Climbing fluidly onto his horse, Dick grinned back at Damian as they trotted from the stable. “You don’t like the name?” He asked playfully, eyeing the smaller horse. “I thought it was fitting. I was a fan of The Tales of Robin Hood as a boy, and that horse always struck me as a valiant character. So, ‘Robin’.”
The ride from the castle to the streets of the city wasn’t a long one, but with the crowds doubled due to the arrival of the vendors, the boys were forced to dismount early and walk to the center of town. Peddlers danced sales around the two as they made their way, waving brightly colored veils and fresh fruit in front of them, to which Dick was more than happy to converse about before declining. It was obvious the closer they got to the bazaar by the increase of foreign people and dialects. The center of town was alive with colors and people, decorated by at least a hundred carts with new and elaborate food and items.
“Wow.” Dick smiled, pulling through the crowd and getting a good look. “Where do we start?”
“Fairy tales should be taught to children only once, Grayson, and that is when they start shrieking for a tale before they head to sleep. I for one, never needed such things,” he muttered out as he kept his horse only behind Grayson’s by a pace or two. He wants to cover his head, shield his expression once again as they make their way out of the stable and toward the center of the city. Damian doesn’t like knowing that people were staring at him simply because he interests them. It was one thing to receive looks of annoyance or anger, perhaps even hurt from when he allows his tongue to give a scathing reply. But interests? It makes the apprentice edgy and the urge to move away. But this was going to be the norm for quite a bit and Damian chides himself for being bothered.
Once they dismounted and began walking, Damian kept himself next to the knight at all times, a darkening scowl on his lips even as his own interests begin perking up at the sight of a familiar fabric, a familiar dance, and the smell of spices. He refrains from moving faster, hoping to feign complete disinterest even as Damian finds his eyes flicking toward stalls with dark skin attendants much like his own. He lets Grayson talk to the fruit vendors first as he peruses what stalls were near them by his side. A dark green fabric, much like the color of one of the many birds scattered about Gotham during the day, makes him reach out to touch it. It’s soft and feels strangely warm. The merchant sends him a small wink once he lets go, moving to walk with Grayson as the knight declines a few more offers.
Strange. Different.
It felt like home.
The princeling shook his head inwardly before turning his attention onto Grayson. He shrugs before lifting a dark brow. “Do you wish to have something to eat before you attempt to buy things that you think would look nice decorated on the prince, Grayson?”
“If so, then we should start with the food stalls.”
Dick did a poor job of ignoring the boy’s quip about the Prince, but he recovered quickly, rolling his eyes and guiding them through the crowd. He kept a sure tab on how far Damian strayed from his hip, keeping him close as the masses swayed and circled around them. “I’m not just buying for the Prince, you know.” Dick smiled, glancing down at his apprentice. “And speaking of, it may do you some good to at least pretend you respect him when he’s around. He’s the King’s son, after all.”
Damian’s bias against Tim was tangible enough for even a blind man to sense it, the boy’s own royal blood clearly set to boil at the thought of bowing to another patriarch. Dick could only offer light scolding when Tim was around, unwillingly empathetic toward the runaway Prince’s situation.
The striking smell of food cooking distracted the knight from his lecture. He caught Damian’s eye and tipped his head in the direction of the vendor before following after the scent. Dick had already made two purchases by the time the boy joined him, grinning and extending a skewer his way. The baking stick was lanced with thick chunks of spiced meat, onions, peppers, and other fresh vegetables. Settling against a vacant wall near the stall, Dick crouched and looked out into the bazaar, blowing air against the still sizzling cuisine. “I often come here to test foreign weapons that are being shown. Maybe you’ll like that part more than the gift-buying.”
A quick glance, and an affectionate smile. “Blow on it first, it’s still hot.”
-His cheeks heat slightly at the sudden closeness of his companion, and the sweet smelling breath that was fanning across Tim’s face as Dick spoke— Of something important, no doubt, but all the heir could focus on were those lovely, pink lips and the too blue eyes watching him with such intensity. It didn’t take much more; years of holding back and resenting himself for feeling these things for a man that was raised to protect Tim, to work for Tim, finally broke the dam with the prospect that he may never meet this angel again.
Tim closed his eyes and leaned forward, their lips only brushing for a moment at first before the prince increased the pressure of the kiss, drawing his knight closer with delicate hands cupping his jaw and silky hair— It was like he always imagined it would be.-
-The gentle caress of the young Prince’s perfume was the first thing Dick really noticed, followed shortly by the careful stroke of his fingers, and finally the gentle pressure of his lips. At first, the exchange chased every ounce of stress from his body. He relaxed under the touch, leaning in and breathing deeply as his darkest, most resented fantasy unfolded in front of him. The Prince’s hands against his skin for longer than just a stray touch, his scent consuming and lips soft, and his body so close—
The stab of Dick’s conscience was like ice, freezing and tensing his muscles just as suddenly as they had wilted. There was a reason they were fantasies. The Prince was someone he was entrusted to by the King and Queen, people who had saved his life. The Prince was a child, an authority, something beautiful and completely off limits.
Pulling back and standing, the knight walked two steps away before he dared to turn and face Tim again, eyes trained on the ground in front of the boy rather than at his face. He couldn’t bring himself to look.-
Prince… Prince Tim, I.
-For a brief, fierce moment, Tim thinks that this is really happening; That Dick is pulling him closer and kissing him back, breathing him in and touching him like he’d always wanted him to— But that would be much too easy.
Instead, that dream is shattered after a moment of hesitation and he is being pushed away from, pulled and placed until Dick is looking at anything but him, with something that Tim could only describe as disgust in his eyes.
Something inside of the boy cracks and breaks, and it almost feels as though the world is spinning before he realizes that’s just his own head. A small, choked laugh escapes his lips and suddenly his lily white robes are the most interesting thing in the world.-
M-My apologies, I must have been swept up in the moment. You’ll have to forgive me.
-The harsh, hopeless laugh that escaped from the boy finally forced Dick into lifting his gaze, and as expected, he regretted it. The urge to embrace the smaller figure was overpowering, to wrap around him until the Prince finally felt like his. The thought alone shamed Dick enough to hold himself back, disgusted that he would let himself think that way about Tim—who was so cherished by everyone, who was a symbol. He had no right to host such greedy, impure thoughts.-
No, no, the fault is mine. I swayed you into acting. I severely apologize.
Dick seemed pleased by the boy’s disagreeable response, starting toward the stables and gesturing for him to follow. “Excellent. We can leave directly from here.”
The pair received a few wayward glances by the groups of trainees who had not yet vacated the area, which the knight promptly ignored. Damian’s arrival had caused the usual amount of gossip among Gotham’s citizens—nothing out of the ordinary, as his origin was only known to a select few. He was still a new face inside the royal palace, however, and the Commander had never expressed any kind of interest in taking on a disciple before Damian’s arrival. It was a highly respected, but considerable task to name an apprentice, as it entailed becoming both an instructor and guardian to the child well into his adult days.
And then, there was the young man’s attitude. He gave the King’s moody nature a run for its money, and spoke to several members of the royal cabinet with as much respect as a shop owner would show a thief. He seemed to be the only sharp tongue Dick tolerated; not that he dealt with disrespect often among his numbers, but he did maintain a strict sense of authority over lower ranks. However, around Damian, the knight acted like a goofy kid, poking fun at his stoic underling and disregarding his snide comments for teasing responses.
Reaching the royal stables, which were just as lavish as the rest of the palace, Dick grabbed his black and navy saddle and clicked his tongue, raising the attention of a large, grey-blue stallion in the back. His horse had been with him since he received it as 12th birthday present from the King, riding into every skirmish he’d ever fought in. It was scarred, but strong, with a black mane and deep eyes. He’d named it Nightwing.
“Do you want to ride together or separate?”
The looks from his ‘peers’ were immediately noted and then dismissed. Most of the boys his age were practicing in order to become an apprentice. Most likely, they all had a wish or two that concerned Grayson. Damian had overheard one or two once wish and state their goals to become as good as Gotham’s best knight or to work under his wing. Pathetic. No one even bothered wanting to become better than Grayson and those that secretly did obviously were only going to keep on dreaming. At the rate those of his age and even older were going, Damian was somewhat concerned about the war.
A soft sound made its way out of his lips, a mix between a sigh and a very rude scoff. Damian kept his eyes straight, head held high. Even if he was a traitor to his family and now working as just an apprentice rather than hold a high position as his royal blood demanded, he was no coward. Let them stare and let them speak. What does he care for rumors and petty little insults behind his back? He was good at sword fighting and even at archery. Hand to hand combat as as natural as breathing. If anyone wanted to test his skills, they can demand a duel themselves before him.
“You’re truly an idiot if you think I will be riding with you. Robin, come.”
The moment they entered the extravagant stable, Damian was tutting. It was one thing to make sure the horses were always well groomed and kept but to put so much gold into a stable was inefficient. Once he called for his own horse, a smaller stallion but stallion none the less, he came trotting down the aisle. Nightwing was large, a mix of grey and blue with a dark mane. Like his owner, Nightwing almost always seem to be quite joyful. Robin, on the other hand, was all black with freckles of grey on his sides. An equally black mane and tail swayed with each trot as Damian picked up his own saddle, placing the well worn dark red and brown leather on his horse. He made sure it was properly strapped in before climbing up and settling gracefully in one jump and tug.
“Still, what ever possessed you to name him Robin?”
Climbing fluidly onto his horse, Dick grinned back at Damian as they trotted from the stable. “You don’t like the name?” He asked playfully, eyeing the smaller horse. “I thought it was fitting. I was a fan of The Tales of Robin Hood as a boy, and that horse always struck me as a valiant character. So, ‘Robin’.”
The ride from the castle to the streets of the city wasn’t a long one, but with the crowds doubled due to the arrival of the vendors, the boys were forced to dismount early and walk to the center of town. Peddlers danced sales around the two as they made their way, waving brightly colored veils and fresh fruit in front of them, to which Dick was more than happy to converse about before declining. It was obvious the closer they got to the bazaar by the increase of foreign people and dialects. The center of town was alive with colors and people, decorated by at least a hundred carts with new and elaborate food and items.
“Wow.” Dick smiled, pulling through the crowd and getting a good look. “Where do we start?”
I.. I’m worried. About your leave.
-Pauses, then smiles reassuringly.- I’ve fought for your family before, my Prince… I’ll just be gone a little longer this time. Keep to your studies, and you won’t even notice my absence. -He hesitates, then reaches out and softly tucks Tim’s hair behind his ear.-
You’ll be cared for while we are away.
I-I know you can do it. I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll bring us honor and justice, but..
The thought of losing you—
-Looks a little surprised.- I’ll do everything in my power to return as many men as I can home, Prince. I would never take something this crucial lightly.
And you know… -Cups Tim’s face in his hands, forcing their eyes to meet.- You know that if it came down to that, I would happily give my life for the sake of the Kingdom, and your father, and you. It would be an honorable death.
-His cheeks heat slightly at the sudden closeness of his companion, and the sweet smelling breath that was fanning across Tim’s face as Dick spoke— Of something important, no doubt, but all the heir could focus on were those lovely, pink lips and the too blue eyes watching him with such intensity. It didn’t take much more; years of holding back and resenting himself for feeling these things for a man that was raised to protect Tim, to work for Tim, finally broke the dam with the prospect that he may never meet this angel again.
Tim closed his eyes and leaned forward, their lips only brushing for a moment at first before the prince increased the pressure of the kiss, drawing his knight closer with delicate hands cupping his jaw and silky hair— It was like he always imagined it would be.-
-The gentle caress of the young Prince’s perfume was the first thing Dick really noticed, followed shortly by the careful stroke of his fingers, and finally the gentle pressure of his lips. At first, the exchange chased every ounce of stress from his body. He relaxed under the touch, leaning in and breathing deeply as his darkest, most resented fantasy unfolded in front of him. The Prince’s hands against his skin for longer than just a stray touch, his scent consuming and lips soft, and his body so close—
The stab of Dick’s conscience was like ice, freezing and tensing his muscles just as suddenly as they had wilted. There was a reason they were fantasies. The Prince was someone he was entrusted to by the King and Queen, people who had saved his life. The Prince was a child, an authority, something beautiful and completely off limits.
Pulling back and standing, the knight walked two steps away before he dared to turn and face Tim again, eyes trained on the ground in front of the boy rather than at his face. He couldn’t bring himself to look.-
Prince… Prince Tim, I.
thelilyprince replied to your post: …Dick.
Come sit with me a while, please.Of course. -He smiles gently and removes the sword from his belt, setting it on a nearby table before approaching the Prince and taking a seat next to him.- What’s on your mind?
I.. I’m worried. About your leave.
-Pauses, then smiles reassuringly.- I’ve fought for your family before, my Prince… I’ll just be gone a little longer this time. Keep to your studies, and you won’t even notice my absence. -He hesitates, then reaches out and softly tucks Tim’s hair behind his ear.-
You’ll be cared for while we are away.
I-I know you can do it. I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll bring us honor and justice, but..
The thought of losing you—
-Looks a little surprised.- I’ll do everything in my power to return as many men as I can home, Prince. I would never take something this crucial lightly.
And you know… -Cups Tim’s face in his hands, forcing their eyes to meet.- You know that if it came down to that, I would happily give my life for the sake of the Kingdom, and your father, and you.
It would be an honorable death.
Come sit with me a while, please.Of course. -He smiles gently and removes the sword from his belt, setting it on a nearby table before approaching the Prince and taking a seat next to him.- What’s on your mind?
I.. I’m worried. About your leave.
-Pauses, then smiles reassuringly.- I’ve fought for your family before, my Prince… I’ll just be gone a little longer this time. Keep to your studies, and you won’t even notice my absence. -He hesitates, then reaches out and softly tucks Tim’s hair behind his ear.-
You’ll be cared for while we are away.
thelilyprince replied to your post: …Dick.
Come sit with me a while, please.
Of course. -He smiles gently and removes the sword from his belt, setting it on a nearby table before approaching the Prince and taking a seat next to him.- What’s on your mind?
Morning training started at 7am sharp and lasted until noon. There were four groups of twenty men today, a fair number, split along the outside wall of Gotham’s royal castle. They were waited on by four assigned Lieutenants, and briefly by the Commander himself, who made rounds throughout the rigorous, five hour training sessions. The soldiers still found time to goof off, of course, entertaining the admiration of curious children and flashing their swords at the local women when they passed by. Dick didn’t mind so much, and he let their brashness slide for the most part; however, on occasion, he enjoyed coaching particularly pompous soldiers-in-training. He would point out their mistakes by flawless demonstration, and give the cluster of girls they were trying to impress a florescent smile as he helped the now batteed rookie from the ground.
Today was a slow day in the way of training but an enthusiastic one none-the-less. The soldiers were all itching to explore the caravan that had arrived earlier in the week. It brought the promise of exotic food, inventions, clothing, and people, and Dick would by lying if he said he wasn’t a little antsy himself. Following the long hallway back to the courtyard where he left Damian, he scanned through the general populous to the back corner of the circular plaza. He wasn’t surprised when he finally spotted the boy; perched cynically against the far wall, willingly ostracized from the rest of the trainees, hood drawn up in an effort to cloak his features from the outside world.
Dick couldn’t help himself. He crossed the yard and slunk, uninvited, into the child’s ample space bubble. Reaching out with both hands and slipping the hood from his head, the knight arranged it neatly against his shoulders as he spoke. “Done with your morning services, I presume?” He asked non-seriously, a playful grin adorning his features. “I’ve already released the other three squads to a rest-day, but I have one last task for you.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Dick whistled for the Lieutenant in charge, instructing him to dismiss the last remaining group of soldiers. As the men dispersed in an uproar of excitement, he looked back at his apprentice. “I’d like you to come with me to the market. I haven’t been able to look yet, and I may need some help carrying purchases.” A goofy, childish smile. “That’s a direct instruction, by the way.”
To say that he had been distracted would be to sat a lie but if asked, Damian would not admit that he had simply allowed the other man to get into his space. He had grown somewhat fond enough of Grayson after the man had helped him in his crisis but his fondness only went so far. He tolerated some of the man’s actions while others simply made him want to bash the knight’s head into a few bricks. For example, being so overly protective and fond of Gotham’s frail prince.
But he was bias in such ways. Damian simply shook his head when his hood was pulled down only to be arranged neatly on his shoulders, black against dark green and brown. “What do you think, Grayson? Even if I weren’t, did you think I would tell you?” There was an urge to roll cobalt blue eyes at the rather ecstatic grin on the face far too close to Damian but he controlled himself, lips pulling into a small frown instead.
“The market? You mean to go with the rest of the buffoons to stare at the merchandise.” His words were less of an observation and more of a statement. Damian knew that Grayson would be interested in such things. The man was jolly enough for the whole army and always playful to boot. Damian had hoped he could escape to his room before Grayson asked but it seemed there would be a change of plans. The apprentice grumbled, arms crossing over the heavy cotton of his attire.
“T’ch. Make it quick, Grayson.”
Dick seemed pleased by the boy’s disagreeable response, starting toward the stables and gesturing for him to follow. “Excellent. We can leave directly from here.”
The pair received a few wayward glances by the groups of trainees who had not yet vacated the area, which the knight promptly ignored. Damian’s arrival had caused the usual amount of gossip among Gotham’s citizens—nothing out of the ordinary, as his origin was only known to a select few. He was still a new face inside the royal palace, however, and the Commander had never expressed any kind of interest in taking on a disciple before Damian’s arrival. It was a highly respected, but considerable task to name an apprentice, as it entailed becoming both an instructor and guardian to the child well into his adult days.
And then, there was the young man’s attitude. He gave the King’s moody nature a run for its money, and spoke to several members of the royal cabinet with as much respect as a shop owner would show a thief. He seemed to be the only sharp tongue Dick tolerated; not that he dealt with disrespect often among his numbers, but he did maintain a strict sense of authority over lower ranks. However, around Damian, the knight acted like a goofy kid, poking fun at his stoic underling and disregarding his snide comments for teasing responses.
Reaching the royal stables, which were just as lavish as the rest of the palace, Dick grabbed his black and navy saddle and clicked his tongue, raising the attention of a large, grey-blue stallion in the back. His horse had been with him since he received it as 12th birthday present from the King, riding into every skirmish he’d ever fought in. It was scarred, but strong, with a black mane and deep eyes. He’d named it Nightwing.
“Do you want to ride together or separate?”
