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Richard John Grayson Wayne is a prince.
Those outside of the castle walls call him Nightwing.
A suit loving, royal looking, stone-faced prince—he knows how to plan a battle strategy, speak fluent French and how to bow while looking elegant, he knows all the ins and outs of fancy silverware and how to dab his face with a napkin (dab, not smear, dab ), he knows how to get on and off of a horse properly—and a good one at that.
He is the oldest of his father’s children, the first in line for the throne, raised from birth to be the one to finally succeed his authoritarian of a king and his quietness of a father. He is the one that is meant to wear a crown on his head, to have a royal mantle pressing down on her shoulders. Him. Not his brothers.
Richard. Robin. Jason.
A boy known for outstanding bravery, for leadership. One who is bright, shining, famous. The healer, the salvation.
They were each raised under the iron-fist of nobility, told that they are the son of the Great House of Wayne , they are the ones who will rule Batclan, the faces of Batclan, the ones destined to carry on the pure blood-line, they are son not daughters and that means they must find someone suitable.
Richard knew that someone suitable was not someone that would love him despite all his ailments and flaws, in fact, it was not someone that would love him at all. It was someone fit for the crown, someone with blood as pure as his, someone who is good enough to be a royal.
It was a sin—to want to be loved, to be cherished by another. It was a secret too. Richard kept it to himself.
He lifted his chin up high like how his father expected him to, he didn’t let his guard down. He didn’t let his flaws shine through his perfect practiced-in-the-mirror smile, he let women kiss his cheek after curtseying to him, he played all his cards right.
It was his birthright, and he was going to be a king one way or another.
When a child in the kingdom of Justice turns ten, they go to the League’s Crown Shop—no matter which of the four courts they’re in, no matter their status—and gets a ring made for them. The ring symbolizes their destiny, their path in life, often, their family.
At ten, Richard picked up a sleek silver ring that had green emeralds shining all around it, twisting like a robin in the air, and a small red-orange butterfly in the center where a diamond ought to have been.
“For change, and a good one at that.” J’onn J’onzz told him, hands clasping his own. “For change.”
His future held so many things:
A woman that wears her heart on a sleeve and a sense of humor big enough to compensate for his distinct lack of smiling (when within the castle walls), heart-racing adventures, a daughter with her mother’s big heart, the eyes of a shape-shifter, a knack for knocking the crown off her head, dark hair and her father’s sharpness.
Yet now, at twelve, Richard was waking up in his pristine, well-furnished bedroom, blue draped around his bed, curtain pulled back to reveal the bottom of the Lake. He whispers good morning to the fish that stare back at him, and climb out of bed.
Richard stood, hair messy and yawning big, and shuffled to his bathroom where actual sunlight was allowed to flood in. The world was in front of him, he wanted to reach out and take it, grab it by the throat and say you’re mine like how his father has tried to teach him.
But Dick learned patience before greed.
The world would be his in due time, but before it would ever rest on his shoulders, he would learn to take it by the hand instead. Good things take time. There is still so much for him to learn.
He did up his hair and crown just like father—wet it down, brush it out, run a towel over it, wet it down and start the process over until it was so straight that all he had to do was comb it over. When he went back into his room, his manservant, Mister Pennyworth, was there waiting for him.
Mister Pennyworth dressed him in a light silk suit, pressed at the bottom, ordained in white and blue—he was the image of a perfect royal.
He waited outside Robin’s door first, and all but a few minutes later, he came out in a dark green and yellow suit of similar style, yet with none of the lace at the end. Even now, at eleven, he looked like a spitting image of their father—the darkest of hair, black curls pinched up into a neat array, dark eyes straight, cold.
Even now, Dick was a little afraid of his brother.
“We must stop at Jay’s door too,” Richard informs Robin, who frowns in question. “The four courts are meeting today and bringing their heirs. We have to show up at the same time. Dad said so.”
Robin rolls his eyes. “And what did the king say?”
Dick glares. “The same.”
“Well alright then.”
Jason is dressed in a delicate white suit that shines silver-red when he turns in the light. He looks adorable, nine years old and nervous, feet bouncing on the floor as he grabs Richard’s wrist—moving to hold his hand all the way to the throne room.
The ride there is full of their father fussing over every single one of them, lecture after lecture of what is the proper behavior and what will make him cut them out of the family tree.
As they enter the Hall of Kings—the meeting place for the four courts in the kingdom—there’s a loud crash, followed by a shrill “Boys!” that makes the three girls jump, Robin’s hands grabbing onto her older sister’s sleeve; the younger Wayne prince being more startled, than scared.
Dressed in royal clothes, red and gold and black, Wonder colors, there’s the current rulers—Queen Diana and King Steve—standing beside Richard’s own father, a baby boy in their arms. A girl looking to be Robin’s age near them with her chin pointed up.
However across the room, with Viscount Gordon scolding them, is the Batclan viscountess-to-be, Barbara, wrestling with two boys dressed in Super colors—the sons of a knight—shouting as they do so. Watching them, hiding behind the legs of her parents and a shining gold crown on her head, is a girl in pale green and red—a Starfire.
The princess that his parents dismiss as true royalty, for both her parents being adopted from Tamaran, instead of birthed from royalty like the other kingdom’s rulers.
Richard was always told to stay away from people like her—Stars, those with ‘alien’ blood, those that work with red and green, that held kindness out on a silver platter.
“Life isn’t about kindness,” He remembers his father spitting. “It’s about power . It’s about being someone who’s in charge of something, someone who can make the rules. Never mistake kindness for power. Power’s in a lot of things, boys,” Robin’s eyes were sparkling as he looked up at the king. “But kindness isn’t one of them.”
Across the space, away from where the Flash boys and the young Viscountess were fighting, was the young duke-to-be, the young Harper boy, standing in front of his parents, chin raised. He’s ten, he looks all proper and it makes Richard want to roll his eyes.
The Harper’s were always the strictest kinds of people, they took their role as seriously as they could—parallel to how his father views being the queen. Strict. A job that comes with straight lines. Hard lines. Something that’s all black and white.
Their banner was a bow and arrow, a green flag.
Beside them stood the Cain’s, the Marquess and the Marchioness with their daughter—a sovereign couple with a quiet girl next to them. They were there, you’d notice them, they’re mean, snappy, but proper. The Cain’s were noteworthy, only in the way that they weren’t.
Last, away from everyone where Richard assumed their viscountess once stood as well, before her son started to brawl, are the Kent’s, Super’s rulers, their five year old son on the queen’s hip.
“As you know,” The Jester, Mister Greenlantern, says loudly. “We’re here today to celebrate the next Generation of our Kingdom’s rulers, and their unruly add-ons. We’re governed by four separate Courts. Would you please gather distinctly? Though let’s all recognize that Justice, our father kingdom, is what truly rules us all.”
The Super king whistles loudly, hand waving. “Boys, c’mon— no biting ! Sorry, Gordon,” His chin dips down as he catches the twins’ shoulders and pulls them away from the viscount’ daughter. “I swear I need to have them on leads. I don’t know how my knight does it.”
“We’re not animals!” One of the boys says.
“Yeah!” The other agrees. “Certainly not horses.”
“You’re right.” Their sister says, huffing. “You’re more like dogs.”
“Anywho!” The Jester jumps up onto a chair, spinning another chair in hand to place down in front of the other like a walk-way, a large, pointed hat that looks like it has a face on it making a mockery of his entire outfit. “Thank you for gathering, truly, really! Young ones, do you want to hear a song?”
The Flash’s and the Starfire girl cheer the loudest, but Jason was polite enough to clap, at least.
Dipping down, tilting to the side, the Jester steps on the second chair—sure enough, spinning the first one around comically again.
“Oh you may not think I’m pretty,” He sings, making Robin scoff. Dick elbows him, never looking away, even as he gets jabbed back in the ribs—their father’s hands coming down on their shoulders scoldingly. “~but don’t judge what you see, I’ll eat my hat if you can find a smarter jest’ than me! You can keep your tiaras small, your crowns sleek and tall, for I’m the Justice Jester Man and I can cap them all!”
Beside him, Jason gives the smallest of smiles and across the room, the Allen prince giggles—babbles—against his mother’s bosom, the Flash prince hiding against his mother’s neck.
Late to the party, the Earl’s son, seventeen year old Ra's Al Ghul, claps mockingly, smirking in the Jester’s direction as he enters the room.
“There’s nothing hidden in your court the Jest Bird can’t see! So try this on-” The Jester spins, legs crossed over one another, flipping his hat off his head to reveal another smaller hat, winking, before putting the original hat back on. “-and I will tell you what the past had been.”
Next the Jester throws the chair suspiciously close to the Super Royals, the King keeping a tight wraps on his knight’s rambunctious boys—the knight himself, a tall brunet, comes back in shortly after the Earl’s son, and Queen Diana looks more than relieved at this.
“You might be part of Super, where dwell the brave at heart! Our warriors, our daring rulers, their nerve and chivalry, oh it sets those Tit’s apart!” Teasingly, the Jester pulls out a saber with a red bubble on the end like the end of a Jester’s bell, offering it out. “This court makes our warriors and breeds them right in tow!”
Playfully, in return, the girl—Raven—takes it and taps his shoulders as one would do for a knight, causing her brothers to shriek in laughter.
Cartwheeling to kneel in front of the Anders, the Starfire Royalty bowing in turn for him, the Jester professes the next course in a dramatic accent. “Oh, thou might be of Starfire, where they ought to be just and loyal, oh thee patient Stars are absolutely true! Oh, unafraid of toil. Thou shall be unscathed, shall emboss any that fear unto themselves! O’ poets of the land!”
The Starfire princess cartwheels messily beside the Jester, who laughs quite loud and fixes the crown back atop her head.
“Or yet!” The Jester gasps, swiftly moving in front of the Kent’s. “To be in wise old Flash, for those of quick wit! Who will challenge anyone they deem fit, if only they have the time. Our thinkers! Our creators and the likes! Find yourself in this great court, and you’ll finally find yourself a mind.”
Backflipping off one chair and landing perfectly on the other, the Jester lands right in front of where the Harper’s and the Cain’s are standing side by side, sitting cross-legged to look back at Richard and his family.
“Or perhaps to be of Batclan, where you’ll find your real friends. Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends, our leaders, or clever-leds! This is where you’ll find that it’s birds of a feather, and each will meet their kind.” Winking (and getting several back) he moves on.
He stands and bows to the Duke and the Marquess before rolling on his front and putting out his second hat (that Richard didn’t see him grab) to bow dramatically in front of where Jason is standing in front of the king, their father’s hand on his head.
“So put me on! Don’t be afraid! And don’t get in a flap!” The Jester puts the smaller hat on the first and slides backwards and the edge of his heels to sit perfectly, proper, on a chair. “You’re in safe hands, for I’m a Jest Bird!”
The rulers in the room laugh, scoff and clap, the Wonder Queen thanking Mister Greenlantern as he bows playfully, tipping both hats and spinning twice on heel before skipping out of the room, dragging both chairs with him.
Richard grins up at his father. “That was fun!”
“Ridiculous.” Robin corrects, crossing his arms. “It was ridiculous.”
“That’s the point of Jesters, dear.” The king chuffs out, pinching his son’s cheeks, Robin swatting him away as he blushes in embarrassment—wanting to seem nothing less than proper in front of all the other countless royals. “To be ridiculous.”
“Now that the Jester’s merry introduction is over,” The head of Justice’ council that manages disputes and relations between the four courts, Mister Redtornado, clears his throat, a light smile on his face. “Councilman Curry will be giving introductions.”
Curry stands and clears his throat, giving everyone a neutral kind of warning look as he begins to speak. “We shall start with Super. King Clark Kent and his wife, Queen Lois Kent née Lane, present their first heir, Crown Prince Conner.” The king raises his infant son’s hand in a mock way, and it is really hard for Richard not to smile at that moment.
“Alongside their majesties is the royal guard, Knight Jackson Drake and his wife, Janet Drake née Roth-Stone, and their children, Raven, Victor and Timothy.”
The Supers bow one by one, even the unruly and wild twins, and it makes their parents look stunningly proud.
“Next, we have Starfire,” Curry moves on. “King Myand’r and Queen Luand’r proudly present their sole heir, Crown Prince Koriand’r, who…? Who solemnly asks that you call her Kori.”
He looks up to the Starfire Royals, who faceplant into their palms as their daughter’s grins. “That’s right, mister. Keep reading.”
“Please.” Her mother corrects.
Prince Kori nods, bright green eyes meeting Curry’s blue ones. “Please keep reading.”
“As you wish, Dame.” The councilwoman clears her throat, turning slightly in step. “Now we have Wonder, Queen Diana and her Prince Consort, Steve Trevor, proudly present Crown Princess Hippolyta.” The queen courtesies for her daughter, the toddler babbling loudly as she’s given the spotlight. “Alongside their majesties, is Viscountess Gordon, who presents his daughter, the future Viscountess, Barbara.”
Once the Wonders are done, Richard braces herself for his turn, knowing how absolutely furious her father would be if he messes up.
“Lastly, there is Batclan. King Bruce Wayne, proudly presents his daughter, the first heir, Crown Prince Richard the Third, Prince Robin and the last heir, Prince Jason.”
Each of them bow the same way, properly, head dipped slightly, eyes up.
Proper. Perfect.
“Alongside their majesties, we have Duke Harper and his wife, the Duchess, who are presenting their son, Roy; soon to be Earl, young mister Al Ghul, and Marquess Cain and his wife, the Marchioness, who are presenting their daughter, the future Marchioness Cain.”
Their father smiles cruelly when looking at the other royals, and Dick can imagine him obsessively thinking my children are better than yours will ever be .
At that moment Richard was proud, her chin was pointed up. Her father was right. Back then, she did want to be better than everyone else.
Fourteen years old, fussing over his hair at night time—furious at the way it won’t just stay flat like Robin’s or in those kinky curls like Jay’s, but wavy, furious, as a mad in-between—Richard is startled to hear a clash and cawing at one of his bedroom windows.
He, with his heart pounding in her chest, slowly opens the bay window to find an owl sitting on the sill, cawing furiously, pecking at the glass right up until it’s out of reach.
Richard can only tell it’s a messenger owl because of the scroll tied to its ankle. “What have you got for me, birdie? Nobody sends me letters.” Pulling at the strings, he realizes the letter capsule is a fancy one in matte green, gold fixtures on the side. Royal. Starfire. “You’re a Star’s bird?”
The owl coos and pecks at his fingers, he apologizes and jumps back in the same breath, paper clenched in his hand.
Dear whomever this reaches,
I’ve sent this off with instructions for my bird to find the Batcastle, and someone my age (about fifteen), who knows if this owl is smart enough for that. My mother said that I must make a friend, and so this is quite a good attempt at that, I think. Anyway, my name is Kori.
Okay here’s why you should be my friend:
I’m awesome. I drew this picture of my dog (look in Kom’s capsule, that’s the owl by the way) and I know a lot of cool things. Did you know that some witches can control the weather? I asked one of the witches in my court (Starfire, I’m not sorry if that’s a deal breaker) and she made a rain cloud that followed me around and soaked me to the bone for a few hours. That was fun.
I hope you’re doing well, whoever you are.
Sincerely, Koriand’r.
Richard finds himself grinning and rolling his eyes at the strange letter, carefully reapproaching Kom, clicking his tone as he picks the drawing up at an arm’s length away, leaning back. Indeed, it’s a dog, but it’s surprisingly well drawn—it looks like the drawings the architectures that fathers hire create.
So the king-to-be finds himself at his desk, quill dipping in ink, running over the parchment, a smile on his lips.
Dear Kori,
Your bird found its way onto my window sill, and I must say, it’s not the most polite creature I’ve met. Probably not smart either, but it did find Batclan just fine. I’ve never been friends with a Star before, but I’m willing to learn (I am also about fifteen).
My name is Dick. I’m not sure why you’d want to be my friend, but I think your reasons are good enough. Your dog drawing is quite nice, can I keep it?
I’m doing quite well, thank you.
Sincerely, Nightwing.
P.S. I hope you’ve dried off just fine.
He sends the letter back with Kom, a bright daisy pressed under it, hoping that he finally made a friend that won’t be in it for his crown or riches. Dick doesn’t have to be a king. Dick can just be a boy. Nobody has to know. Right now, that feels like enough.
Richard spins the ring around his index finger and sighs. Change doesn’t happen in an instant. It happens slowly, over time. He is patient.
Kori convinced him, somehow, to meet her at the League—a local market square in the center of Justice that is common for all four courts to attend equally.
Only, they’re both fifteen years only and unsure about how anything is done at all, so he asks for a lady in waiting to get together an outfit suitable for the marketplace and to get him a Knight to ride with him to the League, all without informing his father but if Bruce was to ask, to say he was going in search of getting Prince Robin something for his upcoming birthday.
He only didn’t sneak out in peasant’s clothing because he was able to think on it and come to the conclusion that the longer it took for him to tell Kori that he was Batclan’s heir, the more betrayed she’d feel than if he was just a commoner.
He’s nervous, and unsure about everything.
The way that Kori told him they’d find each other was that I’d know, trust me and that was an infuriating statement to read all together. But Richard is deadly curious. So he went along with it.
“Your majesty,” The Knight bows to him, before standing regally, hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “I will trail you-”
“Actually,” Richard interrupts, hand raising to make him stop. He does. Instantly. “I want you to wait here, by the gates, unless I instruct otherwise. What is your name?”
“Brown.”
“Thank you, Brown. If you stay loyal to my word, you’ll be a Lord before you know it.” This is his father’s doing, really, teaching him how to manipulate so well. “I will end up coming here often, I suppose. I could use such a great knight at my side.”
Tan skin catching in the light as he shifts, stopping a smile from overcoming his features, Knight Brown nods. “Thank you, Sire.”
“Stay put.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
Richard immediately takes to walking into the square, away from the doors but close enough that he looks like he could be window shopping the quant businesses. Mister Pennyworth chose a dark blue day suit with a pale grey cloak to cover his shoulders, grey heeled boots that only raise him an inch in the air and helped him pin his crown in place.
He, surprisingly, fit into the crowd more than he expected. It was the garnished cloak pin that his father gave him for his birthday that set him apart, but once he refashioned it under his cloak, it was like he was a lord instead of a king-to-be.
It felt… relieving.
Five minutes turned into ten, and he was beginning to feel self conscious—having gone around the square center three different times—and so he stopped in front of a quill shop (The Bat Post) that sold the prettiest colors of wax. He finds a swirling blue and gold one alongside bird imprinted stamps to press onto his next letter to Kori, and immediately buys it.
His father only gave him swirling yellow or the most boring of forest green wax with the Batclan symbol to press down stamps with. For Kori, he wanted to be more than a simple bat.
“Nightwing?”
“Yeah?” Richard spins to face whoever called his name absentmindedly, stuffing the wax and stamps into his bag. “Oh!”
It hits him like a train who would be calling him that, and he nearly drops his bag with how he looks up, and stumbles a step forward, nearly running into the girl. She’s a good few inches taller than him, hands in the air, ready to grab onto his shoulders, steadying him.
“Woah! I did not think you’d be that excited to see me.”
She’s… she’s really cute, tall. Rischard notes, cheeks flaming red. And she’s talking like we’re best friends .
“You knew it was me.” He says, chin pointed, curious. “How?”
“Robins are your favorite animal.” Kori explains, head tilting. She has bright eyes—unnaturally green, Richard thinks—and very fluffy, curly red hair.
Dick crosses his arms. “Plenty of people like robins.”
“Fine.” She huffs playfully right back. “Your eyes?”
“You were facing my back!”
“Your ring?”
“I’m not wearing my ring, Kori.”
“Er… your hair?”
“Well now you’re just guessing.”
Kori rolls her eyes and leans back onto the wall of The Bat Post, grinning, and a flash of memory—twelve years old and watching a Jester prance around the Hall of Kings—goes through him. “I could just tell it was you. You had this pull. Plus, the Batclan colors didn’t hurt.”
“You didn’t tell me you were the princess.” Richard accuses.
Her grin grows. “You didn’t tell me you were the prince.”
“That’s…” Definitely not something he can argue over? Yeah. “Your parents let you come here alone?”
“Yeah.” Kori shrugs, head tilting at him. “They trust me. I don’t see the Bat king here either.”
Richard’s cheeks grow darker with his embarrassment. “He doesn’t know.”
Her mouth drops open teasingly, faking a gasp. “He doesn’t know where his precious daughter is? How absurd!”
“You’re just as sardonic in person as you are in ink.” He observes, chin tilting up as she steps closer to him and then, out of everything she could do, she pokes his nose . He swats her away, and adds, “Unfortunately so.”
“Unfortunately!” She whisper-shouts, this time jabbing him in the cheek. “Take that back!”
“No.” He huffs, raising his nose ridiculously high in the air. “You’re sardonic, derisive, contemptuous and overly satirical. More so a jester than an upcoming king. A shooting star too close to the sun.”
“So says the boy who’s cold, more so a dungeon keep than a future king.”
Richard begins to think that he should feel more awkward than he does bickering with the would-be stranger. Meeting the girl he’s shared over a hundred letters with face to face is strange. When he thinks of her voice, it’s just scribbly letters he imagines instead.
Still, her laugh makes him want to laugh too.
And that’s about the best compliment the tight-lipped stoic-looking prince could give.
At sixteen, Richard went out on his first hunt with Robin, Jason and their father. He liked to believe that it didn’t matter that he had three heirs; they could hunt, and kill, and fight with swords instead of words. And if they got hurt, he could make more.
He liked to believe that he’d just want them to turn out distinctly Not Like Grandfather.
They rode out before the sun fully rose in the sky, on brown horses taller than them all—Richard loved his horse, a black Shire horse named Batarang, that prances right up to him whenever he gets near his stall, naying and eating sugar—and they split up, like the slaying was a competition of who could spill the most blood.
Richard went off to the highest hill he could find with Viscountess Gordon rolling her eyes at his false insistence they’ll find worthy game there and Marchioness Cain following behind them quietly. Everyone wants to be queen one day, he normally has girls pawing at him like cats.
His favor is not a prize to be won.
Girls try to compete anyway.
Being left alone with these ones, who act like a child she backhanded wrong (someone with a habitually bruised ego) and a quiet presence who would honestly rather be somewhere dancing is—in an odd way—a rather relaxing breath of fresh air.
Little fifteen Robin lead his own little hunt with their father’s guard and Earl Al Ghul beside him, obeying his every whim, confirming that yes Prince, you know the trail, you’re so good at this, you’re handsome, you’re doing everything right, you’re perfect, you’re everything to make him giggle, tuck black curls behind his ear, bat his eyelashes back and go thank you Sire, as long as you think , dangling himself like a prize to the man, daring him to reach out and take a bite.
“You’re too young for such things.” Richard had told him just the previous week, watching Robin smirk in Al Ghul’s direction when he sparred with his knights, acting like he’s showing off just for him.
“It’s all a game,” His brother replied, biting his lip. “You’re never too young to play.”
Meanwhile, Jason would be trailing behind, listening to the Duke’s son fumble with his words as he talks to their father—both being all but thirteen and feeling all too-small on their white steeds—as the king asked “Mister Harper, would you consider your son to be a complimentary bachelor?” despite the way his youngest son was wringing his hands, anxiety in his blue eyes.
When they unpacked to lay down for the night, Dick and Jay curled up in his thick sleeping bag, his little brother’s laid on top of the other; it was cold enough that they wore their hunting vests over their nightwear and kept their hoods down, pressing against their temple as they fought off shivers, backs facing each other.
The entire time, Richard wanted to turn over and face him, and ask him if they should pull Robin away from where he was sleeping beside the earl and into the safety of his brothers’ arms. He doesn’t. He never would. Their father made sure to let them all know that Robin wasn’t a boy, he was someone you point at people to strike. He was a weapon.
Weapons don’t need to be saved, especially not from themselves.
Hey Kori,
My youngest brother, Jay, told me that he’s sad. No one else in our family ever had a chance to be so unimportant in Father’s eyes other than him. He’s been excluded from a lot of things, and I don’t think Father tells him why. He just wants to be a family.
Father thinks it’s not the job of people like us to be loved.
I see the way Jay looks at me and Robin, ever since he was little, just full of wonder. He looks up to us, I can tell. That scares me. And I wish that I didn’t want to leave this place so badly, but I do. I wish to leave, but it would leave them behind. I wish it wasn’t this way, I wish, I wish.
I want Father to love us the way we need him to. I wish I understood him and Robin better. I want to feel safe, not just be told that I am — I don’t know what needs to be fixed but I’m sure that something is broken here. You said we sound dysfunctional in your last letter, what did you mean?
You’re loved by your parents, right, you’re loved? Am I?
My Nightwing,
I don’t know… but can you accept the love I can give you?
It will not be the kind that you are used to — neither of us will control the other, you will be safe. I will give you everything you will need, and even when I can’t, we will try together to create it. I need you to be safe. And loved. You are someone who is unforgettable, for this entire lifetime, and all the ones I will have after it, I will remember you.
You are loved.
Growing up, Richard was made to be under the impression that Batclan was the best, and all there should be. That the great House of Wayne was just that—great.
So when Kori wrote to him at sixteen, said let me show you something great and he wrote back the Lake? and got an owl that only gave him a scroll with a timestamp back, shaky letters that told him of her laughter, he was perplexed. What was great that wasn’t already within these walls?
Kori showed up in plain clothes and teased him relentlessly for dressing ‘ so proper, it’s weird’ until he asked Mister Pennyworth for a simple cloak to wear over his suit. She took him by the hand, grinning, bright green eyes alive.
“Have you ever eaten at Miss Martian’s?”
“Have what ?”
His confusion and her boisterous laughter was enough, once they arrived, the Starfire led him into a peasant’s market square and, through the crowd he was raised to sneer at, swings open the door to a little business that smelled heavenly sweet.
The closest thing that Richard had to compare it to was the sweets he remembers the head chef bringing their father for their birthdays, a sort of cake that he never got to actually have.
“Miss Martians,” She finally explains, having gone the entire chariot ride to the League chatting away about trees—her favorite scenic thing to draw this month so far. She’s an artist, kind of—with Knight Brown. “It’s the most amazing place to get any kind of food from. Especially mustard. The drinks, ‘specially the orange juice, are sub par.”
“If anything about it is sub par,” Dick reasons. “Why would we go there? We’re royalty. We don’t have to settle with sub par. We can be content with excellence”
“We go there for the experience, Wing,” Kori teases right back. “For the experience.”
Miss Martian gave them fifteen samples of different kinds of sweets for them to try, and Richard found delight in every single one, whereas Kori wasn’t so much a fan of strawberry flavored ones—preferring mustard . It amazed him how bitter people can prefer things.
“Try this one.” Kori says, causing him to gasp, then shriek as she smashes a piece of Devil’s Food into his face, half-missing his mouth, and even getting some frosting in his nose. “ Oops . Is that not proper for royals?”
Dick gapes at her, and then as a giggle is building in his throat, says “No worries. You should try this one too.” while grabbing a handful of cherry pudding—something his father would deem ghastly and horribly unprincelike—and throwing it right in her face.
In retaliation, Kori grabs the leftovers of the strawberry cake she took maybe a bite out of, and slams it down onto the top of his head. He reaches for the mustard and goat cheese cake, making her give a shrill “No! I’m in love with that!” and grabbing the bowl full of the orange meringue pie that he adored.
“Okay? And!”
“You wouldn’t dare.” She seethes.
He grins back, face a mess. “I would.”
And that cued the first food fight (out of many) that Richard Grayson Wayne would have against Kori Anders, causing Knight Brown to have something close to a heart attack when he saw the young prince skip back to the chariot—thinking he had gotten attacked in a cake shop rather than willingly fought a tall, annoying princess.
“Shall we get you cleaned up on the ride back?” He asks, voice shaking. His father knew how to put the fear of God herself into some people.
Dick nodded, and forced the smile wanting to claw its way onto his lips down. Once he’s within the castle walls, he’s no longer Nightwing, and the smile doesn’t come easy. “We shall. When we get there, knight, tell Mister Pennyworth to come and fetch me to get me cleaned before dinner.”
“Yes, sire.” The knight pauses, before letting a gentle smile fall onto his expression. “Did you have fun?”
He starts at the question, and lets the wildest of grins over take his features as he realizes how genuine the man in front of him is—paired with the most fun he’s had in his life with the Starfire heir.
“I did.”
The farther away he gets—from Batclan and all of it’s high stone walls and underground throne rooms—from overbearing father and stuffy suits people expected the Rich Prince to wear because of him—from being called the Rich Prince—from brothers and teachers, and prejudice—from all the mockery and the wolves in sheep’s clothing, the robins with all their sharp beaks—the further away he got from that kind of venom—the clearer everything becomes.
Kori takes him to the commons dressed not in yellow and dark green, silk or rich fabrics, but dressed disguised in simple lord-wear, lets him giggle and preen in front of clothes shops meant for someone distinctly Not Him, and they bought apples straight off the stands and ate them with bare teeth, something his father told him Never to Do for it was Below Them.
Richard changed clothes like how a snake sheds its skin and grows bigger—like if a snake became an entirely differently animal after it loses its skin—like it had all of its edges dulled—like its venom became non-toxic—like it couldn’t be called a snake anymore because all it knew how to do was hiss.
He pulled what Robin would call ‘rags’ over his shoulders, bought simple boots from Mister Pennyworth (paying his weight in gold to keep his secret) and thought, I’m learning .
And he was learning, slowly, surely.
There was a big part of him that wanted to desperately share what he’s learning with his brothers, to tell them—love is not supposed to hurt—love is soft—love is kind—father was wrong about love—father was wrong about it all—father was wrong—you are loved—but that would reveal his secret.
That would tear Kori away from him.
Richard would sacrifice almost everything for Robin and Jason. He was not one of them, and he never would be. They are all growing up (but still so terrifyingly young) and they will have to learn this for themselves. It is Robin he worries about the most, because his little brother doesn’t seem to care about love, just like father.
He cares about power.
The worst thing that Dick can imagine for either of his brothers is them turning out just like their father; unlovable, cruel, who cares more about power than others, that would rather everything wither up around him than pause to water the flowers himself.
At seventeen, Kori stutters and stumbles over every sentence, tripping over air enough that he takes her arm to stabilize her and then tripping both of them, cheeks flushed red, ears warm to the touch, which makes him pull them to the quiet market center.
There’s a little arbor with a bell hanging from it that he makes her sit down under—he isn’t willing to sit on the ground, not knowing how dirty it is and rather liking the cleanliness of his suits, but Kori has no problem with it—until she can think straight.
“I’m okay.” She says, bright green eyes looking up into his blue ones, a small smile on her face. “I’m okay, really.”
“Then what’s got you blabbing like this?”
Kori’s smile grows, worryingly so. “I’ve been thinking about something all week.”
“That’s all?” Dick asks, frowning. “Well what is it then?”
“Kissing you.”
“Koriand’r!” He gasps.
“ Richard! ” Kori mocks, hand flying dramatically to her heart. “May I?”
He takes a step back, and fits his side against the wall of the arbor. “May you what?”
“Kiss you, if you can stop looking scared enough and are willing.” She says, putting her chin on one hand that rests lazily against her knee. “We’re all alone, it’s late enough at night that only guards are around and you already paid them off to stay away from this part of the square. I was told that I should always ask. Is that not proper?”
Seething and embarrassing, furious and curious and everything in between, asks, “Do you really want just a kiss?”
“What else would I want?” She first asks this in a laugh, not thinking of this as a deep topic, but then notes how serious, how scared he looks, and asks again, more gently. She’s still taller than him, but they’ve both grown. He’s never considered it intimidating before. “What else do you think I want?”
“What women often want. My body or my crown.” His arms cross, and he thinks of himself as silly for a moment. Kori wasn’t like that—she wasn’t like that at all. “And you have a crown of your own, so… I-I know you’re not—you’re good. I… can I think for a moment?”
Taken aback, she doesn’t respond for a moment but when she does it’s a yes followed by of course .
This is the girl that sent her owl out on a random quest in hopes of making a friend.
This is the girl who picked him out of the crowd from the robin stamps he was buying—or his eyes—or his ring—or hair—or presence—alone.
This is the girl who bumps into his side when they’re walking only to catch at his elbow, grin and say, “It looks like you fell for me, Wing.” This is the girl who teases him for his suits in the same breath she’ll call him handsome in them. This is the girl who loves him. Who cares about him. Who he has thought about every single day since her first letter arrived.
He wants her, all of her.
Desperately so.
“Yes.” He says, seizing her up by the lapels of her dresses over jacket—making her yelp, and shift onto her knees to accommodate his pulling. “Yes, you can kiss me.”
“Wondrous!” Kori breathes, and presses her lips against his.
Dick would always want her love, in whatever way she was willing to give it to him.
They’ve taken to sharing pastries from Miss Martians—occasionally paying double for everything and then some when they had little spats involving food in places food should never be. Today, the Starfire Princess put a piece of frosting onto his nose, and let him smash a cupcake into her face; leading to a full-fledged food fight once again.
“Sour.” Kori says, messily licking a foaming piece of lemon meringue off of his cheek, making Dick squeal and dunk away from her, smearing chocolate frosting against his cloak. “Just the way I like it.”
“Sweet.” He uses his finger to spread cherry fudge against her jaw. “Just the way I like it.”
“I’ll get you back for that.” She threatens, standing to reach for the pudding. Dick squeals and stands in a rush, hands out defensively.
“No—Kori!” He scolds, and they circle around the table like children. “I don’t like pudding.”
“Since when? ”
“Since now!”
Wrist deep into a sickening mustard-garlic-vanilla pudding, Kori stares at him, seriousness lining her features, and says, “I don’t believe you.”
It makes him crack up, she absolutely loses all composure, hunches over himself, gripping the edge of his table and says “You—look—ridic-u-lous!” between large gasps of wheezing air and loud laugher, cheeks flushing with happiness, blue eyes crinkling.
Then the Starfire looks awestruck, mouth parting slightly, and it sobers him up pretty quick.
“What?”
“Nothing, I just—that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh.” She says, voice almost a whisper, like it’s a secret. “I’m just enjoying the moment, Nightwing, carry on.”
He huffs, embarrassed he laughed so loudly. It’s so stupidly improper. “I’m not going to laugh just because you think I ought to, Koriand’r.”
“Okay, Richard , but I’d appreciate it nonetheless.” Kori mocks him, swiping a piece of crust off of his chin. “I like your laugh.”
“Oh…” Now he was flushing for an entirely different reason. “Thank you.”
Her courtesy is deep enough to make him think that she’d tip over for a moment, dramatic as always. “You’re welcome, m’lord.”
“M’lord?” He scoffs. “I’m not a court fellow.”
Red eyebrows arch at him, giving him a very messy once-over. “All of a sudden, you want to treat you like the prestigious prince you are?”
“Well—no.”
“Then, relax, Wing,” She rolls her eyes. She’s eighteen and still twice as foolish (lovely) as just about anyone else that he’s ever met. It’s like she’s never been on Earth before. “Nobody’s questioning how important you are here.”
That, for reasons rather unknown to him, makes him feel like his entire life is on pause. Like all his lessons about which silverware to use are falling at his feet. Like he needs to be anywhere other than there. Then he remembers that she’s a royal too, she’s an heir—she knows propriety.
She’s just been given the ability to relax. To love.
Richard decides right then and there to take a page out of her book and relaxes back, teasing her, talking about sunsets—and how annoyed by trying to draw them with just a led pencil she is—and how she wants lemon-mustard cake at her wedding, and how he teasingly said if he’s there, he can’t promise her that her dress will stay clean.
At the end of the day, instead of Kom on his window sill, it’s Kori herself who presses a letter into his palm. She kisses each knuckle, bright green eyes glinting mischievously. “I know I don’t look it, Nightwing,” She says, standing up straight. “But I’m serious about this.”
“About what?” He asks, raising an eyebrow back at her.
Kori shrugs, grinning. “Just read the letter, Wing.”
“Mystery doesn’t suit you.”
“Ah, but it does suit you , Night.”
“Quiet, Kore.”
Her eyebrows wiggle at him, and she presses a kiss against the curve of his jaw, making him swat her away—turning back to meet his knight. He is content with what they have, most days, but he’d be lying if he said he never thought about having more .
Nightwing,
You are brave for wanting to leave your court with the way it is, leave your family.
You know the old maiden’s tale, how two silly teens run away together, crazy and in love, and it’s hard and they struggle, but they are everything the other needs? The livelier version of Romeo and Juliet. I don’t want to run away together. I want you to run to me.
Come here, meet my parents, realize what it takes to be this crazy (because we’re all a little crazy, aren’t we?) We’ll meet like normal, in the square, and I can sweep you away for the weekend. Please say yes.
Kori Anders,
Don’t confuse cowardice for bravery.
For the next two months, Richard refused to answer any letter that Kori sent. He didn’t meet her in the League, or in the entrance of the dungeon beside Mister Pennyworth. He took the letters that Kom had, gave her a treat and sent her back with a hyacinth alone in her capsule.
He was slowly watching Jason fall head over heels with the young duke, who bowed for him, took his hands and led him around the court. They looked perfect together. Proper. But once Dick stumbled upon them in the hall, and found him blushing a furious red, and Jay was smiling .
His brother did not smile.
Later that night, the three of them were sitting in Dick’s room, and Robin was sorting through his desk when he found the pile of letters, holding them up with a black eyebrow raised.
“Who are these from?” He demanded to know.
“Nobody important.” Dick lies, sighing out.
They didn’t keep secrets from each other.
And that was a lie, too.
“I’m an acquaintance of other royals, you know. I keep in contact with all the other court’s future kings and queens.” Without missing a beat Richard replies, but unlike Jason, he was never a good liar. Whatever he thinks shows on his face, and Robin knows how to pick his expressions apart. His dark eyes turn into a glare when he tries to open one of the letters only for Dick to grab them away from him. “They’re private .”
“If it’s professional,” His brother reasons. “Then it’s not private.”
Jason looks between them, hands wringing around one another. He stays quiet, like always, watching, waiting, observing. Silent. Always the happy one. Like how a good prince—not the crowned one, not the future king, just a prince—ought to be, according to their father.
Richard glares back. “There are things that you don’t need to know, Robbie.”
“It’s a girl, isn’t it?”
“It isn’t your business.”
Arms crossing, his brother rolls his eyes. “You should be going for a royal woman. Not a girl. A Batclan woman who will be fit to be queen. I don’t know what you think you’ll accomplish trying to woo someone in charge of their own court. She’ll never go for you. You’re a ruler . You need a woman who you can control, not one who’s worried about herself.”
The air catches in his throat, and Dick starts to worry.
“You sound disturbingly like Father.”
Robin points his chin in the air, and half-turns away from him. “Well one of us ought to.” With that, he turns away from his brother and stalks out of the room. Of course he saw the name on the letters. If anyone could steal the Starfire from him, it’d be Robin.
Scared of that information in his brother’s hand, he turns to Jason. “What do you think about this, Jay?”
“You’re going to be king. It’s good that you’re already reaching out and finding your place in the kingdom alongside other court rulers, whether it’s a girl or not.”
He doesn’t know why he asked, his little brother is not someone who holds an opinion (and he wouldn’t until after fifteen). He stays in the center, telling everyone they could be right. There’s always a way he could pacify someone with his words without ever distinctly agreeing that he’s on their side.
“Thanks.” Richard smiles, and pulls his quill out of the drawer that she puts Kori’s letters in. “Want me to show you more lettering skills?”
Jason nods pleasantly. “Please.”
Robin would never find someone who he could love unselfishly, without a secondary reasoning. Without worrying about Justice. Neither would their father, but they both would look for someone that wouldn’t wilt from their touch all their life—Richard would not.
That night, he writes Kori back.
Kori,
Promise me that you aren’t scared of me.
My Night,
Despite your name, you make my days worth living. You Bats are shy of it, but Starfire’s admit our love openly.
You make my knees shake. You have my heart pounding. I’m not scared of you, I’ve never been scared of you but I am not under the impression that knowing me has softened your edges. It is good that you’re sharp. One of us has to be. I want you to be mine regardless.
Your silence has worried me. I’m assuming you were just working it out in your mind (this is a good point for my ‘you’re an overthinker’ argument, I hope you know).
Meet me in the square, like normal? My parents want to meet you, if that’s alright.
My Brightest Star,
I’ll be wearing my best suit.
Wing,
So will I.
Kori swings their hands around as they walk through the square, bright green eyes catching in the light, her holding an apple that she cuts slices off for them to share. Somewhere in the crowd is her parents. He’s more nervous than he lets on, but she just grips his hand tight, walks slowly, and lets him take his time.
His suit is a light grey satin, adored in a dark blue lace that resembles feathers, and glittering gold. He is a Batclan. He is a robin. He will never pretend to be anything else.
“What if they don’t like me?” Richard asks, wanting to be sucked into the earth right about now. “Our courts aren’t exactly famous for getting along.”
“First of all, they know how to separate their duties to Starfire from their personal lives. Love and care is more important than any crown and secondly,” She bumps into his side, making him curse, flustered, before covering his mouth with a gloved hand. He really is frazzled today. “They already love you.”
Richard glares. “And why is that?”
“Probably because she talks more about you than anything else.” An amused voice says, them both turning to see a shorter, plump woman dressed in a nice but not too obviously elegant pale green dress. She has Kori’s eyes—or rather, she has hers.
The Starfire queen.
Immediately, Dick feels rightly intimidated and completely out of place. He feels that he looks like he’s trying too hard. That he’s acting mean. That he inherently isn’t good enough for Kori, and they’ll know that. It’s scary, so scary. It’s why he waited so long.
He was scared .
But Queen Anders just continues to joke around. “I would have never thought it’d be a prince such as yourself that my girl falls for. She’s always complaining about such ‘fancy’ clothes and boots and the likes, and yet she seems to adore everything about you.”
“And look at you dear,” Her husband motions over him, smiling, hazel eyes kind. “You’re quite elegant.”
Richard bows like he’s thirteen years old again—chin down, hands folded, feet pointed—and not about to be king just as the man in front of him is king. “Thank you, your highness.”
“You’re welcome,” To his surprise, King Anders bows right back. “Your majesty.”
Apparently there was just something about the Anders that made him absolutely unable to keep a straight and unflustered face, because here he was, burning red, and sputtering. He doesn’t know what else to say, other than beg please, please, let me have your daughter!
He’s assuming that that, however, wouldn’t be the best way to say I love her .
“I’m glad to finally meet you after all these years.” Queen Anders says, clasping her hands gleefully in front of her. “Kori has been going on about you since she was what, dear? Fifteen?”
“Mother,” Kori admonishes. “He doesn’t need to know all this.”
“No, no,” Richard waves her off, thankful for the information. “I like knowing this.”
“Oh good!” The older couple takes both of his arms, leading him away from their daughter who squawks out ‘hey, I’m still here!’ as they turn. “There is so much more to know…”
After a few hours of getting to know the Starfire royals, Richard can say that he is almost as in love with the family as a whole as much as he is in love with Kori. He wants to know them for his whole life. He adores that people have a couple like them at the head of their court.
And of course, Kori catches onto this.
“Good day?” She asks, to which he immediately nods. “So can I take you away for the weekend?”
“You were serious about me running away to you?” Dick asks, mind immediately spiraling to the worst case scenario.
“Absolutely.” Kori nods, like there’s no second thought about it.
This dissipates all of his worry (and reserve). “Then take me away, please.” He begs. “I’ll go home tonight, pack what I must, and meet you in the square tomorrow. Please? Batclan is… I am not their last heir. The House of Wayne can withstand losing me.”
Kori grins. Wide. She looks like the silver lining to all his father’s warnings. “Tomorrow, Richard Grayson Wayne, you will be mine.”
The Starfire council took him as the king without a fight.
He married in private, with just his friends—Wally and Lina, Queen Diana, a knight he’s gotten to know, Kon-El —family—Queen and King Anders, chairs that Kori insisted leaving open for his family, not because they were invited, but ‘for the feeling of it’—and him waiting for Kori at the end of an isle.
Dick slipped off that little ring, the one with the emeralds curving like a robin, the one with a red-orange butterfly—change—a good one—Kori’s doing—this green and gold King—and let him slip his wedding ring on his finger.
“I love you.” He said.
“I love you too, but if you keep talking out of place-” The priest hushes Kori, making the queen roll her eyes playfully. “That happens.”
Richard spent a year doing volunteer work and solving civil disputes, digging through peasant records and getting food for old widows whose sons were all training at Young Justice—trying to become the Knights of the land. He is not afraid of the things that take years to overcome.
The young Flash king, Wally, helps him with what it takes to be a king, a kind, caring, thoughtful king that will do good for his people, not the kind of king that his father tried to raise.
A good one.
As an act of goodwill, he gives Kom the address of Timothy Drake, one of his dearest friends whose family had been serving Titans for generations. Richard once again made a friend over a letter. There were no niceties. No fake conversations. Lots of insults passed between them.
Tim’s father is a knight that Dick remembers well, as are his stone-faced siblings. Apparently, they’re all blacksmiths, and Tim promised Dick that if he ever decides to ditch the crown and take up a sword, he’d be the one to make it.
“Sometimes, you do have to get mean though,” Tim tells him, over tea, his husband—Bernard Dowd—talking animatedly beside him to Kori—who she gets along with worryingly well, one being a man who works as a fae researcher for the League and the other being someone who at the moment is very much engaged drawing fae. “But in a way that’s for the greater good.”
“Because of my family,” Dick tends to speak openly about this. “I don’t know when mean isn’t mean enough, or too mean. When it turns to cruelty. I’m okay being tough for the greater good. I’m not okay doing bad things for the right reasons.”
Tim leans back with a shrug, their first child, a son named Jace (Jackson Conner), asleep on his shoulder. “Trial and error. That’s how I got to where I am.”
“That’s all it takes?” He really doubts this, honestly.
“Eh,” He shrugs, waking the infant. “Sometimes.”
These boys were raised not to be loved.
It was like there were three different worlds in front of them—these three sons of the Great House of Wayne.
Richard got messy some days, snuck out of the castle with the blue drapes of poster bed drawn shut, he dropped his shoulders and slouched like a stable-hand, he took the hand of a girl who wore crowns made of emerald and gold—and plain clothes in green and red—kissed her below bells that rang loud enough to daze him and pranced around the town square, saying we will be perfect together, and nobody will mind the mess we can make, nobody will tell us no, came home with his black hair blown into knots, a missed blotch of frosting on the corner of his jaw and slipped under his sapphire silk sheet with a sly smile on his face, thinking this is how a snake sheds its skin .
These boys were made for the war.
Robin went sharp most days, stayed prancing around the walls of Batclan, his personality—once flexible, malleable, in the hands of their father—went hard, a boy raised for an upcoming war, he was ruthless in his thoughts, all his words stung, he met with the earl in the garden to make their relationship seem real while whispering this is how our venom is going to taste to one another in the place of sweet nothings, Batclan was not a crown to won, it was his life.
These boys wanted to be safe.
Jason was elegant every day, he stepped quietly around the walls and gold fixtures, raised his chin and bowed to all the passing councilmen—court fellows—even to some knights—he only smiled for a boy who wore robes made of maroon and silk ties, and let him spin him around in empty rooms, brought him in front of their father with no plan, he made sure his hair looked perfect in place and stood there in the throne room, let the duke say please let me court him, I too am covered in feathers, I’m just like you — yes , their father said, so he only smiled in private, laughing rarely—elegant.
The day of his twentieth birthday, he was adorned with love and presents by the Anders, and Dick could just think about his own seventeen year old brother, newly indoctrinated as king-to-be and how their father would be hissing at his side, how terrifying that must be.
He thought about the Robin Wings—a pair of wing-like white gold and emerald cloak decorations passed down from king to king, traced back all the way to King Thomas himself, that clip on the shoulders of a cloak and hang down along the shoulder blades—and how today, he would have put them on for the first time.
He thought about how next year, they’d be glinting against the black hair of Robin, and how the earl would probably bow before him.
He thought about how lucky he is to never know the weight of them.
Finally, after everything and Richard obviously—and somewhat embarrassingly—holding back tears, he watches his wife get down on one knee like she’s proposing the way he had all those years ago and hand him a small jewelry box and a folded piece of paper—a letter.
Richard John Grayson Anders, it reads.
“This is… this is my little brother’s handwriting.” He says, voice dropping. He… he genuinely doesn’t believe this is happening. He never expected any of them to reach out to him again, rightly so. If father knew, he’d have his head. “Jason, this is from Jay.”
Kori smiles at him. “I know. Brown delivered it right to me.”
The cloak decoration inside of the box is a calm gold, twisting and hanging down in a single, handsome line of sapphire. It’s not small, but it’s not too flashy either. They’re… they look Batclan. They look like home. Like the room where he spent his whole childhood.
“It’s perfect.” Dick says, now seriously fighting off tears, blue eyes dropping back down to finish the letter. “‘ It is time you got your own set of wings .”
“Well,” Queen Anders says. “He’s right, you know. Every robin has to grow into them eventually.”
“Mother!” Kori scolds, laughing.
King Anders rubs Dick’s shoulder comfortingly, and he grabs his hand, squeezing it in thanks. “It’s okay. I… this is the best birthday I’ve had. Ever.”
Kori grins. “Ever?”
“Ever.” He confirms, and then he’s being spun around by a hold on his hips, yelping and then squealing as his wife refuses to let him stand peacefully. “Koriand’r Anders! This is too improper.”
“You’re the king,” She huffs back, but does indeed drop him back onto his soles. “Just declare that it’s the most proper thing of all, and it will be true.”
He glowers. “That isn’t how it works.”
“Works that way for me.”
“You’re a jester.”
“Yep, but I’m your jester.” She wiggles her red eyebrows teasingly at him. “You agreed to deal with me for the rest of your life.
Rolling his eyes, Richard leans in to press a kiss against Kori’s cheek. “Gladly so, my star. Gladly so.”
Lord Joker was born from a Batclan and a man from Gotham, not Justice, and he rose within power before anyone really knew what was happening. He didn’t think that Hogwarts should be a kingdom made of four courts, available for the public.
He thinks it should be a place for only the pure of blood—something Richard was sure that his father would be more than happy to hear. Richard would never let someone like that ridiculous lord affect him or harm him family.
Always, that would be true.
Still, he was always going to be a threat.
Many were leaving the entirety of Justice—Batclan, most often—and heading into his guild: a place in the middle of Gotham Siren Valley, a way point between Batclan and Super that was a No-Man zone out of safety. Apparently, he built a castle out there.
Dick wasn’t so much as shocked as he was disappointed when she heard the name Robin and Earl Ra’s were making for themselves, running off to the lord’s cult.
Dying young, he assumes. Reborn in another. Leaving it to Jason to pick up the crown after Robin.
Casualties of a fake war.
When Richard found out Kori was pregnant, three months before Tim and Bear’s second son—Raven II—would be born, he stayed in bed, thinking about how terrible of a thing someone like him having children would be.
His father had three sons—three snakes; robins—three venomous children—three wolves in sheep’s clothing—and none of them turned out what he hoped they would be. It was not the first time night and stars came together; it would not be the last.
Their child would rule Starfire, their child would need to be everything that his father tried to make Richard be.
“Mother’s gone to visit Wonder again, says Father can’t get enough of their sweets. Got permanent permission from the Prince’s to visit whenever they want.” Kori says, voice full of mirth, shouldering the door open to their room, freezing when she sees him on the bed, curled into a ball. “Dick?”
Richard didn't move, his head was sunken on the pillow, hands fisted against the top sheet. “My father’s worst fear was having useless children. Having a child that can't carry on the Royal line of Batclan quite like he did. Scared, because he had three sons and not one daughter.”
“Your father was too worried about the edges of a crown, my love,” She says, sitting on the edge of the bed, hand falling onto her side comfortingly. “She didn't worry enough about loving you.”
“You’re pregnant.”
Kori blinked at him for a single second before standing to her feet with a “What?” in a breathy tone. Richard can't repeat it, he stares at her blurrily. “I’m—that’s not a problem suddenly, is it?”
“I can't promise our baby safety. I can't promise that no Batclan will come get them, I can't promise... how do I make sure that they don't turn out like me? The things I've been through—I couldn't stand it if any of it happened to them.”
Kori rushes to him, kneels on the bed and cups his face in her hands as if she’s not supposed to be the fragile one right now, causing him to finally blink away his tears. “Night, I think it would be amazing if our child turned out just like you.”
“I want Starfire to be their future.”
“And if they prefer the court of the robin, if they want to learn about where their father is from?” Kori says, bright eyes shining. “We let them. We tell them about the secret passages and the view of the bottom of the lake from the throne room. We tell them everything great and majestic, and all of the bad things too. There's nothing about you I wouldn't want to pass on.”
“There isn’t?”
“Nope.” Kori chuckles a bit at his hopeful expression, a wry smile pulling at her lips as she crashes down on top of him, making a loud shriek-laugh fill the air. “But the kid better have my sense of humor!”
“As long as he doesn’t like mustard…”
Cue a gasp. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused!”
It felt like they should have still been little kids, his brothers holding his arms, scared, Richard’s chin pointed in the air.
I’ll protect you, he didn’t think it then, never said it, but he’s their big brother. It’s his duty. I’ll protect you, he didn’t move out from in front of them. I’ll protect you, he was the only one that talked back to father, deflecting his dark gaze away from Robin and Jay. I’ll protect you, she left.
On the bad days, Richard and Kori go out shopping.
He stayed in the black suits with blue lace—remembering what his wife says about how a snake can shed its skin like how a sheep sheds wool, but both stay the same animals at the end of the day—and puts on that polished cape decor his little brother bought him.
This is enough. He thought, squeezing Kori’s hand tighter. Change is good .
They break pastries together, smear frosting on their royal clothes that Kori still teases him about, and laugh until the guards remind them that it’s getting dark out and they ought to go home.
It’s one of these days, when Richard was feeling proud of his wife, growing round and full of joy, and worry, complimenting her on being such an amazing mother already, that it was almost not surprising when her water broke half way across the square.
Mar’i Richelle was born pink and screaming and furious and beautiful on a humid May afternoon, she had her mother’s bright eyes and pinched face. Dick was pacing outside of the bedroom for the full two hours Kori was in labor, yet when her lady in waiting went to fetch him as the midwife cleaned off the baby, he passed out (and she would never not tease him about this).
Within just a few months she’d start growing thick bunches of black hair with bright green eyes and a few months after that, she’d learn how to turn them red. When the bloodline of Anders and the House of Wayne merged it created magic. It transformed them into something more.
Richard’s daughter is a shape-shifter. A witch.
A queen.
They’re on the porch of their room, the baby in Dick’s arms—Kori exhausted and leaning heavily on his side, and if the weight is getting to him, he doesn’t show it—as the wind sweeps her face. There, around him, is more than his father told him he would ever have in life.
Then Mar’i was babbling, squawking, as close as she could to laughing at only a week old.
Both his parents looked down to find a butterfly crawling across her cheek—an orange and yellow and black creature that caught their attention immediately, before it took air again, circling around Dick’s head (while he open-jaw stared at it) before moving on.
Richard thought of the ring his ten year old self was handed, thought of change, of new beginnings, and found himself smiling, letting out a content sigh.
“What is it, my love?” Kori asks, head tilted at him.
“Nothing at all my star.” Just fate, is all. “Everything is exactly right.”
On Mar’i’s fourth birthday party, the Jester, Mister Greenlantern’s replacement, personally requested to make the Starfire Princess laugh and of course, they agreed. Their daughter’s laughter went shrill in the air, shrieking and bubbling, and she kicked her feet in the air as she watched the man throw gold powder in the air and dance atop a ball.
Mar’i shrieks as the Jester starts to throw lit torches in the air and catch them in a game of juggling, turning up to her parents, shouting, “Momma! Papa! Look at him, look at him! Can I try!”
“I see, darling! And if he lets you!” Kori leans into him, takes his hand gently, a teasing smile on her lips as she asks, “You’re not going to pass out, are you Wing?”
“Star,” He tsks playfully, blue eyes shining happily. “Of course not.”
She hums, shaking her head. “I’ve heard that before.”
“And you’ll hear it again. Maybe one day it will be true—I am feeling a bit lightheaded.”
She rolls her eyes. “Be quiet.”
“If you insist, my queen.”
Dick and Tim meet one another most Friday’s out in the Blue Beetle’s, where they drink tea while the kids prance around the League Market—all of them being quite the fan of Miss Martian’s, the two men having long-since made the agreement that if they get a sugar rush it’s their wives problems.
Bernard is friends with the workers at Blue’s from his days spent there completing research papers, and he brings them tea with ladles of sweet buttermilk, honey and a single cube of sugar. Kori loves to fall over herself throwing their daughter and the Drake boys—now Jace, RJ and Johnathan—in the air, giggling and loud, and scene-causing and improper but so, so full of love.
Their wives are not the women their fathers told them to marry. They have married them anyway.
They are loved.
Richard and Tim talk about his little cousin, Duke Heir Damian, making love-eyes at Jon, a young Super prince—love in war—about first kisses under town bells and with lake water pressing between lips like a third party, about the day a crown was placed on his head, about the days rings were slid up their fingers, the day that Mar’i’s eyes first turned gold and Jace released something close to magic with his first laugh, silver whispers of robins and tiny dragons filling the room with lights that showered down around them like confetti.
They told each other stories about the war and everything it was taking—frightened knights and dead brothers, and loved ones burned out of the family tree and the ones that kill, crying babies and staring young teens that know too much about pain, watching a sixteen year old crowned prince reduced to tears as he choses a star light over a snake scales; safety over familiarity.
There’s so many things life offers.
Richard wants them all.
Life goes on.
It goes on even when you don’t think it can, even when you don’t know if it should, or even if you don’t know if you want it to. It does. Sometimes you get to stand at the top of a hill—the top of the world—the top of everything, looking at it all, breathing out all the bad, curl around someone you love and sleep the day off.
Sometimes that’s all that it takes.
Life has this cruel way of prevailing that makes Richard shiver awake at night and kick off the sheets, laying there in the moonlight, just waiting for something to happen—then he has to close his eyes and sigh, let the night continue on. Life can wait for the morning, just as it always has.
Kori will be there beside him, for him to curl around, to press his cold face into her warm neck and breathe—just exist—just love. She will be there in the mornings, kissing him awake, their daughter will groan and toss and turn in the room across the hall when they go to wake her, knock the crown off her head, and grin with syrupy lips at breakfast, and life will go on.
Sometimes, things don’t end up the way that you were told it will, sometimes, things are completely different than how you imagined they should be. That’s okay. Sometimes things go right too, and the good—it doesn’t feel as heavy as the bad stuff, but it is. He promises.
Why else would Richard be here other than to experience it—all this bad, this good, this love ? That’s why everyone is here after all.
To experience .
There are days that he still expects the world to fall away, for the sky to fall down, for everything to collapse away—for it to be a dream. Nothing is as it should seem.
His wife pulls on robes of green and gold, and she takes his hand and walks him around the garden—this man of blue and green, this lord of Batclan, this child of the House of Wayne—and she smiles.
Mar’i, their beloved daughter, with her crown of emerald and gold, shrieks with laughter as she plays with the Starfire maidens, not caring about how her hair eyes—always changing with her emotions, turning gold on her good days and blue on her not—gets tearful.
Richard would always expect for the sky to fall down, for the high walls and underground paths of Batclan to be all that there is, to end up the king of the wrong kingdom, but the sky can always fall. He will be able to pick himself up after. Kori would be there. Their daughter would be there.
And it is enough.
As the story goes, life happens whether you want it to or not.
This time around, Richard was prepared for it.