Hi there! So, awhile back I got an anonymous request from that 'I wish you would write a story where...' thing, asking for something where TimDami was the main couple. Now, I know that I've written other things with TimDami, but I hadn't written something specifically for that prompt, and I finally got around it. Hey there, anon! This probably isn't even remotely what you were expecting, but I hope you enjoy!
Frankly, the plot twist in this is probably really, really obvious, but I wasn't trying to be subtle. XD No warnings for this chapter!
"Damian."
His brothers slip out of the room, Jason nudging ahead of Dick as he nearly always does, as he stops and turns back towards their father. His father, anyway; both his brothers are related by name, but not blood. Not that he blames his father for that, exactly. His father didn't even know of his existence until he was nearly ten, so finding other heirs was hardly something that he can criticize his father for.
"Yes, father?" he asks, standing on the other side of his father's desk.
His father stands, circling the desk to stand in front of him. He stands a little straighter at the look that his father is giving him, reading the gravity in the way his eyes are slightly narrowed, and entirely serious. It worries him just a touch; usually when his father looks at him like this, he's done something wrong or worthy of some kind of punishment. It hasn't been all that long, honestly, since the last time he was underneath that expression, but there's something different about this one that he can't quite put his finger on.
Also, generally, his father doesn't wait until they have the room to themselves before handing out discipline or reminding him that his behavior is unacceptable in one way or another. Jason gets reminders just as often, though for different reasons, so he's positive that the public — at least in their family — part of it is not just for him.
"There's something we need to discuss. Sit back down, please." The 'please' comes as an afterthought, but he's used to that.
He steps back to sit in one of the mostly ornamental wooden chairs, the ones with the rigid wooden backs that force their occupants to either sit perfectly straight or slouch painfully forward. He honestly believes that his father picked these purely to try and deal with Dick and Jason's bad postures; it does seem to have had at least some positive effect over the years. He never needed it, of course.
His father sits on the edge of the desk, hands loosely gripping its edge and still looking entirely serious. He seems to be considering his words, which does not bode all that well, but Damian carefully restrains himself before he goes off into worst case scenarios. He can't quite stop himself from running through his actions over the past few weeks — since the last of these 'family' meetings — to see if he remembers doing anything bad enough that his father would actually want to criticize him for it privately. The fact that he can't is not as reassuring as it should be.
"Just spit it out, Father," he finally says, resisting the urge to cross his arms defensively. "Unless you or one of those morons is dying, I am positive I can handle whatever you are so unwilling to say."
"Damian," his father reprimands, and then gives a small sigh. "I was approached with an offer for an alliance a week ago, and two days ago I accepted. Part of the agreement was an arranged marriage, their heir to one of mine, and you were requested specifically. I agreed."
"You've sold me off," he rephrases, and then does cross his arms. "Very well; I cannot say that I am particularly surprised you would seek to wed off your only blood-son, when you have two other heirs with less stable claims to your position." His father frowns, mouth opening to either defend Jason and Dick or to reassure him of his own place but he does not particularly care. "So who is it, Father? What kingdom did you sell me to in exchange for their allegiance?"
The frown deepens, before his father admits, "It's not a kingdom, it's a family. Drake."
He freezes for a moment, and then very carefully gets up from the chair to face his father on more even height. "A family? You sold me to a single family? Father, I am a prince." His hands clench, and he bares his teeth as he spits, "I expected to be wed off sooner or later but I thought you would do it with respect, not merely to get me out of the way."
"That's not what this is, Damian." He scoffs, but his father straightens up off the desk to really look down at him. "They may not be rulers but the Drakes hold a lot of sway and a lot of wealth, they're a powerful family. You marriage is to their son, the sole heir of all of it, which will give you a lot of control over that power. I wouldn't do this if I didn't think it was for your benefit, Damian. You know that."
"I know I am a threat to your older sons, and this is certainly to your benefit. Do you expect me to be grateful to be removed from the running entirely, Father?"
His father frowns for just a moment, and then the expression slips away with a small shake of his head. "No. I know this isn't what you want, Damian, but trust me when I say that there are things at play here that you don't know yet. You don't have to like it, but this has already been agreed to and you will treat their son fairly."
His jaw clenches down for a moment, before he forces himself to at least physically relax. "As you wish, Father." Irritating, disrespectful, and callous, yes, but his father is still King, and as King, the decision is his to make. If his father says he is to be married, he has no right to disagree and no say in who his intended is to be. That is simply the way things are.
"They're arriving this afternoon," his father says, "He'll stay, his parents will leave in the morning. You don't have to be there to greet them, but it would be preferable."
"I will strive not to disappoint you," he snaps. "May I be excused, Father?"
The nod and gesture of one hand gives him his permission, and he turns on his heel the next second and stalks out of the room. It's tempting to slam the door behind him, but he doesn't.
The rest of the day passes in something of a haze. He beats his frustration into sparring partners and dummies for as long as he can manage — until his muscles scream — and then retires to the mercies of the servants, who apparently have been ordered to make him presentable for his introduction to his intended. That involves a long bath, and then being carefully dressed in some of the clothes which show him to his absolute best. Black leggings, some of his shinier court-boots, and a black tunic with his father's crest in silver on the back, held in by a belt at his waist.
He simply stays still and lets them work as they wish, trying to dispel the comparison of being paraded like some prize horse.
By the time his eldest brother slips inside his quarters he's been perfumed and ornamented like some kind of whore, and his temper is already worn thin. Seeing Dick does help reduce it some, as it always does. Dick's always been kind to him, even when he didn't give the same in return, and these days he appreciates that. It certainly was never required, nor even expected, and few heirs to large kingdoms are kind to the younger siblings that are true threats to their position.
Dick's smile is just a little bit sad, but it's clearly an emotion he's trying to keep hidden. "Hey there, little Prince. You ready?"
The servants retreat at a flick of his hand, as he turns towards his eldest brother. "Are they here?"
"Just hit the front gate a minute ago," Dick confirms.
"Then I suppose I am." He bites back both a sigh and the urge to straighten his already-straightened clothes, venting the energy by heading for his brother instead. Dick leads the way out, and he allows himself to walk at his brother's side and not try for a step ahead as he usually does.
"Sorry about this," Dick murmurs after a minute or so, with a concerned glance. "You know I didn't have anything to do with it, right?"
He does know, not that it makes the situation grate any less against his pride. "Did you know?" he asks, instead of reassuring his brother.
Dick winces, but shakes his head. "No, not until today. Neither did Jason."
"I bet Todd is thrilled," he snaps, and gets an instant, sharp sound of chastisement from Dick.
"Don't call him that, Damian. You know better." Dick sighs, one hand rising to rub over his eyes. "And for your information, no, he's not. You should know that Jason never likes it when Bruce makes decisions like this, especially when he doesn't ask first."
"It is Father's right," he defends, with a small frown. "Whether I like it or not has nothing to do with it; he has always had the right to arrange a match between me and anyone he desired. I merely thought it would be someone more… titled."
"He's probably being careful." He glances over at Dick, not entirely understanding, and gets a small smile in return. "I might be the Crown Prince, but you're the one who's actually related to Bruce. If you were married to someone from another kingdom, and Bruce died unexpectedly… It's not a big leap to assume they'd back you as King instead of me; it could mean a war."
He actually falters a step, before making up the distance with a longer stride. "You know I would not contest you," he says softly, but insistently. "You have the right, even if you do not share blood."
"I know that," Dick confirms, equally as soft. "I'm just saying it's possible. If you're tied to a family that isn't large enough to be a true threat, Bruce doesn't have to worry about it. He trusts you, Dami; what he doesn't trust are the motivations of the people that would want you to be theirs."
He considers that for a moment, and then murmurs, "Father said that the Drakes were a very powerful family. Do you know anything about them?"
"I don't think I've ever met them," comes the answer, "but I've heard the name more than a few times. Let's see, there's uh, Jack and Janet; those are the parents. Jack married into the family and took their name; I don't know who he was before. Their son's name is Timothy, but I think he goes by Tim."
"Good to at least know the name of my intended before the betrothal is sealed."
Dick reaches out, pressing a hand between his shoulders for a moment in silent comfort before retreating. "They're very rich — probably more than us, frankly — but they don't get involved in politics all that much. Not that I know of, anyway. Bruce always sends invitations, but I don't think they've ever actually come to any of the events we throw. They're in this kingdom; outskirts, I'm pretty sure. Near the mountains."
"That isn't much information," he points out, trying not to sound like he's complaining. Dick only offers an apologetic smile and a shrug. "I suppose I will just have to wait and see who it is that Father has sold me off to."
"Look, Dami… If this doesn't work, and things are terrible, just know that Jason and I will back having it called off. Neither of us want to see you miserable for the rest of your life, little Prince."
He hesitates for a moment, and then dips his head just a touch. "It is not your call, but I appreciate it."
Dick smiles again as they turn down the final corridor to get to the throne room. "Of course. Oh, and Bruce also wanted me to remind you to be nice. First impressions and everything."
He rolls his eyes. "I am aware of how to treat court guests; I do not require the reminder."
He reaches forward to push open the door, slipping ahead to enter the room a step before Dick. Dick, of course, lets him do it, just like he lets Jason precede him as well. A glance around the room shows only his father, Jason, and the two guards standing at the door. The rest of the court is absent, as are their guests. So far.
Dick closes the door as he strides forward towards his father and Jason, the latter of which looks more than a little irritated. His father looks a little bit worn, but still focuses on him as he approaches, even if it's with an edge that feels as though he's expecting to face down some level of hostility. Not surprising, considering Dick's apologies and Jason's obvious anger. The decision has obviously not been popular.
"Father," he greets, and then looks to his brother. "Jason."
Jason's arms are crossed, but he gets a stiff nod. "Damian. You good?"
"As I can be," he answers, keeping himself still.
Jason's mouth curls into a small sneer for a second, before forcibly flattening out. "Fair. Too bad someone is a jackass and didn't ask, huh?"
Dick smacks Jason's arm as he comes up. "Jason, stop it. You've made your point; let it go."
Jason grumbles but doesn't retaliate, and doesn't stop Dick from pulling him off to the side and a bit behind both their father and him. Putting them in the front makes the most sense, considering he's the one who's been promised, and of course his father has to be here because that's who the agreement is technically with. Dick and Jason are only here for the sake of respect.
He takes his spot beside his father, standing straight and still and doing his best to ignore the almost tangible feeling of Jason's anger at their backs. For all his attitude, Jason is viciously loyal and would never hurt them, he knows that. Just like the way that despite all of his concessions, when things are important Dick will plant his feet in the dirt and refuse to move for anyone or anything. A lot of people underestimate his eldest brother, not understanding that Dick is only a threat when he wants to be. Anyone who is truly either of his brothers' enemies would not survive long, no matter their rank.
"I appreciate you going along with this," his father murmurs, looking down the few inches in height that separate them. "It's been… suggested to me that I should have told you before today."
"You mean Jason shouted at you?" he mocks, and then glances up to meet his father's gaze. "It is your right, and it is not my place to refuse to accept what you have decided upon. I will trust that you have your reasons for doing this, even if you have not shared them with me."
His father gives a brief, very small smile, and then extends a hand to clasp his shoulder for a moment. "I do, Damian. I promise. You'll know soon enough."
There's a heavy knock on the door, and the hand falls away from his shoulder, his father straightening to stand utterly perfectly, and still. He clasps his hands together behind his back, mimicking the pose somewhat before glancing back to Dick and Jason. Dick has a smile already on his face, and Jason's expression has smoothed out to cool indifference, arms at his sides instead of crossed. He returns his attention to the door as the guards open it wide, admitting three people, one lagging a bit behind the other two. Once they're through, the guards push the door closed again, slipping through the crack before pulling it shut from the other side, leaving them alone with their new guests.
He holds himself back from any reaction, studying the approaching group. It's easy to match them to Dick's small amount of information. The tall woman at the head of the three, dressed in a dark blue gown with intricate silver designs, held in by a corset at her waist and flowing outwards around her legs — only allowing brief glimpses of the heeled traveling boots in a similar color with each step — must be Janet Drake. The slightly shorter man, in a much plainer set of dark grey clothing that's clearly meant to be suited to work for travel as well, must be Jack Drake. The third person, by process of elimination, must be his intended. Tim.
The name says that Tim must be male, but the clothing he's wearing is farther towards the feminine side. The light blue top he's wearing clings like a second skin, except where the sleeves flare out into a pattern of delicate silver lace and sheer, equally delicate fabric that falls in trains he's fairly sure loop behind the youngest Drake and connect. The leggings are a darker shade of blue, with an almost silver tint behind the fabric, and are tucked into black boots that come almost all the way up to Tim's knees, the leather shining despite the — he assumes — long trip. The outfit is complimented with a long silver necklace that he's nearly certain contains actual sapphires, and matching, long, silver and sapphire earrings.
By the time he's taken in his intended's outfit, and finally raised his gaze to Tim's actual face, the Drakes are actually close enough to greet. His father is saying something, he's sure, but he's distracted by the sharp angles of his intended's face, the full lips, the light blue eyes behind dark lashes, and the medium-length black hair. Tim is shorter than him, smaller, thinner, and almost delicate looking, and it's a little strange after so much exposure to his brothers and father. Dick may be shorter than him now, by an inch or two, but his brother is still built thicker, and has always been physically stronger than him.
"Damian."
He jerks a bit, looking up at his father and meeting a raised eyebrow and an expectant look. He flushes, embarrassment flooding his chest.
"Sorry, Father, I— I was—"
"Distracted," his intended fills in, in a light, cool voice and through the hint of a smirk. "Understandable, I think."
Janet's smile is sharp, but definitely on the amused side, and he has to stop himself from wincing when there's a muffled snicker behind him. Undoubtedly Jason. His father gives a small sigh, and then presses a hand between his shoulder blades.
"Damian, these are the Drakes. Janet, Jack, and Timothy. Timothy is your intended, as I'm sure you already know."
"Please," Tim murmurs, with a smile, "it's just Tim." One hand rises, slipping past the layer of sheer fabric and lace to bare itself as it's offered to him. "A pleasure, Damian."
It occurs to him as he lifts his hand in response, that by the angle Tim's hand is at he's not expected to shake it. So he lightly takes his intended's hand instead, bending forward to press a small kiss to the back of the pale, slender hand. "The pleasure is mine," he answers, somehow remembering the protocols and societal expectations of this meeting.
His father's hand leaves his back as he straightens up, releasing Tim's hand probably just a moment too late. "So, I take it neither of you have any objections to this match?"
The question is aimed at Tim and him, and he glances up at his father for just a moment before shaking his head. "No, Father."
Tim's smile has that same sharp edge as his mother's, like it could slide into a smirk at a moment's notice. "Neither do I."
He'd thought he would agree simply because his father had the right to do this, and his opinion of it did not matter, but… but Tim is pretty, captivating in a way he's not sure he's ever seen the match of, and yet despite the almost delicate appearance there's that sharp edge that makes him think there is more to his intended than just appearance. If his father believes their family is powerful, than there must be something beyond looks to them. No one gains power like that without having at least a bit of ruthlessness, or something similar.
Perhaps this will not be as torturous as he assumed it would be. Perhaps Tim will actually turn out to be an interesting partner.
"Good. Lady Drake, Lord?" His father's voice calls his attention, and he looks away from Tim to Janet instead, trying to regain some level of control over himself.
Janet reaches out, fingers ghosting over the back of her son's neck as that smile softens the slightest bit. "If my son has no objections, neither do we. Shall we make this official then, your majesty?" His father inclines his head a moment, and then Janet is holding something out, palm up. "As promised, we brought the rings."
Two rings are sitting on her palm, or at least he assumes they're rings. They're silver dragons, looped around in tight circles to fit over nearly the entire base section of a finger, with tucked in wings of astonishing detail, covering the top of the finger almost like a shield. The eyes of the dragon are the same beautiful sapphires as Tim's jewelry.
"Damian," his father murmurs, prompting him forward.
He reaches up and takes one of the rings, as Tim takes the other. Then, before he can pull the ring fully back, Tim is taking his left hand and bringing it forward. He automatically straightens his fingers, allowing Tim to slip the ring onto his hand, where it settles neatly at the base of his finger. Tim's hand lingers on his, and he gets gifted with a smile, before his intended offers his left hand. He takes in a small breath, then takes Tim's hand and repays the gesture. The ring fits as smoothly on Tim's finger as the other did on his. Tim clasps his hand for a moment, then lets go with a lingering, sharp-edged smirk.
"The promise is made," Janet says, sounding quite satisfied. "The wedding in, shall we say a month? That's adequate time to get everything prepared and the invitations sent out; we'll pay for it, of course."
"Of course," his father agrees. "Shall we leave the two of them alone and discuss details somewhere more comfortable?"
He finds himself swallowing, and then breaks into the conversation to ask, "What about until then?"
Tim takes a half a step forward, reaching forward to capture his hand, a thumb rubbing along the base of his wrist. "Start by introducing me to your brothers, Damian? Let our parents discuss technicalities; I know enough to tell you the important parts."
"As you wish," he's murmuring before he even knows what he's doing. His father is smiling, and so is Tim's mother, but he only has eyes for the soft curl of Tim's lips, and the heat of Tim's fingers around his.
"Please, come with me," his father invites, extending a hand in guidance to the other two Drakes.
He glances to the side to confirm that the three of them are leaving, before Tim tugs at his hand to call his attention back. A flick of Tim's gaze reminds him of his promise, and he turns to guide Tim to his side and bring them both around to face his brothers.
Jason has got a crooked smirk curling his mouth, showing just enough teeth to give the rougher impression that he's known for. In contrast, Dick looks almost angelic beside him, with a pleased, soft smile and no trace of that wicked edge that Jason has going on. If their father had seen Jason's expression, he definitely would have been reprimanded for it. Luckily for Jason, his father never did turn around to check his two older sons.
"Tim, this is Jason, and Richard," he introduces, gesturing at each of his brothers in turn.
"Dick," comes the immediate correction, along with a slightly wider smile. "Nobody who actually knows me calls me 'Richard' unless they're angry with me." It comes with a slight laugh, a charming wink that makes him irrationally defensive for a moment because he knows Dick's track record with anyone who catches his eye. That charm has never failed to capture anyone who his brother was actually interested in.
Tim, as if sensing it, squeezes his hand for a moment. "I'll remember that in case I ever am," his intended promises, with a smile. "I've heard a lot about both of you. All three of you, in fact."
Tim gives him a soft smile, looking up beneath those lashes, and in an instant that defensiveness is just gone, any answer wiped from his mind.
Jason snorts, and when he looks over his brother is straight out grinning. "Wow, you know, I didn't think I'd ever see someone wrap Dami around their fingers so fast. Hot damn, can you teach the rest of us to do that? Could be useful."
He scowls, but Tim only laughs, voice dropping to a low purr as he counters, "Sorry, Jason, but it's a talent. I could do the same to either of you, if I wanted to." He starts to bristle at the idea, before Tim pulls his hand up and presses a kiss to the back of it, eyelashes fluttering against his skin before Tim looks up and meets his eyes. "Fortunately for the both of you, I don't find either of you as interesting as your brother."
He swallows, and Tim pulls him a step closer, until their arms are pressed up against each other. The heat bleeds through into his skin, even past the fabric in the way, and it reminds him of the desert he was raised in, makes him close his eyes for a moment.
"Christ," he hears Jason mutter.
"Give me a tour of the castle, Damian?" Tim asks, and he nods without thinking about it.
"Of course."
Tim tugs him away from his brothers, leading him off towards one of the doors leading into the throne room. Then, once he's headed in the right direction, Tim presses up against his side again.
"Show me the whole place," Tim murmurs into his shoulder, fingers squeezing his. "Save what's yours for last."