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"They want me to what?" Tim asks out loud, pacing around.
Bruce and a few members of the family are scattered around the library of Wayne Manor that overlooks the capital, discussing the matter of the petition over afternoon tea. Nobles are rarely easily satisfied, and though they cannot outright challenge the crowned prince, they can make things a little harder. They did: Eight of the oldest and wealthiest families in Gotham petitioned to the king with concerns that the kingdom would lose yet another generation of diplomatic and economic opportunities.
"This is all Bruce's fault," Dick says with a laugh. "He never got married so they're holding it over you, Timmy."
Bruce grunts. "I did well without it," he argues.
Besides him, Damian sips on a cup of tea. "They expect you to marry one of their children, Timothy," he says, "but it's not explicitly stated. You can have your pick of anyone."
"Isn't seventeen a bit young?" Duke asks curiously.
"Hmm, royalty and nobility are typically betrothed in childhood and a few even before conception. Alliances are important, and marriage is the strongest way to exchange wealth and power."
"Oh. Does this mean you have a fianceé then?"
Damian huffs. "Mother has always believed in the notion of love," he says. "She says I am free to wed whomever I wish."
Duke smiles. "Good. I'd be mad if she tries to marry you off just to secure a trade deal or something."
". . . I appreciate that, Duke."
"What about me?" Tim asks, a little offended. "The nobles want me married off."
Duke chuckles sheepishly. "I feel you, Tim, but what else can you do? At least you can choose whoever you want."
"I don't want this." Tim groans. "I've already been a part of this family and taking care of Gotham for three years. I'm doing fine. Gotham is fine. Honestly, this kingdom has never been better. They just want a foot in the door, thinking they can do what I did."
"Blackmail the king into letting you work?" Dick brings up with a cackle. "Nobody but you could do that. You can say no, but not yet. Give it some time. Pretend you tried and then present your case of not needing to be married to them. You're smart, Tim. You already have the argument written out."
"That may be the best course of action," Bruce speaks up. "Get you out of the public eye for a little. You'd need to leave Gotham. To show your efforts are genuine."
"Oh, that'll be rough. Gothamites are hard to handle. It'll be believable."
Tim rolls his eyes. "You're basically telling me to go on ‘vacation’ to ‘find’ a spouse."
They all nod their heads simultaneously, much to his chagrin.
"I have work. I can't just go," Tim counters. "I need to be here."
Bruce raises a brow. "Tim, I've been taking care of Gotham long before you came along, and I still have Lucius and Jim. I can handle a couple weeks."
"And I'll be here," Dick adds, raising a hand. He's been working the courts for over a decade. "And Damian and Duke." Who both nod again. "So don't worry your pretty little head off, Tim. We got this. Besides, a little break will be good for you. You work too much."
"I—"
"So it's decided then," Damian cuts in with a sharp smile, looking as if he's excited by the fact Tim will be gone. Fortunately, he isn't the same person he was a year ago so it can't be malicious. "Timothy will go on 'vacation' to 'find a spouse'. I'll have Pennyworth prepare for your travels myself.
"But wait, I nev—"
"We got this, Tim," Duke says with his seal of approval, and the matter is over.
He didn't know where to spend his "vacation" so Bruce suggested Metropolis, their neighboring kingdom where it's sunny more than half the year. It's Gotham's opposite from its vast farmlands to its mild weather to its people, and its protector sent from the stars who rules the land with kindness. And yet, both kingdoms share a strong bond tethered by fate—soulmates who'd transverse the universe—and friendship of the two kings.
Tim himself experienced little of Metropolis. Having lived in Gotham all his life, the dark and the shadows are safety and home. The openness, even in the cities, feels too exposing, like there is nothing to hold up the sky. He was offered to travel by carriage, but under the guide of a mere traveler, he took only a sack of clothes and food, a thick cloak, a small dagger, and a diligent mare.
A vacation should be relaxing, but relaxing makes Tim anxious and restless. Less comfort is better; it will keep the yearning for home strong.
Despite his hesitance to take the trip to the Metropolis City, Tim can see just how beautiful it is here, walking alongside fields of golden wheat and emerald grass. Patches of forest offer many bird songs, and the vast meadows burst with flowers laughing. The air is sweeter here, and the people friendly. They do not know he is a duke or the future king of Gotham, but they wave to him as he passes.
The first two nights, Tim camps. The night sky in Metropolis is familiar, like that of home, and he enjoys sleeping under the stars and moon that watch over his family too.
The third night, he intends to do the same, picking out a dense patch of tall grass. Metropolis is relatively safe from bandits, but being overly cautious has always worked out for him.
Once his mare is settled and he finishes setting up a fire pit, there is still some blue left in the day. He turns in early today because he's a bit behind in reading his physics textbook. (He wants to talk about it with Bruce once he returns.) With a bit of light left, he skims through a few chapters before cooking a nighttime meal.
But when he sits down, a breeze sweeps through, brushing the blades of grass. From the corner of his eyes, something bright and yellow stands in the distance. Curious, Tim puts his book down and steps out into the clearing beside him.
What he sees is a field of sunflowers, faces wide and thick, and they face to his right like loyal subjects. He's seen many fields like this since he entered Metropolis, but there's something about this one that is different.
"Krypto! Where are you, you big mutt!"
A blur rushes out of the sunflowers and straight at Tim. He ends up crashing onto the ground; a big, solid weight lands on top of him, taking his breath away.
"Oof!" Tim lets out, a little disoriented, before he manages a clearer look at whatever hit him.
It's a boy, around his age, with wavy black hair and eyes that are both blue and green. Tim is captured by those eyes—they shimmer like liquid, part jewel, part sky. They are the most beautiful he's ever seen, and Tim has met many of the most beautiful people in all of Gotham.
"Oh!" the boy shouts, scrambling to get off Tim. He's dressed like a farmer, his skin tanned from countless summers. "Sorry about that! Are you okay? Did anything break?"
Tim blinks, and he sits up. "Uh," he lets out, unsure what to say. He wants the other boy to get back on top of him, much to his embarrassment.
"Concussion," the boy concludes almost sadly. "Ma's gonna kill me."
"Uhm, I mean I'm fine," Tim says with a blush. "Just got surprised. Who's Krypto? A dog?"
The boy's smile is blinding. "My dog. He ran off, and I'm trying to get him back in time for dinner. Oh, I'm Conner Kent by the way. I live at the farm close by." Tim guessed right. "What about you? I've never seen you around before, and Smallville doesn't get a lot of visitors."
Smallville is one of the many towns in Metropolis that's unassuming and humble. Tim didn't know much about it until Bruce suggested it as one of his stops.
"I'm T— Robin," Tim answers, taking his eldest brother's old alias.
"Just Robin?"
"Yeah, I'm an orphan."
Conner frowns. "Oh. Sorry to hear that."
Wow, did he really just say that? "It's okay. I got better."
Conner blinks in shock. Tim cringes. Conner lets out a laugh.
"You got better," he repeats, doubling over. "You got a dark sense of humor. And you just so happen to be passing by Smallville?"
"Yes. Just traveling."
"Sure. Hey, you wanna stay the night? My grandparents love having people around."
"Uh—"
"Woof! Woof!"
"Krypto!"
A big, white dog runs out of the sunflowers, barking madly, and he doesn't stop, passing Tim and Conner with all the joys of life.
"Get back here, you!" the farmboy demands, but he's laughing and catching Tim by the hand. He starts chasing after the dog, pulling Tim along with him. "C'mon!"
And they're running through the field and into the sunflowers. Each of their faces are like stars, yet none is as gorgeous as Conner's. His manic laughter fills Tim's ears with the rustling of the wind, and the warmth of his hand burns like a hearth.
Tim thinks about how he'll have to go back for his mare and things because the decision to stay had already been made.
The crown prince stays that night. The Kents welcome Tim into their home with open arms. (The people of this kingdom must really be friendly, or lack a sense of fear.) They place an extra chair at the dinner table and put him up in Conner's room.
"Sleep up here," the farmboy says, scooting over in his bed. "Floor's not that comfortable."
Tim tries not to blush. "Aren't you being a bit too giving?" he asks. "We're still practically strangers."
Conner shrugs, smiling from under his covers. "You have a nice sound. It's soothing. It'll help me fall asleep."
A nice sound? Like his voice? That's the first time Tim has ever been told that. "Do you have trouble sleeping?" he asks.
"Not really. Sometimes. Do you?"
". . . Yeah."
"Then come here, Robin."
Tim hesitates for a second, but he slowly crawls up from the floor and under the covers. It's warm under here, and cozy. Conner is like a heater, and Tim, who runs cold, is grateful. Tim lays on his back while Conner is on his side.
The bed is a tad too small for two nearly grown men, but neither tries to make any more space between them. Tim thinks he can go to sleep like this every night, and the next morning, he thinks he can wake up like this every day.
So he stays, much to the Kents' delight. They love having more people around, and just this year, Conner's younger brother is missing the summer in Smallville.
"He's growing up," Conner says as they walk along the field of sunflowers where they first met. "He's going to inherit from my dad. Lots of responsibilities and stuff."
From what Tim has gathered over the last month, in the capital, the Kents are scholars of sorts, and in the fall, Conner will return to the city to continue his studies. With a quaint farm like this, the Kents are well-off enough to provide higher education which, with hard work and luck, may grant them higher status and titles in the future.
"Why aren't you inheriting?" Tim asks, careful to sound only inquisitive.
And Conner gives him a grin, boyish and playful. "You're an orphan, and I'm a bastard," he says. "Crafted by unloving science. People wouldn't want an abomination like me around. I'm just a spare. Everyone knows it. Besides, Jon takes after our dad. He'll be good for it."
"I want you, Kon," Tim blurts out. He can feel the blaze on his face, but he steps closer, their bodies just a breath away. "I'll follow you anywhere."
Conner lights up, and he smiles coyly, walking backwards into the field. "Then come here, my Robin," he whispers, like a siren.
And for many afternoons, they disappear among the sunflowers.
Soon, the tall fields in Smallville get cut down, harvested for the upcoming winter, and the land flattens. It's getting chillier here, but the farm, and Conner's bed, remain warm.
At the three month mark, Tim thinks it's time to go. He's nearly forgotten how he ended up here in the first place were it not for Oracle's constant messengers. They come weekly to check in on him, and Tim replies with vague but assuring details.
But then it truly is time to go. This message is not brought by birds but by Bats.
Tim notices the signs, and in the dead of night, Conner deep in sleep, he sneaks outside. Two tall figures stalk out of the shadow, one cloaked in red and the other pitch black.
"Hood. Bat," he greets with a smile, "it's good to see you. What are you doing in Metropolis?"
"Little brother," Cassandra greets back, giving Tim a hug.
Jason—face hidden under his thick crimson hood—grunts, arms crossed. "Been following Bane through the borders," he answers. "Since you're here, want to help us out?"
Tim frowns. He wants to stay, but this is his family. They work better together, and Bane is a ruthless crime lord.
"I'm supposed to greet the king," he says.
"Greet him after we take down Bane then," Jason replies. "Weird you're not jumping on a case." He glances at the farm. "Cushy place. Oh, you did find someone, didn't you?" he teases.
Tim huffs, brushing it off. "I'll go with you. It's time to return to Gotham."
"It's okay," Cassandra says softly. "To stay."
"It's fine. He'll . . . forgive me. Hopefully. I'll come back and introduce myself properly in time."
"Good." Jason points across the clearing. "We're going now. Get your stuff. Your horse?"
"In the barn."
Silently and swiftly, Tim sneaks back into the house, and what meager things he brought, he packs up. He ignores the guilt in his chest, and without a look back, without a second to linger, he rides off in the night as another Bat.
They encounter and capture Bane nearly three days later in a town half a day from the capital. Jason and Cassandra are on their way back to Gotham with their prisoner while Tim continues on his trip. He'll reach the palace late afternoon, and start for home after his siblings in the morning.
When he makes it to the grand gates of the capital, showing his royal sigil, he's escorted quietly to the palace. It shines bright in an already bright place, and Tim has to squint.
"Please be careful, Lord Timothy," a guard warns as he opens the door to the great hall. "Prince Kon-El is throwing a fit, and King Kal is doing terribly to placate him. We didn't get in a word of your arrival so perhaps your presence will do the trick."
Prince Kon-El . . . ?
The large oak doors open to a large, tall room with stained crystal walls to overlook the capital from dawn to dusk. A raven woman stands at the other side, arms crossed and head tilted back. By her side is a young boy around Damian's age, expression excited and eager.
Above them, two figures are floating, feet off the ground and capes billowing behind them.
"Kon, please," the king says, voice tired. "You could at least see Prince Dio-Van once before refusing him. It's only courtesy."
The prince scowls, swirling around his father. "No way," he says. "I told you, I've already found the one I want to marry."
"But you don't know his real name or his location. He might have left Metropolis already."
"I'll find him. I know his heartbeat."
"Then where is he? I would like to have a stern word with him. His behavior unbefitting of a suitor. Ma is sharpening Pa's hatchet as we speak."
"He's . . . He's right here?"
And Conner—no, Prince Kon-El—turns, blue-green eyes shooting straight to the doors where Tim stands, sweaty and half-exhausted. Everyone turns.
"You!" Conner shouts, pointing a finger. "You sneak! You could've left a note!"
"I—"
"That's the man who spent the summer with you and ran?" King Kal asks, disapproving, and he lands with Conner at his side. "It's been a long time since we last met, Tim, but I expected better from Bruce's family."
"Tim?" Conner repeats. "Kal, you know him?"
Queen Lois and Crown Prince Jon-El are behind them. "That is Duke Timothy Drake, Crown Prince of Gotham, Conner," she says. "You didn't keep up with your studies again."
Conner smiles sheepishly. "Got distracted. Summer was especially hot this year." He winks, and then remembers he's angry. "Wait, did you know who I was this whole time? Not fair!"
Both father and son give Tim a stern look. "What do you have to say about this!" they demand simultaneously.
Caught by surprise, Tim just blinks. It feels as if his journey has made it full circle, and he's right back where he started. It is exactly where he wants to be.
"Kon, will you marry me?"
"Yes!"
And they live happily ever after.