Title: Purity Through Fire
Summary: A prince seeks advice about asking for his beloved's hand in marriage. This is not as simple as it sounds, really. AU, slight crossover one-shot.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I just like to use them a lot. I make no money from this, obviously, or I don't really think I'd be here…well, that's a lie. I'm addicted to this stuff.
Warnings: AU, based loosely on RMMB's fics—the lighter ones—even if this is technically way out of right field. I like her version of the brothers actually knowing who they are and this was a good exercise.
Dedication: To Rose Midnight Moonlight Black, for feeding my Dee Dee addictions and supporting me in the Batman Beyond crossover sections. I feel enormously grateful for the last fic she wrote, so this is my way of saying THANK YOU SO FREAKING MUCH for going out on a limb.

Okay, small word here: It should be noted that above this was dubbed as AU. And this is a fantasy one-shot for a reason. And I mean fantasy in the way that Lord of the Rings and Merlin was grown. Also, it should be noted that even though this is crossing with Batman Beyond, since this is AU, most of the adults—Bruce, Harley, basically everyone who was very old in the cartoon and not, well, previously in the super hero business—are well under sixty. Let's assume for this one-shot's purpose that Bruce had adopted his kids in his early twenties and (while I'm on this subject) the Deed's are Joker and Harley's daughters rather than grandchildren.

Okay, on with the fic… (rolls over and dies) …

The fire that had been serving diligently to cook their food gave a little sputter as Damian added another log to aid the flickering yellow and orange spectacle.

Their horses stood fifteen feet away eating the fresh grass recently sprung up because of last week's rainfall they were stuck in previously while hunting a thief for quite the bounty that Jason—or Sir Jason as he had recently been christened by their father the king—had sent them on since he knew that they were broke and too proud to ask their father or, God forbid, their older brothers for help. Damian's large, archaic black stallion was busy eating some strange yellow flowers and his figure dwarfed Terry's lean, but gorgeous black mare, which happily ate the simple grass, ignoring everything around her.

They had set their armor aside to dry from an earlier downpour, and were wearing nothing but their simple grey tunic shirts and trousers each.

"….and then, he ended up attending to every ewe that went into labor that month!"

Terry snickered at the image Damian helped him put together in his head. True, it was not nice at all to laugh at the expense of something that had happened to his elder brother Tim when Damian was two heads shorter than the man, but for all the world, Terry couldn't help it. Who was dumb enough to piss off Alfred? Even their father was not so stupid as to so much as irritate the chief of the palace staff.

Regaining his breath, Terry lifted the stick that was holding his meat up and turned it counter clockwise, the part that had already been cooked appearing beautifully tan and black. A wonderful look to a pair of young princes that had to hunt an hour for a stupid boar to eat.

Both were silent a moment, taking in the night sky and its billions of stars. Being out in the country, a day's ride still from the kingdom, made them contemplative and near friendly near one another, a way that they generally were not around their servants, friends, lovers and brothers. A nice change.

After another long stretching moment, Terry looked across at his brother, suddenly nervous. He continued to turn his meat on the spit, but didn't notice as it caught a light flicker of flame, growing larger with the slickness coming out of the meat. He only noticed, truthfully, when the fire near burnt his fingers and Damian gave him that annoying look he always did when he knew something that Terry was trying to keep to himself.

Lord, Terry hated the mind games that their family all seemed to enjoy so much.

"Hey, uh, Dami," Terry finally spoke up, rubbing his hands together near the flames so keep them from fidgeting horribly, like a little child, "I have something I need to ask you. But, promise you won't laugh."

Damian smiled, condescending, but a smile none the less, "You know those never work out, but I promise I won't laugh for a prolonged period of time. No more than an hour if it's particularly at your expense."

"Jerk," Terry spat into the fire, a little spark springing up into the air for a moment, "I'm serious! It's important! So important that if I don't ask for help, I just know I'll screw up really huge, which is something I cannot afford! So, are you going to take me seriously?"

"Alright, alright," Damian scoffed, waving his hand so the younger man would get on with it, while also looking over his meat and taking a tentative bite, "What's so important?"

"I… Well, you know how I have been courting the Lady Dana for the upper part of three years now?"

"Who could forget, half of the court thought you'd have proposed by now."

"…That's kinda the point of this conversation," Terry groaned, "I want to do it once we get back—but I have no idea how!"

At this exclamation, Terry's mare brayed at Damian's horse over being interrupted in eating a cluster of clovers, breaking what would have been an awkward moment for the young prince. Or, at least smoothing it out so that when Terry looked back over at Damian, the man was biting back into his meat, a sort of amused look along the lining of his eyes, but also all-knowing.

"I don't see why not," the man finally spoke after swallowing the meat as well as wiping his mouth with the red silk handkerchief bestowed upon all of the brothers by Alfred whenever they went off on knightly duties, preaching about etiquette and propriety every time, "You have more hench wenches than even father. One would think they'd be able to give a thought about how all women want to be proposed to."

Blue eyes squinted irately at equal blue, Terry's own teeth sinking into his food only to be quickly downed as he snapped, "They're not wenches! They're all ladies of the court with integrity and feelings! And anyway, none of them are particularly…like that."

Damian added some pepper from his sack onto his food, absently eyeing his horse as the great beast trampled away from Terry's mare, but he also stayed focused (though only just so) on Terry, "Melanie is the only one out of your female friends to even fit that description. But, even if what you say is true, they are all far better to grant you advice on this than I. I'm not even interested in marriage, how would I know what to do?"

"Mm," Terry chewed over this for a second, ignoring the sounds of both of their horse jumping into the river with his next words, "Good point."

The two towers that stood monumentally against the sky and could been seen even miles from the town that circled the actual castle like clustering ants around a grasshopper figurine, cast a shadow down upon the road that lead up to the palace and directly upon the two brothers as they made their way up the well worn and travelled road.

The road itself was raised upon a muddy hill that showed off some beautiful yellow flowers and Terry walked beside his mare, picking bundles of the things. It was a rather strange sight to anyone who did not know the prince; his black and red armor stood out against the gentle yellow and made him look…well, mad would be a proper description, but nobody—except perhaps his own family—would ever say it aloud in his presence. He still carried a sword, after all.

"I really wish you would do that later," Damian grumbled, his own menacing black and white armor making him look the picture of regality against the country backdrop, his face contorted in embarrassment while looking away from his brother. His horse wouldn't move any faster, though. They had been traveling all morning and it would not give Damian the dignity to remove himself more than seven paces from his younger sibling.

Terry grinned over at his brother, bending down and ignoring the way the metal of his suit scratched against itself in the motion; his fingers plucking up an especially wide and fully grown flower, "If I'm going to…talk to Dana later, then I'm going to make as good of an impression as I can. Girl's still like flowers-that much I know."

"Depends on the girl."

Both brunettes looked up ahead, Terry giving a friendly smile—as he did with everyone he liked and knew and respected—and Damian allowed his expression to soften, just a little.

Up upon the hill, standing in the mud and sitting upon a rock that served for all those who herded cattle and sheep and geese so as to rest themselves, were Melanie and Colin. One of the brothers' friends and one of the brothers' manservant's.

Melanie sat upon the rock, in her sleek and gorgeous royal silks and satins of regal red—such a stark contrast upon the moss covered stone and light, friendly green grass, like Terry in his armor—as she looked upon the sheep Colin was leading about. She enjoyed walking with the servants and patting the little creatures every once and a while. It was a welcome relief from her duties in court, which consisted of her listening to her parents and brother talk to officials while she was made to stand off in a corner, drink tea and tolerate bold suitors. This was why Terry had made friends with her. She was fun to be with, as she was a bit of a rebel—like himself—and not above leaving the towers and castle to be civil with the commoners and their servants.

"Hiya, Mel," Terry chirped, grinning even more as a small trio of lambs scurried away from his brother's tall, ginger friend (Colin trotting after them like he was in a race with the puffballs), "What brings you away from the castle today? Avoiding Lord and Lady Walker again?"

The big, expressive eyes Melanie possessed, rolled and she jumped nimbly off of the rock she sat upon, bare feet skimming the grass and tickling her toes as she walked over to him, "Yes and no. I had a feeling that you'd be back today and looked about the castle until I found Colin to lead me to this charming little hill. After watching these little white things bound around all morning, I'm glad I was right. And now it's my turn to ask a question: What's with gathering the flowers?"

A blush rushed upwards and bathed Terry's cheeks in a sort of cherry red, hands sweating uncomfortably within his metal and leather gloving. He crossed his arms around the bouquet and out of the corner of his eyes, watched Damian get off his horse and stiffly assist Colin in racing after the chatty lambs—two of them dodging by running under his legs and causing him to over balance and nearly land on his ass—before giving a completely false and shaky laugh.

"Uh, well, they're for Dana," he started off, the sounds of Damian cursing as he finally caught one of the lambs ringing out like song, "But, first I have to ask you and a couple other of my hench—uh," the phrase stuck in his throat and he swiftly glanced over his shoulder to glare spitefully at Damian, before offering up a world winning smile back at his petite blonde friend, "Excuse me—A few of my other female friends about something really important about me and Dana."

Melanie's eyes widened just a bit, but that was quickly put aside by her smiling beautifully at the fifth born prince of the kingdom. Her hand—sleek and with its polished fingers, and attached arm wrapped in her red silks and satins—swiftly reached up and plucked one of the flowers from the bouquet, still grinning perpetually.

"You're going to ask to marry her, aren't you?"

Terry's mouth dropped open in utter shock. Melanie sniffed at the flower and then boinked Terry on the end of his nose. Just beyond their hearing and well out of their sight range, Colin laughed jovially and leaned forward on his shepherd's staff to help Damian up from where he had finally landed on his ass in the mud—two of the sheep in Damian's arms and the other standing beside Colin's leg.

After five minutes of badgering Melanie on just how exactly she knew he was going to propose and gaining no answer in turn, Terry left Melanie on the hill with his brother and Colin, the ginger promising to return them both to the castle before sunset, as well as maintaining that the promise might not entirely apply to Damian. Which, there in turn, Colin was tackled by Damian right into the cluster of sheep—sort of light diving into a sea of white, bawling clouds.

Now, he had his bouquet and he had confirmation from Melanie that the yellow—sensually appropriate—blossoms would work wonders when getting down on his knees to take out the shining, bejeweled ring to ask for Dana's hand. All that was left now was to deposit his mare into the stables and talk with two more people. Not so much for the words, because who was he kidding, the minute he got a speech prepared it would go down the latrine the minute he was in front of his lady, but for courage.

Passing by the stables to the end stall, where all of the royal stallions (or in his case, mare) were housed in a dry, soft, warm area, Terry lead his fine horse. All of the princes' and the king's horses names were etched into the wooden doors and he headed for the one labeled Curar'e, just across from the one labeled Stalker, which Damian would hopefully not send Melanie back with if he decided to spend more time with Colin in privacy.

Opening the lock kept on the door, Terry had to hold the reigns to the horse wrapped around his arm and hold the bouquet out of reach of the mare's mouth. She seemed quite ready to swallow the thing whole and he couldn't have that as it held all of the perfect yellows he could find.

"Having a little trouble there, your highness?"

The mare clippety-clopping safely in her stall and the big, thick latch with the black scolding colors clicking shut, Terry turned—flowers still held against him as the horse immediately tried to turn and snatch away the little delicacies—and was met not so surprisingly by sharp teeth, and bad breath seen and smelled right before his face by a maw that (if provoked) could very well kill him with one snap.

The hyena—one three times the size of his battle horse, thanks to some magic and good breeding—laughed at the prince before being pulled back by his ear by a small hand (that could be broken very badly if a hammer was dropped on it) and Terry focused on the hyena's rider. Another friend of his; beautiful, blonde, with legs you could climb up and who weighed less than a hundred pounds for show riding on the hyenas she and Harley—her mother and Terry's father the king's court jester and sorta, kinda friend—bred up to sometimes give to the guards when they had to do a wide patrol to send out the Jokerz, thieves and bad magicians trying to sneak into the kingdom or invade the land.

"Deidre," Terry grinned, somewhat hesitantly as the hyena with her—named Bud, despite being anything but—was only hers on account of being her protector and was prone to get angry at any male that he thought could be a threat, "I was actually coming to look for you. I need your help for something—God, what's Bud doing now, I didn't even do anything!"

Deidre's sparkling blue eyes seemed to brighten even more at the prince and she used both hands to clasp around Bud's maw, making him back up and out of the barn, Terry slowly following after once the damn predator was at least ten feet away, "Sorry, he likes to eat those flowers you've got when he's got an upset stomach. Now, what is it that you wanted to talk about to me about, your highness?"

Walking beside the much shorter teen, Terry thought over the words in his head quietly, speaking only half of what he wanted when she mounted the hyena and let the prince take lead toward the castle doors, long reaching and pristine marble reflecting light off of their grandeur.

"Well…today I was going to ask Dana to marry me," he started, obvious but quiet doubt showing through, "And I wanted to ask you to help me obtain some courage for it."

Those dazzling blue eyes that he had been drawn to since he was so little he could hardly remember—he thinks it started when he was five and his brothers had taken him into the woods with their father to see that gypsy witch Ms. Quinn about her coming to work for him and finding her sitting on a tree branch like a squirrel, but he's not quite sure—closed as she smiled assuredly at him, nodding at the mention of his asking for Dana's hand. Nothing came as a surprise to the Quinns, this he knew and he wasn't as startled by her as he was by Harley, so he knew she'd help him. It was just natural to go to her for such knowledge.

"Do you have the ring?"

"Yes, of course."

"Do you have her family's blessing?"

Terry's face wrinkled at up the mention of Dana's family and the honor that he had to uphold by asking her father for permission in this sort of thing.

"I never understood why I have to do that. This isn't the dark ages where having a wife was like have breeding stock for sons in time of war—she doesn't simper around in white like Blade or Chelsea or Cynthia just because she's a virgin and not married! It's such a stupid tradition!"

"I agree with you there," she replied, rolling her eyes at how puffed up he got the end of his little blowup, but amused at the look of him all the same, "What matters is her happiness and yours. I'm just saying that if you don't have it, you may have to tell her father what you just told me if he gets as indignant about this as anything else he gets indignant over. Minus the virgin bit of course, you don't want to get brained for audacity."

"Of course."

"Do you really, really love her?"

"What kind of question—"

"Enough to cross oceans for? An endless wasteland? Slay a dragon with nothing but your hands and wit? Go against your father if he disapproves?"

His answer was final and immediate, a trait she had grown to like since living in the castle keep, "Yes, yes, a million lifetimes yes."

Her grin stretched over her face, twice the size it had ever gotten since her father and sister had attacked she and Harley months ago in the forests after a pilgrimage with the King that Harley had insisted on going just so she could find Terry's father a lady, "Then all you have to do is ask her. You know the old phrase, 'He who asks, gets. He who doesn't, doesn't'. Most of the time."

They walked in a companionable silence for a moment so the prince could absorb these words. But, silence with the Quinns—little ladies, little friends, always there when you needed a laugh or a smile or something to say and someone to listen—never lasted long and it was she, and not Terry, that broke the silence.

"Oh, and by the way, my mother finally might have found someone that would be most appropriate towards your father while you and Dami were away."

"Define," he emphasized the words, trodding along the brick layered road and nodding up towards one of the many balconies and bridges the castle had built into it at the other ladies of the court and a few of his own friends, all waving his way and especially glad to see he had come back safely from his journey with his least friendly brother, "Appropriate? It's not another spoiled faraway woman like that "Lady" Veronica Vreeland?"

Deidre gave a very small—hushed, docile and so quiet; not at all like those wretches that caused the kingdom such problems—and sprite worthy laugh at that, Bud looking up at her a second, only to turn away with that grin he always had, same as his brother.

"Oh, no, never," the blonde continued, pulling back on the bridle of her "noble steed" so that they wouldn't run down Sir Justin and Sir Greg as they passed by, arms full of fresh bread before they went out on patrol and both giving a small bow to the prince and a nod to the blonde, "You know Mama would never try and pair his lordship up with one of those kind. Not after that incident with Lady Talia and Princess Diana."

Terry cringed in remembrance at the incident mentioned. One woman was Damian's mother—whom he hated almost as much as everyone else, but still craved a little hope of affection from—and one had been very good friends with Bruce since the man had been knighted. Harley had asked both of the women if they were interested in further relations with the king and invited them both to tea to discuss and confirm certain matters. As it were she had accidently—or not so much, seeing as the dear gypsy woman had grinned and laughed and smiled for days afterwards, seemingly at nothing and with no provocation but the thoughts in her mind—made it so they were to attend lunch with her at the same time and, one thing led to another, and another, and what could have been a charming lesson for the young ladies of the court to learn from about prioritization devolved into a two person riot. Bruce still had no idea why the two women would not speak to this day about, around, or near the other.

"So, who'd your mother decide would go with my father?"

"A charming woman named Selina Kyle."

Terry balked a little at the image running through his head, "You mean that woman who constantly stole from the castle, fought father in battle and recently had a baby? That Selina?"

"The baby is called Helena, and yes, that Selina."

Terry shook his head, but maintained his devilish smile as he reached the entrance to the main round of stairs in the castle keep that would take him up to where the witches and magicians of the court occupied themselves with their time to help the kingdom, stave off boredom and wait until the king called upon them. Terry's childhood friend with the strangest hair of magenta, Maxine—well, she preferred to be called Max, actually, so she could confuse people and read them when they met her for the first time—was up there and the last person he was to talk to before he went to seek out Dana.

Before ascending the—exact number—twenty-seven flights of stairs to the room that Max occupied, Terry turned back to Deidre and, like a gentleman that he really wished more people would behave around the tiny blonde so she could find someone for herself, took her right hand and administered a light peck on her ring finger. Thereupon he swiftly turned about and bolted up the stairs, bidding fair well for the moment as Bud snapped and barked after his retreat.

"This is for you."

The door wasn't even fully open to Max's room and Terry had a little cow's ear bag thrust into his face, Maxine looking just similar and provocatively like the cat who ate the canary. The bag smelled excellent and not at all like the last time Max had done something similar to this after Terry had been on a mission to the lands of high flying beings of the yellow and red suns. This bag smelled of camel hair and ocean sand, rather than, say, Bugloss and swamp grass bile.

She waved it twice before his face until he had the mind to take it from her thing fingers and into his large palms, his blue eyes meeting her doe brown eyes before she grinned wide and knowing and turned her back on his to get back to… something stewing in a pot black as ebony and ingredients within it a russet red-brown that gave off the vapor and scents that could remind Terry, as a child or as the man he was now, of days in summer running about open canyons with his brothers, chasing foxes into their burrows; stealing robins eggs right from their nests to crack them open and swallow the yolk whole; of bathing and mud and then being thrown in a clean river to make a whole in the body of water.

So it was clean magic the dark girl-woman was working on—therefore it was unlikely that she would blow the place up.

Terry closed the door, but stayed near it to press his back up against the frame, cautious enough not to get too close to working magic.

"What's this then, Max?"

"Luck for asking Dana's hand, of course," Max grinned, hands causing glass jars to clink together as she fished about with her back to the prince before making a noise of triumph and bringing forth into the light what appeared (and was certainly so) a dried and pressed sheep's tongue. It dunked into the boiling pot with the rest of whatever was in there and then the mixture tuned amber before Terry's eyes, Max continuing her rummaging about even as he looked both surprised and exasperated.

"You know, too?"

"I'm magic," she answered back, teeth white in her grin as she flicked a wrist at the door and it banged against his shin in what could have been agitation if the wood had been still alive rather than dead and hard and full of incantation writing like all witches and wizards made their doors look, "Now get going. We've all been waiting for this for far too long!"

"But—"

"Shoo! And don't you open that bag!"

He knew better than to argue, turning on his heel and making down the flight of stairs.

The door closed behind him, not with a thunk of foreboding, but with bells ringing from where they had been sealed secretly inside the wood.

All his bases were covered and a bell ringing sealed his hopes as he made his way to Dana's rooms.

The rings he had chosen, unknown to him as he took his second-third-fourth step down the stairways, had been switched from his pocket and into the bag from Max, replaced gladly by rings she knew far better suited the prince and the lady.

It was what any best friend would do for another.