Chapter Text
Clark eyed the horizon ahead with a dubious look, taking in the dark clouds that blanketed their destination.
“I’m still not sure about this.” He muttered, making sure his words were just loud enough to be heard. Behind him, his mother sighed.
“Clark, for the last time. This trip is a necessity, and we will fulfill our duty. Now, please, cease complaining. It’s not becoming of a prince.” She lectured, not even bothering to glance out the window of the carriage to admonish him.
Clark absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over Ace’s reigns; eyes still locked on the gloom ahead.
“Majesties, we are now crossing the border into Gotham.” Captain Corporon announced, fronting the party of royals as they ambled down the main road into the kingdom of Gotham.
“Clark, remember the plan.” His father spoke up, finally looking up from the documents he had been pouring over for the entirety of the journey.
Clark sighed, and exchanged glances with Connor, who looked back with bemusement. “I recall.”
Unsatisfied, his father continued. “We will act as though Connor is the crown, and while that may be a large adjustment to you…”
“I will be fine.” Clark sighed exasperatedly. “I understand the importance of the deception.”
“Oh, I’m glad someone does,” Kara said, flanking the other side of the carriage, drawing gazes. “Because I don’t.”
Clark opened his mouth to explain it to her, but the court historian, and their newest addition to the royal household, Lady Lois Lane, spoke up instead. “The violent situation in Gotham has become a concern for us all. Krypton, and us by extension, are particularly vulnerable to this because we are their closest and most accessible neighbor, barring the province of Blüdhaven. We are extending a royal visit to King Bruce, as a show of support for his ascension to the throne, but in doing so risk our own safety even more. The King and Queen are very recognizable, and have done dealings in Gotham before, but should they come to harm, Prince Clark must evacuate and return to Krypton. This will be easier to do, if no one is aware of the real Prince. There’s less of a target on his back.”
“Thank you, Lois.” The Queen smiled, but Kara looked no more enlightened than she had moments ago.
“So…we’re painting the target on Connor’s back instead?” Kara frowned, and Clark grimaced. It was a crude plan, and she made a point. But it was necessary, nonetheless.
“I prefer to think of it as me getting to order Clark around for once.” Connor quipped, breaking the tension filling the open air.
“Don’t get used to it.” Clark brandished his pointer finger at Connor, glaring at him. Connor just grinned, baring his teeth.
A shout interrupted the moment, and the guards kicked into abrupt action, horses rearing as swords were drawn, and Clark flinched, pulling back on Ace’s bridle as he and the others were boxed in by their own soldiers closer to the carriage.
“What’s going on?” Clark shouted, hand dropping to his own sword hung at his waist.
One of the guards broke out of the formation, trotting forward a few paces before dismounting to glance in a nearby river. “I could have sworn I saw…” the guard began to say, but Captain Corporon shook his head, cutting the younger soldier off.
“Let me guess, a large reptilian creature, the size of a man?” Clark’s eyes widened at even the thought of such a thing, but Corporon didn’t even sound surprised.
The guard looked up at the officer in horror. “Yes.”
“That won’t be the only abnormal thing we see in this country, I fear. We just need to keep our heads about us.” Corporon assured, gesturing for the soldier to remount his horse. “We need to keep moving. We may have hours of daylight left, but it will get darker the closer we get to the city center. We’ll need all the light we can get.”
The royal procession continued, and Clark shivered as the clouds finally shadowed the party. Looking up, he squinted, trying to see the direction the cloud was moving, only to frown as he realized it wasn’t cloud at all.
It was smoke.
“Is something burning?” He asked, sniffing the air, but he picked up no scent on the wind.
“Those would be the factories. Gotham has more of them, mostly iron and tinctures, than any other kingdom on the continent. They manufacture more than most of our trade partners combined. The smokestacks never stop, hence the cloud cover.” Lois explained, and Clark made no effort to hide his disgust. He was far too used to the clean cities and open farmland of Krypton. Gotham felt like a whole new world to him, and he didn’t want to be here a second longer than he had to.
A large wall blocked off the main city, but outside, small homesteads stuck out against the grey marshland, the filthy water lapping gently against trash-littered banks. The occasional animal stood out against the bleak backdrop, but none of them paid the procession any mind. Clark closed his eyes, biting his tongue as outrage of the state of the country welled up inside him.
Finally coming up on the city walls, an assembled regiment of soldiers wearing the city’s crest greeted them at the trellis gate. Captain Corporon greeted one of them, dismounting to grasp arms with the officer in charge, and the two exchanged words as if they were old friends. Thinking upon it now, Clark observed that they probably were. It was not too long ago that regular communication between the kingdoms of Gotham and Krypton had been fostered, and Corporon had made this trip many times before.
And then the gate opened.
The carriage proceeded through, and the accompanying horses, Clark’s included, filed behind it. The road texture changed from dirt to cobblestone, and the metal shoes of the horses clopped against the stone, echoing off the nearby walls and buildings.
As his eyes adjusted to the ever-reducing light, Clark observed the surrounding city, noticing the elaborate stone and metalwork that decorated every building. Horrific creatures loomed off of the roofs and arches featured on every wall. Stained-glass windows stood neglected or shattered, covered by tarps and boards, only adding to the decrepit feel of the city.
People with ash-smeared faces and dour expressions crowded along the street, glancing curiously at the bright royal carriage, painted in golds, reds, and blues, which stuck out like a sore thumb against the dark backdrop of the run-down buildings. Some jeered at the sight, while others clapped, but most just stared. Clark stared back, looking at as many faces as he could, heart sinking as he recognized the labor-worn faces of too many minors.
“Lois, the factories. How many employ children?” He asked. Kara stiffened at his words, also noticing the youthful onlookers. Even Connor shifted in his saddle, uncomfortable with the thought. The three of them shared their outrage within their private thoughts.
“Up until King Bruce’s ascension, all of them. But he recently ruled that they had to stop, which was wildly unpopular. Most of the children needed work, and they turned to the crime rings when the factories turned them away.”
Clark’s mouth dropped open. “But they shouldn’t need to work. They should be in school, and enjoying their youth, and…”
“Hush.” Clark’s father snapped. “We are not here to pass judgment on our neighbors. Only support them. I don’t want to hear another word from anyone until we arrive at the castle.”
The court members ducked their heads, passing by the people in the requested silence until they passed through the elaborate metal gates ensconcing the castle. A large crest of a bat with bared fangs, its wings interwoven through a stylized W, adorned the gates, pressed into iron discs that gleamed despite no direct sunlight.
Outside the castle stood a well-dressed man, flanked by two others. Their own dress indicated different stations; one was a servant and the other a member of court. But it was the first man who drew all the attention, because this was King Bruce.
Clark’s eyes widened. He knew, prior to their journey, that he and King Bruce were similar in age. But he had imagined someone as dour and serious as the city itself, only to be confronted by…
…well, the most attractive man Clark has ever seen.
Bruce’s face was expressionless, but his features could have been sculpted from porcelain, framed by thick, dark hair that was neatly combed back. A long black cape draped elegantly over his broad shoulders, clasped over the front of his chest by a large piece of decorative plate armor, the bat insignia of the house replicated on the front. Stood like a statue, Bruce stared down the arriving royalty, standing patiently as the carriage came to a stop.
King Jor-El emerged from the carriage, extending his hand out to Bruce. “King Bruce, thank you for hosting me and my family in your home. We appreciate your hospitality. May I introduce my wife, Lara, and my son, Clark?”
Connor dismounted, and joined Clark’s parents in front of Bruce. Bruce nodded, and accepted Jor-El’s hand. “You are most welcome, King Jor-El, of Krypton. I understand this is your son’s first visit to my country?”
Connor nodded and made to speak, but Bruce turned to look directly at Clark. “Perhaps if he dismounted, I might show him some of it, sometime.”
Everyone froze, and Clark stared back at Bruce, horrified. Behind Bruce, the servant let out a slight sigh, as if familiar with this sort of behavior. King Jor-El frowned.
“Excuse me?”
“I understand your intent with the deception, but if you really wanted to sell it, you shouldn’t have had a lesser member of the court riding what is clearly the finest horse in your stable,” Bruce gestured to Ace, who seemed to whinny at the recognition. A purebred white stallion, Ace’s breeding was exceptional, and Clark took care of the horse’s maintenance himself. Connor winced, and glanced back at Clark, looking for a sign of what to do.
Clark just dismounted, and passed the reigns off to the nearest guard. The ruse was up, and they all knew it. “Well, given the jig is up, allow me to introduce myself then, properly.” Clark stepped forward, drawling with a charming smile. He came face to face with Bruce, respectfully bowing at the waist. “Your Majesty, I am Prince Clark of Krypton. And I would be delighted to see more of your beautiful country. Your company would be an added bonus.” The compliment towards Gotham sounded forced, so Clark had to think quickly to cover up the tone before the King took offense.
A smile toyed at Bruce’s lips, finally bringing some warmth to the man’s face, and Clark’s heart fluttered. His eyes sparkle like diamonds, he thought, quickly snapping himself out of the entranced stupor.
“Thank you, Connor. You may return to your station.” King Jor-El muttered, and Connor stepped back. Bruce glanced back towards the assembled guests, and gestured to the servant.
“Please allow my staff to bring your things in, and show you to your quarters. We shall meet for lunch in an hour, and make formal introductions, and please, let Alfred, my head of staff, know if you need anything.” Bruce nodded to the King and Queen and then turned away, walking back inside the castle, his other companion accompanying him inside. The black cape that cascaded off his shoulders twisted around gracefully with him, swaying in step with him as the king retreated back inside his home.
Clark turned back to his parents, with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll ask one more time, are you sure about this?”
Jor-El just sighed and shook his head. “No. But I fear it’s too late to back out now.”
The interior of Wayne Manor was as lavishly decorated as the outside, but just as dark and gloomy. Clark’s quarters were generously large, with antechambers for both Connor and Jimmy. The rooms had been recently aired out, but upon stepping over the threshold, Clark shivered at the cold void the room seemed to house.
No one had occupied these rooms in a long time.
“Perry, would you get a fire going?” Clark asked, removing his cape to hang on the stand in the corner. Perry, Clark’s personal servant, nodded, and beelined for the stone mantle adorning one wall. Connor appraised the room, stepping through it to explore.
“I can’t say much for the view.” Connor noted, peeking around the heavy, draped curtains.
Clark said nothing, still thinking of the brief interaction he’d had with King Bruce. “He figured it out so quickly.” Clark thought aloud, also shedding his belt and vest.
“Did you see your father’s face?” Connor snorted. “I thought he was going to declare war then and there.”
Clark huffed out a short exhale from his nose. “We’ll have to be extra careful from now on, though. What security we had hoped to gain from the deception is now lost.”
The humor drained out of Connor’s body, and Clark watched as his half-brother’s curious gaze out the window turned more critical. “That fence surrounds the entire castle. It seems as though that gate is the only way in or out.”
“I doubt that.” Perry spoke up, dusting his hands off on his pants, stepping away as a fresh fire blazed in the hearth. “If you’ll permit me, your Highness?”
Clark nodded, giving Perry permission to speak. “Wayne Manor is infamous for its secret passageways, and the cave system upon which it is built. While the house itself is indeed a fortress, there are many tales of the occupants having multiple exit routes available during times of peril.”
“Someone’s been spending too much time with our court historian.” Connor teased, and Perry flushed, ducking his head. Clark couldn’t blame him. Lady Lois was quiet pleasant company, unless you found yourself with an opinion opposing hers; in which case, she was the most fearsome conversationalist who would not let you leave the topic until you were thoroughly convinced she was right.
“It might be worth checking out, all the same,” Clark stated, shedding his riding boots finally. He stepped out onto the cold stone floor, the lack of heat seeping through his stockings. The movement made the hair on his arms and neck stand up straight. “Perry, now that you’re finished with that, will you help me dress for lunch?”
Connor continued to explore the rooms, settling in the guard’s antechamber, while Clark changed. Perry busied himself fussing with Clark’s clothes, producing his favorite tunic to pair with a baggy undershirt. The traditional red capelet of his house was also produced, along with Clark’s crown, which had been packed away for safe keeping.
Clark tore his eyes away from the clothes, trying to find something to focus on. They landed on a large portrait hung over the mantelpiece. The subjects of the painting were instantly recognizable: the late King Thomas and Queen Martha, former rulers of Gotham, and Bruce’s parents.
The story of their deaths was famous no matter where you went, Clark recalling the tale from his own history lessons. They were brutally struck down during a deranged attack within their own city walls, with no guards to protect them. The only witness, and the only survivor, was their son, the crown prince and heir to the throne. And then, said prince had disappeared. A conservancy was put in place, and a council appointed to rule in his stead, until the prince was old enough to rule.
And when the prince indeed did reach that age, he returned. But his first year on the throne did not go as well as many had hoped. In such a short time, King Bruce had become what was probably Gotham’s most unpopular ruler, upending the status quo of the city nearly overnight.
Overhauling the city guard into an institution of reasonable effectiveness, and unilaterally changing laws regarding labor and property had caused civil unrest that plunged the already-dark city into a pit of violence. Many citizens found themselves without jobs or places to squat, forcing them to resort to unscrupulous means to survive, despite King Bruce's efforts to counteract that. Affordable housing and tax-funded boarding schools cropped up around the city, offering opportunities for those without housing and jobs, but still, the crime rings ruled with an iron fist, having thrived under the failing conservancy of the city’s Council.
Much work was still left to be done if Bruce wanted to return Gotham back to the state it was prior to his parents’ deaths, which Clark thought to be an admirable goal, if not an impossible one. Impossible, because of the low chance that Bruce would ever survive to see it.
According to their reports, there had been multiple attempts on the young King’s life since the start of his reign and the violence hadn’t ended there. Attacks on his court, murders and the like in the streets. Robberies along the roads had brought trade to a halt, and travelers refused to use Gotham’s roads.
Clark mused on all this as Perry tugged the garments into place, until he was satisfied with Clark’s presentation. “You’re ready, your Highness.”
As if on cue, a sharp knock on the door interrupted the silence, and Connor emerged from the antechamber to answer it. The servant from earlier stood outside.
“His Majesty has asked me to escort you to the dining room. If you would follow me…?” The servant gestured, and Clark smiled, nodding politely, following the servant out to what Clark hoped would be a most promising meal indeed.