Fright Knight standing before his desk. At attention as always, hands tucked behind his back. Though the knight's expression was hidden behind the helm of his ebony armor, Phantom received his rebuke. Feeling properly shamed for his inattention, Phantom gestured for Fright Knight to continue. “The Dragon Mother advised the Spring clutch hatchlings have matured well. She is pleased with their growth. It is expected the migratory dragons will take their new young for the first flight on the Summer Solstice, as anticipated.”
“The lower levels of the Keep are still empty. It should be no issue to accommodate them on their journey. Did Dragon Mother send a count of how many she is expecting to come our way?”
“A short list again this year,” Fright Knight said and passed him the note. There was a tightly concealed sadness there. Phantom felt it in his own chest through their bond and reflected it back. For a moment, it widened between them, filled with the depths of their grief. Despite their efforts, the dragon population continued to struggle after the Dragon War. Pariah Dark’s thrall of the dragons came with a sickness. A disease that rotted the eggs before they could be hatched.
Phantom barely resisted scrubbing his hands over his face. Only resisted due to the ink on his hands from his harried note taking. “I will review with Princess Jasmine. She advised of a promising lead in her studies for the cure. Do we have any other matters to discuss?”
“None, sire. We have reviewed all that is priority. I believe Shadow is waiting for you in the hallway.”
Danny allowed himself a sigh. Sure enough, the sensation he recognized as Dan-brother-soul vibrated in the edges of his bond. “Thank you, Fright Knight. Do not hesitate to –.”
“Yes, sire. As always, your attention is always available to me.” Then a shift in his knight’s tone. “Except when you are anxiously awaiting a letter from the League.”
Phantom chuffed at him as he pushed back his chair to stand. After gathering his notes and stepping around his desk, he playfully shouldered Fright Knight. The knight turned to follow him, returning his play with a slap to the back of his head. Danny ducked his head to hide his smile.
Dan peeled himself from the wall where he leaned while waiting. Phantom nodded to his older brother, ambling down the hallway with an intent to find Jazz.
“Word from the Dragon Mother?”
Phantom hummed at Dan’s question. “Sad news on the hatchling count again. But the dragonlets are strong and will fly on the Solstice. Let us remain hopeful.” Fright Knight turned off a side hallway with a nod, leaving the brothers.
“As hopeful as you are for Ma’ri to return? You just miss her and how much she likes cuddling.”
Not in the mood for teasing, Danny growled a warning. Dan smirked. If there was one thing to be said, Dan knew how to annoy Danny from the Keep to the mountains and back. If Shadow wanted to play, Phantom was not one to deny him.
Mindful of Dan walking close at his side, Danny bumped into him and tangled their feet together. Lept away when Dan stumbled and took off in a run to avoid the retaliatory swipe.
They arrived at the library, breathless and disheveled. Jazz raised an eyebrow at their appearances as Dan pushed open to the door.
“If you came here to roughhouse, I will scream for Val,” she said primly. Dan laughed at her threat, as if Valerie coming to swat at him was a punishment. Jazz squawked in dismay when Dan ruffled her hair. Grumbled, slightly appeased when he pressed his cheek against hers. “I just had it plaited. Can you not?”
Their bond sang of love-annoyed-affection-loveyou.
Danny slid onto the low settee with her. His notes joined hers on the long table. “Valerie can fix it for you,” he said, leaning to peer at the book in her lap. The old text was hard to read, letters cramped and slanting.
Jazz watched Dan walk a circuit of the library, feigning interest in the shelves. She trilled at him. He didn’t turn, offering a click of his tongue as he continued his path. Danny rolled his eyes, and trilled as well. Trotting across the room, Dan dropped onto the floor in front of their feet.
“See, you are his favorite.”
Danny put his feet on his brother’s back. Earned a bruising pinch to his calf. In retaliation, Danny pressed his heels into Dan’s shoulder blades. The bastard was entirely unbothered and simply shifted so Danny’s feet slipped.
“Ellie is my favorite,” he grumbled from the floor, making Danny laugh. But still he leaned to rest his back against the settee, wrapping a hand around Danny’s ankle.
Danny sighed, pressing into Jazz’s side and grounding himself in the presence of his siblings. Felt a little sad and missed Ellie.
“Little brother.” A hand carded through his hair, and Danny peered up at Jazz. “Still no Ma’ri?”
“The flight is five days long. It has been only twelve days. It could be she was waylaid by weather, or the League is taking time to consider a reply. I’m not worried.” Yet. Danny did not let his worry bleed into his voice. He concentrated on trying to read the text from his poor angle. “How are your studies?”
She pulled a face at him. Her eyes were red tinged, so Danny assumed poorly. Dan pinched her, then rolled away to avoid her kick. “Child. Do you need to spar someone or something? Why are you so annoying today?”
“Why don’t you spar with me then?”
“No,” she replied, turning up her nose. “I will not be drawn in by your poorly concealed ruse. Try harder, Danijel.”
“Ooooh, she full named you!” Danny cheered. “Fight, fight, fight!”
“You’re worse than he is.” And he caught her elbow, taking the opportunity to poke Jazz’s ticklish spot on her side. She screeched, swiping at his hand. “Daniel, do not tickle me.” Despite her tone, their bond was full of love-amused-happy. Danny was never one to heed threats. He pounced on her, hands seeking his older sister's more ticklish spots.
They tumbled to the floor. Somehow, Jazz come out on top and set her sights on revenge. Danny batted away Jazz’s hands as she tried to tickle him.
“General Shadow!” she called out. Dan clicked his tongue but aided Jazz’s attempts. Between Jazz sitting on his stomach, and Dan capturing his flailing arms, Danny fell to their attack. Laughter filled the library.
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This was Danny’s favorite part of the Keep. This was one of the things Danny pulled into his mind when the future seemed too far away, the task too difficult, the enemy too big or too insurmountable.
Aquila curled around his back on his great side. Danny leaned against his best friend, sheltered in the nook between his shoulder and head. They watched the sun slink down behind the mountains. The sky streaked with golden beams, undersides of clouds burned red and endless shades of purple taking over the sky as it bled to black. Somewhere below them, the nocturnal dragons began to stir while others settled in for the night. Chuffing and growling filtered up to them from their perch on the highest level.
This far up in the Keep, the ground structures looked small and toy-like The bond with Dan and Jazz felt thin and thready this far away, his siblings on the edge of his ability to sense
Danny scratched the hinge of Aquila's jaw. His ministrations earned him a low happy growl and a wave of affection in their bond.
Aquila was a noble beast. Danny was glad for their bond. Even if Aquila was grumpy Danny was so anxious for Ma'ri's return, leading the dragon to sulk about the Keep. Anxiety was useless to dragons. He didn't understand Danny in that way, shoving exasperated-annoyed through the bond. Followed up making his opinion known by thwapping Danny with his tail. Danny was still bruised across the ribs.
It was no wonder other countries feared the Infinite Lands and her dragons, untamed and wild. Every whelp of the Lands grew up among dragons and still respected or feared them in turn. Or feared the chaotic unbridled magic that seeped through the ground, contaminating everything from earth, water to air.
But Danny loved the Lands. Loved Aquila and the dragons. Loved it with the feral and unfettered parts of himself he could never deny.
Aquila huffed a long sigh. “Oh, had a long day?” Danny teased him, resuming his scratching. Laughed when Aquila used his wings to keep Danny from standing when he moved to leave. Danny was considering his options, leaning towards grabbing a blanket to camp out under the stars with Aquila for the night - like during the war.
A wyvern call rang through the air. Its echo was a tremble of shock through Danny. Aquila rolled away, freeing Danny.
“Ma'ri!” Danny shouted. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the edge of the platform. Aquila rumbled a laugh behind him, but made no move to join.
The little dragon barreled into Danny's chest. Her own heaved in exhaustion. She draped her wings over Danny’s shoulders to cling to him. Murmuring, Danny secured her in arms, mindful of her trembling.
“Oh, dragonlet. You flew so much! You're so strong.” And it was a testament to her exhaustion that Ma’ri did not preen proudly under the praise as she was wont to do. A vain little thing that Danny adored and spoiled. Pleased with the praise, she trilled. It came out more as a warble but still it conveyed the message. Danny brought her to Aquila. Though the larger dragon acted aloof, the concern and care he harbored for the tiny wyvern was radiant through the bond.
Danny shuffled her from clinging to him to Aquila. His large snout snuffled against her little body, checking her thoroughly for injuries. Before Hailwing could really cuddle her close, Danny removed the harness.
“There you go, you worry wart,” he clucked at Aquila. “She's all free now.”
With shaking hands, he opened the message tube. The shine of pristine white parchment peeked out from inside. The harness clattered to the ground, Danny losing his grip on it in his rush to remove the scroll.
The seal of the House Wayne of Gotham gleamed. Inky black, silver, a single spot of yellow. A steadying breath.
It could be a letter refusing a meeting.
It could be a letter accepting.
Danny didn't know which he feared more.
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Aquila dropped from the sky. His great claws gouged large troughs into the sandy earth. The sad look in his eye was turned on Danny as Aquila marched in place, trying to throw the dirt from his claws. Danny twisted his face into an exaggerated pout.
“Oh no, it's mud!” His horse snorted once, sidestepping to avoid Aquila's lashing tail. Danny was pleased with her fine training. He would have to let the stable master know the horse was more than serviceable upon his return.
They were gearing up to a cranky spat when Danijel crowded into their space on his drake. Ma'ri rode happily on the horn of his saddle. Dan scanned the sky, squinting into the early morning sun. “Wraith keeps complaining about the borderlands. She says they smell funny and I agree.” Danny gifted him with the same pout he had Aquila. “Fuck off. It doesn't bother you.”
The bond felt sour. Danny considered it, carefully dissecting Dan's discomfort and anxiety. Came back with concern, tried to let his brother know through their connection he would be by his side.
He knew Dan could leave the Lands, had ridden by Pariah Dark’s side into Justria. But he was a magical creature. Born of the Lands and to the Lands Danijel the Shadow would someday return.
“I'm not as sensitive to it. Not like you or the dragons. I wasn't born with magic.” Despite his appearance, Danny was fully human in origin. He never spared much thought for what he may be classed as now.
Half claimed by the Lands. Half claimed by the dragons.
Halfa, Danny guessed. Halfa something.
“Come on, little brother. Let's greet our hosts. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can get back to the Keep,” Danny tried to soothe while Dan rolled his eyes at the comment. He muttered something akin to ‘I’ll show you little brother’ as Danny turned away.
He waved his hand in a command. The chiefs rallied their warriors into some form of columns for the final march. Danny’s own personal guard and Fright Knight fell into strategic points. Though Danny hated the hovering warriors, Fright Knight’s lengthy lecture on his safety, traveling and unknown threats, he nodded to them once and spurred on his horse.
“I still don’t understand why you aren’t riding Aquila.” Dan continued his complaining once they were moving. His bad mood was almost tangible. Danny sighed. He watched his brother’s scowl deepen then huff is displeasure.
“Aquila understands. I don’t know why you don’t as well. It’s simple - we’re coming in peace. The last time the countries of Justistria saw dragons was during the war when Pariah Dark held them enthralled.” Danny forced his frustration from his voice. Schooling it into a tone not unlike Jazz used when explaining a theory that was difficult. “If I arrive to the border fortress on a giant blue ice dragon, people will see me as a threat. If I arrive to the border fortress on a simple horse, people will see me as a man.”
Ma’ri trilled. Dan glared at her.
“See, she gets it!” Danny cheered, praised the wyvern. She turned a jeweled eye on Dan, infusing her expression with smugness. “We need this alliance to work. We need the trade and we need an agreement. Our people –,”
“I get it.” Dan’s voice was low but ardent.
It had to work. They had no other choice.
Danny could not find his voice. But the reciprocated flood of love-here-hope in the bond took away any need for words. It had been a tough decision to leave Jazz at the Keep, at home, on their first meeting with the League. Her wisdom and stalwart will would be priceless - but Danny was unwilling to risk her if negotiations turned sour. And at Dan’s added point, someone had to stay and watch over the Keep. Who better than Princess Jasmine and her not-betrothed Sir Red Huntress.
At midday, a scout returned to confirm the fortress of Trenton was only an hour away. Fright Knight sent his best fleet-footed scouts to survey the area.
They had done it. They had arrived.