Chapter Text
Storm clouds brewed over the high peaks of the Bristol Valley, heavy and swollen with moisture, ready to send yet another torrential flood down the slopes. The storms just kept coming, despite the best efforts of the Royal Mage Corps. They were cursed clouds, the mages murmured, sent by the Fiend of the North to chip away at this last bastion of strength that stood between him and the rich Southlands.
Ominous though they might be, they paled in comparison to the nightmarish wall of murk and snow that inched closer each day to the boreal forests that lined the foothills of Bristol’s northernmost border. The storms were a prelude, meant to weaken and dishearten a proud people who traced their line back to the Dragons that once called these peaks home. Stories were told that they still did, that the Dragons only slumbered in the vast caverns that riddled the mountain range in a thousand year hibernation, waiting to be awoken by their one true king.
On a granite cliff overlooking the raging river, the white stone of the Aerie stood in stark contrast against the dark sky. The majestic castle had held back the forces of the North for a thousand years and more.
But now, the tides were turning. The Dragon King had fallen, leaving behind his queen and his only son to forge their way forward.
Inside the grand hall, Timothy Drake, the still-uncrowned King of Bristol, glared imperiously at his mother. Given the circumstances, it was all he could do.
“And what if I refuse?” he demanded.
Queen Janet rubbed a weary hand over her wrinkled brow. The death of King Jack had been difficult on all of them, but none more so than her with the loss of the one she’d bonded to for life. It would not be long before she passed into the shadows to walk beside her chosen consort once more. “Then you will break an alliance we desperately need. You know how difficult it was to even get this far. The battles we fought. It's just one night. We need Gotham if we’re to have any chance of surviving the nightmare bearing down on us.”
“I understand that,” Tim retorted, voice tight as he restrained his temper. There were many who said he was as implacable as stone, unmoving and uncaring, but his passions ran strong and deep, burning as bright as his fire.
“Then why are you this fired up, my son?” Janet leaned forward, her blue eyes gleaming with almost wicked intent. “It’s not like Darla will mind you sharing a bed with a man for a single night.”
The woman in question quietly demurred from where she stood in the shadows. “I understand the need,” Darla answered, taking a step forward into the gentle magelights that illuminated the room. The gleam on her black hair made it appear white, matching her pale, sensitive eyes that could hardly tolerate the light of day. “This is political and nothing more.”
Tim bit back a retort, swallowing hard to suppress the flames that wanted to erupt from his throat. It wouldn’t do any good flaring up around either of them — Mother would question his lack of control while his betrothed would question why he never roused like this around her. He cared for Darla, he truly did, but as Kon was fond of pointing out, she didn't excite him. Then again, his best friend also said he had an icicle up his ass and was already married to his sword.
Which made his next question all the more poignant. “But why must I lie with him? ”
Jason Wayne, son and current heir of Bruce Wayne, of the kingdom of Gotham. He was a prince in his own right, if a bit muddled by birth. But this did not deter from the fact that when they crossed swords, Tim was fighting with a warrior born who made his blood sing in ways no one else ever had.
It was annoying to say the least. Especially since it was expected for that to happen when, upon ascending the throne, he finally married Darla and placed his claiming mark on her throat. He was a dragon-born; his blood was supposed to quicken when in the presence of the one meant for him.
Not for a foreign prince who wasn't even of noble blood, if the rumors he'd heard were true.
Despite that, Tim respected the man. Prince Jason was honorable in his own way and passionate about defending the rights of his people, while zealously guarding their disputed border.
He also had a vested interest in this little shit show succeeding.
Prince Richard, the First Prince of Gotham, had gone missing in the same battle that killed King Jack. Soldiers from both Bristol and Gotham had told tales of seeing a large Fiend carrying someone wearing Prince Richard’s distinctive black and blue lacquered armor, vanishing into what they’d taken to calling the Winter Wall and the Forever Night behind it.
His wife, Princess Koriand’r of Tamaran, was already gathering forces to rescue him. She was a true warrior, honorable and fair, who had never taken part in the border skirmishes that plagued Bristol and Gotham—those same battles where Tim had crossed swords with Prince Jason and that damned wolf of his on multiple occasions.
But he was the enemy. It was Gotham that would not cease with the incursions into Bristol lands. It was their lawlessness and inability to properly govern that caused the constant raids in the first place.
“You're not expected to have sex with him, Timothy. And King Bruce was seriously injured in the same battle that took your father from us. He is unable to travel, otherwise you’d be lying with a middle-aged man,” Janet stated with an amused smile. “So be glad it’s a person near to your age. All you have to do is sleep beside Prince Jason as a sign of solidarity to honor the peace. A visible symbol of the trust we are placing in Gotham and Gotham in us.”
Tim bristled and Darla brushed his shoulder, trying to soothe him. “I'd love to know who worked that particular bit into the treaty,” he snarled.
“You can thank Kon-El for his hard work,” Janet replied. “The practice is apparently a Kandorian tradition that has cemented many alliances.”
The first thing Tim planned to do when he left this audience was find his best friend and punch him in the balls. There was no such tradition—he was willing to stake his claim to the Dragon Throne on it.
“Kon’s full of it, Mother. I bet he did this just because he knows how much it’ll piss me off.”
Janet’s aged hand curled around the edge of the Dragon Throne that was hers until Tim’s official coronation. “Be that as it may, it’s in the treaty, and King Bruce and I have both signed off on it. You will do this, Timothy. This House has never fallen and I refuse for your petty concerns to be the reason why it finally does.”
The rebuke stung and Tim squared his shoulders. “Fine then. When am I supposed to leave?”
“The Kandorian ambassador and his retinue will escort you and your honor guard to Cain Keep in the morning so I suggest you prepare yourself. Or perhaps spend some quality time with your betrothed. I would like to see a grandchild on the way sooner rather than later.”
The broad hint wasn’t lost on him and he took Darla’s arm, looping it in his own. “Come, my dear. I believe we’ve been dismissed.” To the queen, he said, “Good night, Mother. Will I see you in the morning?”
The rigidity Queen Janet had held herself with fell away and in that moment, Tim could see the weight that rested on her weary shoulders. It was a many-tiered burden, and one that he needed to assume as soon as possible. “I hope so, my son. I do hope so.”
With a bow, they left the hall through the family exit.
As the door closed behind them, Tim paused and looked back, still seeing his mother’s exhausted form. The sheer amount of will it took to resist the pull of the failing life bond was impressive and spoke to his mother’s strength, but even she could not resist it forever. “I don’t think she will be with us much longer,” he mused, sadness lacing his voice.
Darla pressed her face into his shoulder. “I see many things with these nearly blind eyes of mine and in no future do I find her standing beside you on your coronation day.”
The thought of being alone so soon pained him. He was inheriting a kingdom on the brink of ruination, bracketed by darkness and nightmares to the North and sworn enemies to the South. And yet, here he was, having to lie in bed with his enemy just so that his kingdom had a chance at survival.
It was painful to admit, even to himself, but Tim forced down his considerable pride and accepted what he had to do. The Dragons of Bristol would not fall, not while he still had breath and fire in his body.
He wrapped Darla in his arms, breathing in the fresh scent of her hair. She must have been outside recently and smelled like the wind. “At least you will be with me.”
Pale eyes gazed up at him and a sad smile crossed his betrothed’s lips.
But she didn’t say a word.
The passing storm left the skies over Gotham clean and fresh, a welcome change from the usual smudge of coal dust and burning wood.
It didn't matter one wit to Jason Wayne, Second Prince of Gotham. In fact, if it weren't for the fact the window was already opened, he'd have sent his fist flying through it.
“You can't be serious, Bruce,” he demanded, voice low and harsh.
From his sick-bed, the King of Gotham gave his son a level stare. “Does it look like I have a choice in the matter?”
The fresh splint on his leg meant travel of any sort was out of the question, let alone joining the mission Kori was planning to rescue Dick. The resident Healer, Pamela, had already issued strong admonishments that if Gotham wanted to keep her king, then Bruce needed to remain in bed for at least the next two ten-days. In these matters, her word was law and they both knew it.
Closing his eyes, Jason wished with all his might that Dick were here to deal with this bullshit.
A treaty with the Dragons of Bristol, the sworn enemy of the Wolves of Gotham. Who’d have thought he’d live to see such a thing?
However, even Jason could recognize the kingdoms faced a far greater foe than each other. If Bristol fell, then there was no telling what the Fiends of the North would do to the Southlands. As the first kingdom in their path, it was imperative to bolster Bristol's defenses now that their King was dead. Why Prince Timothy hadn’t been crowned yet, Jason wasn’t sure. The politics of the Dragons were far beyond his ken, but war? That was something he understood all too well.
The Winter Wall inched closer and closer to Bristol’s border, the hordes of the North using the blizzards and deep night created by the storms to raid and occasionally foray deeper into Bristol than they ever had before. Jason had seen the Wall for himself, had even ventured into it when he saw the Fiend drag Dick into the depths. But the swirling snow and darkness had forced him to retreat, the howling wind sounding like the Great Fiend’s mocking laughter with each step.
Even Steph hadn’t been able to follow the scent after a quarter mile. Whether it was magick that foiled her nose or the sheer ferocity of the wind, she still wasn’t sure.
And there was magick behind that Wall. So much magick that it made Jason’s skin crawl. While he had some talent in the craft, those powers were all focused inward, concealing the monster he truly was.
“I wish Dick were here,” Jason said quietly, turning back to the man he called Father and King. The man he owed his very life to. “I have no skill at diplomacy. You know as well as I do that Timothy will try to wrangle some promise out of me.”
Give the Dragon an inch and he’d take a mile. No one got under his skin the way the Ice Prick did. Stephanie came close, but only because she lived in his head.
“And don’t you forget it,” her voice whispered quietly. “I’ve told you more than once, the two of you should just mate and be done with it.”
“Hell will freeze over first.”
“If that Wall swallows Bristol, it’ll be knocking on our door. What is it that Roy says? Time to get your dick wet?”
Sometimes, Jason rued the day he bonded with the giant Dire Wolf.
“I do too,” Bruce replied, drawing Jason out of the mental conversation he had no chance of winning. “But you sell yourself short, son. Dick's skills with diplomacy lies with his ability to read a room and charm people. Yours lies with your talent for words and situational awareness. If anyone can find a way to gain some advantage here, it is you.”
“I'm not sure how.” Jason returned to the wing-backed chair beside the bed and sat down heavily. The chair creaked under his weight. Even without his armor, he was a large man, nearly a match for his Father, though they were not technically related by blood. “As far as I can see, if Bristol even crooks their finger, we have to come crawling.”
“They are hurting badly right now,” Bruce reminded him. “The battle that wounded me killed their King and per their laws, the Prince cannot officially claim his throne until he marries. Or claims his bride. From what I understand, there’s actual biting involved.”
Jason snickered at the revelation. “He’s got the teeth for it. I’ve seen them bared at me more than once.”
“They’re perfect for a good mating mark. I like his fangs. They remind me of yours.”
“You’re not helping.”
Still, he’d said more than once that the Ice Prick could use a good lay to melt the icicle that was wedged up his ass. While Jason would not deny Timothy’s prowess in battle—hells, he had the scars to prove it—the man completely drove him up the wall. He wasn’t sure what it was about the Dragon Prince, but each time they fought, his blood roared on a visceral level that left him aching for days afterward.
“I know.” A smile briefly graced Bruce's lips before he sombered. “But if my sources are at all correct, the Dragon Throne will soon be without their Queen too. The Dragons of Bristol bond for life, so when one dies, their partner soon follows.”
“Meaning that Jack’s death couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
Bruce nodded in agreement. “A young King fresh to his throne with what is undoubtedly the greatest incursion his kingdom has ever faced—that is something I would not wish on any ruler.”
Sighing, Jason leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, staring up at the moulding where the walls met the ceiling. It was uninspiring, as usual. “At any other time, I honestly don’t think I’d mind so much. That man is a pain in my left nut and has been since the moment we met.”
“Liar. You want to mate him. I know you do.”
“Will you shut the fuck up? I do not want to mate him.”
“Lying liar, pants on fire.”
“You need to stop hanging around Roy, I swear to the gods.”
“I think it’s because the two of you complement each other in many ways,” Bruce responded, “and it’s your damn pride and our long-standing feud that stops you from becoming friends.”
Jason jerked upright. “Excuse you, whose side are you even on? That’s our border I’ve spent the last five years defending.”
His father had the audacity to laugh. “And you’ve done a wonderful job of it. But it’s time to put the past aside and look to the future. Our lives, especially Dick’s, depends on you not throttling Timothy in his sleep.”
“Fine,” Jason huffed out with an exaggerated sigh. “But if he snores, then I’m doing us all a favor if I smother him.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll send a message to Cassandra and tell her to make sure there’s no pillows in the chamber she puts you in.”
“You could always send Damian. He’d love to be given something official to do.” Bruce’s actual blood son, bastard that he was, had a more legitimate claim to the throne than he or Dick did. They’d actually discussed stepping aside for him when the child came of age, assuming he’d matured somewhat by then.
“Timothy would eat him up and spit him right back out.”
Jason couldn’t deny that. It was part of the reason he wasn’t looking forward to this. Timothy’s tongue was as sharp as his sword. “I really have to share a bed with the Ice Prick?”
He had to check one last time.
“Yes,” Bruce said. “It’ll be good for morale, for the troops on both sides to see their leaders place that level of trust in each other. To be that open.”
“To be that vulnerable,” Jason added.
His father chuckled. “I have no doubt that if push came to shove, you’d win out over Prince Timothy.”
Jason had to agree and rolled his shoulders where the weight of his unseen wings were a constant presence. “Even with a lame wing, I can still fly a short way. Assuming the room we’re sharing has a window large enough for me to jump out of.”
“That’s something I can ask Cassandra to arrange. Just promise me you won’t do it until after you’ve given the troops a show.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?”