Chapter Text
"I'm not sure that's something we need to-"
A sudden shout from the hall interrupted the king of Centrealea. Barry, along with most of the other royals present, immediately reached for his sword. Bruce, their host and the owner of the castle, did the same. The king of Gotham didn't make such a show of it, sliding a dagger into his hand without much movement instead.
The voices outside drew nearer. Thundering footsteps, probably from the guards chasing whoever it was that dared enter the Watchtower fortress - but apparently unsuccessfully so.
Tension build in the room as the seconds ticked by, each accompanied by the noise outside the heavy oak door. Several people stood up, weapons at the ready.
There was a loud bang, and the door bounced off the wall with how forcefully it'd been thrown open. In the threshold stood a young boy. Panting heavily, he made eye contact with none other than King Wayne himself. "My King," he gasped out, "I- He said he would- There's-" He stuttered. The swords dipped.
The guards finally caught up to the probably-not-actually-intruder, but before they could do anything Bruce raised his hand to stop them in their tracks. "What happened," he demanded, voice icy as ever.
"A letter," the young man gasped out, shaking and pale from more than the exhaustion, "From the border - from… from across the dessert."
Once more, the tension in the air shifted. If Princess Diana (of Themyscira) were to draw her sword, surely she could have cut through it.
The King of Gotham motioned for the guards to deliver the parchment in the young man's hand to him. Carefully, almost as though it was a bomb, the chief guard took the fragile thing and handed it off to the royal.
"Thank you, James," he absently muttered as he inspected the glowing green seal. Sealed with magic, he noted. It seemed to be authentic, then. Carefully, he used the dagger still in his hand to cut it open. Inside of it was a few lines, written in blue ink that bathed his face in its icy glow. Everliane ink, he distantly noted, a magic ink that protected the scripture from being changed even by magic. It was only found within the Infinite Lands, and Bruce had only seen it once before. Bulky letters with splatters of ink where the feather had scratched too heavily against the parchment in some of the curves, he noted, nothing like the careful and curled letters of the nobles within the alliance.
'Dear King of Gotham and Guests,' it read, 'It is with deepest respect that I wish to extend my greetings from you. As you read this letter, I and a small number of my liegemen are waiting at the border. First and foremost I wish to assure you that none of us will cross it before your reply.'
Bruce's eyebrows drew together in anxious unrest. Was that a threat? They'd worded it carefully, the threat was veiled just enough to be denied should they call it out - yet thinly enough to be unmistakable. Crafty. And foreboding…
'The reason for my arrival at the border is what happened with our former High Chief, Pariah Dark. I assume you remember the tragedy that happened many seasons ago. It cost both of us so much when the last High Chief made his foolish decision. You should be glad to hear that he has been punished for what he did and has been replaced. And I can assure you that I, as the new High Chief, do not intend to repeat the mistakes my predecessor has made.'
Ah. Definitely a threat, then. Would they need to prepare for war again? Would there be a repeat of last time? Or was there any chance to avoid a repeat of that awful fate they'd been helpless against back then?
The last siege - How could anyone ever forget that travesty? - had resulted in the continent lit up with inextinguishable flames and full of undead soldiers. It had only ended when the Infinite Lands themselves had rebelled against the High Chief's dictatorship and caged him. It'd been just five years since, and the continent had only began to heal from it.
The news of a young warrior, blessed by most of the so called 'gods' the barbarians worshiped, defeating the tyrant as he broke out of his prison and taking over the bloodied throne had come just half a year ago. The entire continent and the League in particular had tensed at the news - but the new High Chief had seemed to ignore the lands beyond his reign. How foolish of them, to think that meant he would continue to leave them alone. How foolish of Bruce himself, who was supposed to be prepared for these kinds of things.
Gripping the parchment tighter, he kept reading.
'It is my heartfelt wish to heal the wounds that he has left. I hear that you are a wise king. Don't you agree, then, that peace would be much better than to continue this useless feud? King of Gotham, I sincerely hope that you and some of your current guests will come to the border and meet me and the chiefs in my company. We wish to talk, and to mend the wounds caused by Pariah Dark.'
Bruce swallowed. That was it! A way out. A way to avoid another siege. Was it a trap? A way to gain justification this time, perhaps? It was probable. Likely, even. But as long as they held on to the guise of diplomacy there was a way to turn the tables and end this with a peace treaty. No matter how fragile that peace would be, it would be better than another war so soon. Bruce would have a chance to do what he'd failed to do before and prepare. Should the war inevitably arrive, he would not be left without contingencies like now. First, he would send his kids far away.
There was a way, and he was willing to take it. There would not be a repeat of last time. He wouldn't let there be.
'I hope for good news, your majesty. We will wait here.
With sincerest regards, D. Phantom, High Chief of the Infinite Realms, King of the Zone of Death, Child blessed by the Cursed Lands, Duke of Emberton, Prince of Night'
For a moment, Bruce just stared at the letter. Then, he carefully placed the item down, just in case there was more magic to it than he had realized. Mouth drawn into a thin line, the King hurried out of the hall. Behind him, he could hear uneasy murmurs. Surely some of the other royals would read the letter he left behind. He wouldn't blame them.
"Bruce!"
Ignoring the voice of his best friend, the King kept his brisk pace towards the tower this fortress was named after. First of all, he would have to check. Just to make sure that it actually was the High Chief who'd sent the letter - and that he actually was waiting outside his borders for a reply. There was always a chance it was a trick from another country.
"Bruce, what happened?" Clark managed to catch up to him, hand on his shoulder in a futile attempt to calm him. Bruce couldn't be calmed, though. Not when this was what it was about. Not with everything that was on the line. His kingdom, his friends, his family - nothing would calm him as long as he didn't know them safe.
When he only shrugged off Clark's hand, the other royal sighed but didn't make a second attempt at physical touch. "Bruce. Bruce, talk to me!"
"B?"
Suddenly, Bruce forgot how to move. His muscles locked the very second he heard his daughter's voice. Why was she here? Weren't her and her siblings supposed to be in the castle in Bristol under Alfred's care? The only one who wasn't supposed to be in the capital at the moment was his oldest, and Bruce knew Dick to be in Blüdhaven where he took care of his own domain.
So then, why was Steph here?
Seemingly aware of his unspoken question, the princess answered it as he walked over. "I was delivering some reports to Gordon, you forgot them at home. But… What's wrong? Why are you so concerned?"
"Concerned?" he heard Clark's confused whisper beside him, "I thought he was angry."
Ignoring his friend once more, Bruce turned to look at his little girl. Steph's brown eyes were narrowed in concern as they made contact with his own baby blue ones. Her hair looked a bit disheveled. She wore her armor, though she was missing her helmet, but other than Jason most of them didn't wear that if not need be. She was also wearing pants instead of a skirt. Normally, this wouldn't matter, but the last thing he needed was for his girl to insult the High Chief by wearing pants.
Bruce's heart ached to see his daughter so close to danger, but the armor on her body calmed him some. So he managed to shake himself out of his stupor.
"Go home," he demanded. To the ears of his daughter, the words probably sounded more like the plea they were, however.
The way her face hardened was telling of as much as she shook her head and crossed her arms defiantly. "Tell me what's going on. Something happened - what is it?"
"A letter," Clark betrayed Bruce before he managed to come up with a lie or half truth that could protect his daughter, "from the border. He won't talk to me, but, well… The soldier said it was from beyond the desert."
Steph shuddered at the mention, but her gaze hardened further. "Is it confirmed?" All Bruce could do was shake his head. Steph nodded. "What are we waiting for, then?"
Before Bruce could stop her, Steph had already resumed Bruce's path. It was Bruce this time who hurried to keep up. Wordlessly, the three of them ascended the stairs. Under different circumstances, if the stakes weren't so dire, Bruce would have made a comment about Clark's bad stamina when the man was out of breath not even halfway up. As it were, he could only worry about what that would mean if it should come to a war…
No. It wouldn't. There would be no war.
"You should go home," he told his daughter againn.
"No."
"I wasn't asking, Stephanie."
He got a raised eyebrow and a glare for his troubles. "Nor was I, actually. I'm staying."
Bruce wouldn't allow a war to happen, especially not now that his daughter was here. He couldn't let anything happen to her again...