The news had spread like wild fire through the dance halls of Gotham's high society, feeding the gossip-hungry socialites until every single word out of their lips was the miraculous reappearance of the Drake family's heir and subsequent rebuilding of Drake Manor to its former splendor - and hadn't it been such a tragedy? How the once glorious Manor was burnt to the ground with the whole family inside? - While the family's sole survuvung servant, Mr. Pennyworth, made daily trips to the city to buy food and supplies that had not been needed in years.

Young Master Drake's former fiancee, Miss Tamara Fox, had fallen to her knees and cried the most honest tears a woman was capable of as she heard the news, her smile blinding in its beauty, relief and bittersweet happiness shinning in her eyes.

Her childhood friend was alive.

The boy's godfather, a certain Mr. Wilson, returned to the city immediately, wrapping his arms tightly around the child and swearing on everything that was sacred that he would never let the boy out of his sight again.

Young Master Drake had softly patted his godfather's back, face resting on the man's broad shoulder.

The crowd had been moved to tears, enjoying their first glance of the Drake Heir.

Timothy Drake was a beautiful boy with his mother dark hair and pale blue eyes and his father's poise and quick mind, he stood proudly, back straight and head held high as noble after noble greeted him - making no issue of the scar that now kissed his upper lip or the fact that his right eye was now covered with a black velvet eyepatch, lost in the fire, they all whispered, poor beautiful boy -, he shook hands and smiled shyly when old friend's of his parents offered their condolenses and glidded over the dancefloor with Miss Fox in his arms as the situation called.

The gossip mongers, however, couldn't help but notice the silent figure dressed in black from head to toe standing by his side at all times.

"Forgive my rudeness," Timothy would say, cheeks a soft pink. "This is my personal butler, Bruce."

The man bowed low, eyes glinting with hidden delight as he introduced himself, always a protective step behind his Master.

Mr. Wilson frowned, his hand landing on his godson's shoulder to express his concern.

"I thought Alfred was taking care of you, Tim," he said, eyeing the new butler suspiciously.

Timothy smiled at his godfather, his face angelic with the innocence of his expression.

"Poor Alfred is just too old to care for me alone, uncle Slade," he said sadly. "I cannot, in good conscience, burden him with all responsabilities. He has been with my family for so many years. Bruce is my personal aide now, Alfred managed the Manor's staff."

The socialites around them nodded, remembering the aged man and his fragile-looking frame. The well built, much younger new butler would be a perfect protector for the delicate Drake Lord.

Slade sighed.

"Of course, Timothy," he said, caressing the boy's black hair fondly. "You are such a good boy."

"Do not worry, Mr. Wilson," Bruce said with an enigmatic smile, hands behind his back. "I am a faithful servant of the House of Drake. My utmost priority is my Young Master's happiness."

Both, butler and master shared a secretive smile, eyes locked with eachother's.

The game was on.