A/N: ah, the irritation with Robin has been discussed in the duckling group on facebook… I might be narcissistic, but I love it when my stories are being talked about… ;) but the MAIN reason is that it's so interesting to find out how a story is viewed from the outside… because, trust me, I'm blind from 'in here'… AND I know what's going to happen, so I need to figure out what you see and try to make sure you either see what I see, or hide it from you, if it's supposed to be a twist, and… yeah… difficult! So feedback is always very appreciated!
Some might pity Robin a bit more after today's chapter… at least that's what I HOPE for, but, again, I don't know! Argh!
Special thank you to Monster of Cookies who was my beta this time!
By Royal Command
Chapter 4: The Man Who Does Not Love a Horse Cannot Love
The next morning, not too early, of course, since the nobility wouldn't rise early unless absolutely necessary, a group on horseback set out through the castle gates. Robin rode first, flanked by two of his inner circle, while Alfred and Slade rode behind them. Six guards made up the rest of the troop, taking up positions on all sides.
The prince seemed in no hurry, as did his friends, babbling away like they were going on a picnic. With the exception of the prince, the other noblemen were terrible riders, their horses barely more than ponies, so docile that they were practically asleep, and still they managed to almost fall off several times. Alfred was better but Slade could tell that he preferred his own two feet to going on horseback.
The slave was dressed better today, as the tailor had sent the first clothes for him this morning, which they must have worked on day and night to get ready this quickly. The man rather liked them, actually. They were still simple, but cut to perfection to fit his body, and the high collared shirt, with no tie to set him apart from those of higher status, the snug breeches and the long riding jacket, were all done in black. It was something unseen at the court, where people loved color, but the effect of the black with his with hair was quite stunning, at least according to the prince. His boots were the only thing that weren't new, but they were polished to perfection and looked the part. All the buttons were silver, and the only embellishment was a small embroidery on his chest, an 'R' under the crown of the Crown Prince, to show people who he belonged to. The prince himself had straightened his collar after watching him dress, and smiled up at him with quite a possessive look in his eyes.
"You are very handsome," the young man had said. "And people will stare at you now, for all the right reasons. And they will know that you are mine. Let's go and show you off," he had finished by patting the man on his chest, not unlike one would pet a horse's neck or flank, before grabbing his leash and leading him out of the room.
Slade had drawn quite a few looks. First people almost jumped: seeing someone wearing that much black brought images of the Grim Reaper to their minds. Black was reserved for death, and Slade, in any color, already looked lethal. Then they noticed the leash, and the northern king could feel how much the little prince enjoyed the attention then, as if he was taking a wild beast for a walk and it obeyed him. The man had had to withhold a snort, but even he wasn't sure if he was disgusted or amused. He didn't have to keep the leash while riding, however, that would have been awkward and dangerous as well, but it was clear that the young man had grown too fond of it.
The ride didn't take more than half an hour, and only because the nobles would fall off at greater speed. Compared to Slade and Alfred's more muted colors, the young men were peacocks dressed in shades that in some cases hurt the eye. The prince's wardrobe was better chosen, however, with a dark green riding coat with silver embroidery, he matched his 'pet' well.
As they entered the camp's outer region no one paid them any mind at first. Slade looked around at his men, recognizing every face, of course, but only a handful of them knew who he was, as they had only seen him in his helmet and armor. The others were just following Wintergreen's orders, being told that the king would join them when it was time to attack.
They came up on a man who was carrying an armload of thin iron rods of different lengths to the makeshift smithy they had build at the outskirts of the camp. They had needed one of those both to be able to keep up the rouse by mending whatever the citizens brought for them, and to prepare their own attack by re-shoeing the horses after the long journey. Slade was sure Wintergreen kept them all busy. As they were about to pass the man with the rods, a few of them slipped and fell to the ground. They all noticed since one of the noblemen's horses shied away slightly, making all the others nervous as well. The man bent to try to pick the rods up, but almost lost his grip on the others in the process.
"Ah, fuck it!" he cursed loudly and continues on, not even giving the visitors a second glance.
"Fuck?" Robin asked curiously. "That is not a word I am familiar with. Slave, do you know what it means?"
"It's a term meaning 'to fornicate', Master," Slade answered with some glee, as he knew it would shock the silly ninnies on their ponies. And it did. Gasps of 'oh, really!' and 'such language!' was heard. Robin, however, simply frowned thoughtfully.
"I assume the word can also be used as a common curse word?"
"Yes, Master," Slade nodded.
"Good thing. If his intentions had been to fornicate with a metal rod, I do not think he would have announced it quite so loudly," the prince deadpanned.
Slade very nearly burst out laughing, but managed to keep it down to a low chuckle.
"If we should ask the for the trader and get the inspection on the way, Your Highness?" Alfred suggested in a somewhat strained voice.
Wintergreen came out to meet them, acting surprised as he bowed to the prince.
"Your Highness! What an honor! I didn't expect you as a guest."
"This is not a visit as such, this is an inspection," Robin said and dismounted. Slade followed suit and walked up to the prince like the obedient and devoted pet he was. William had gestured for some of the young boys in the camp to take the horses. "You two," the prince added to two of his guards, "begin going through the camp from this end. Ask questions but I don't want any trouble, no one is suspected of any crime, remember that. You two," he added to the next pair, "do the same from the other end, and the rest will come with me."
"We're only keeping two guards?" one of the nobles said, looking around like he was surrounded by wild beasts.
"Oh, don't worry," Robin said and patted Slade's arm. "We have my slave. Do you really think anyone would want to challenge him?" he asked while attaching the leash to the collar once more. That calmed the two nobles a little bit.
The inspection was probably very dull for the rest of the company, but Robin found it interesting. He was guided through the camp by Trader Wintergreen and took the opportunity to ask questions about the north, verifying some of the things his slave had spoken about. It turned out that Slade had told the truth, which pleased the prince. He liked that the man wasn't ignorant and illiterate, it made him more interesting, after all, and better company. He discovered something odd about the caravan, though.
"There are no women here?"
"No, My Lord, that is according to our traditions. When it comes to trading, they have their own caravans, selling fabrics, spices, herbs, pottery and such, while the men focus on metalwork."
"So the women travel alone? Unprotected?" Robin blinked.
"When it comes to the women of Blüdhaven, they are never unprotected." the trader grinned. "They are taught to fight as well, just as we men are taught to cook and care for the young. We do have separate areas of responsibility, just like most cultures, but life in the mountains used to be hard and everyone had to help where they could. Some of the borders between the genders were, if not completely erased, at least partly rubbed out."
"How barbaric!" one of the nobles snorted. "A woman with a sword!"
"It makes sense to me," Robin shrugged, which shut the young man up. "Well, unless my men have found something, I can't see that anything is out of order here," the prince went on. "Maybe we should move on to more pleasant talks. I'd like you to show me some blades, Trader. If I like what I see, I might buy one for the King, and, perhaps, a sword for myself as well."
"It would be an honor, My Lord," the trader bowed and showed them the way. A little while later a row of swords of different kinds were laid out on a long table.
"If I may ask, what type of sword does His Majesty prefer?" the trader asked.
"The rapier," Robin answered and picked one up. "I can't judge how it will sit in his hand, though."
"Well, what kind of build does he have?" Wintergreen asked.
"He's almost as tall as Slade here. Not as muscular, but not slender either," the prince explained.
"Then why not let the slave decide? He is good with swords, after all," the trader suggested. "And may I say, My Lord, that I'm very happy to see that you seem to approve of him."
"He was a good gift," Robin all but grinned. "He's very… dutiful. Once I put him in his place," he added, and handed the sword to the man.
"Yes, well, they always need to be broken in a bit, even the good ones," the trader shrugged.
"I've noticed," Robin smirked. "So, how is the blade, Slade?"
"It's good, Master, but I've seen His Majesty's build, and this is not for him. May I try the rest of them out?"
"Yes, go ahead," Robin nodded. "I'll go speak with the men in the meanwhile, and it seems some of my company are eager to go back for lunch."
"Ah, but you must eat with us, My Lord! We cannot hope to rival the food, or surroundings, of Wayne Castle, of course, but having a royal guest would do us great honor!"
Robin hesitated. His interest in the strange country in the mountains had only grown the more he found out, and he didn't particularly mind. What his so called friends would think, though, was another matter. They would probably suffer as he had already heard complaints about the harsh sun and wind, although the weather was perfectly fine. He grinned a little to himself and accepted the offer.
When he told his entourage that they would be having lunch at the camp, they were horrified, but, apart from pleading to the prince's better judgment, they could do nothing but accept as well.
While Robin talked to his supposed friends, William and Slade were left alone and had a quick conversation.
"Everything going well, My Lord?" Wintergreen asked.
"I've missed being called that," Slade answered dryly, "and yes, I already have a few answers. I need to see much more of the castle though, and of the routines of the court. I'll give you word long enough for you to send the children home." The youngest in the caravan were only eleven, and even though the boys and young men had been brought to get some experience and see the world, they were never intended to stay around for the actual attack. If Slade and his men failed, the guards would be attacking their camp, and the children, next. Therefore the youngsters would be sent away a day, or preferably two, before the other's tried to take the castle. For now they were doing a great job helping out around the camp and, of course, as messengers. No one noticed a child running through the streets, after all. Also they provided a bit of cover; a caravan filled with just armed men would look more suspicious.
"Yes, I'll give them a light wagon with a couple of fast horses and enough provisions to easily get them home, as we planned. I've had young Thomas study the maps with me, he knows the way."
"Good," Slade nodded, and then, at a signal from his friend, began talking about the blades.
"So, Slade, how is it going?" the prince asked, coming up behind them.
"Very well, Master, I think I've found the perfect one for His Majesty," the man answered and handed the young man the sword he had picked out, which was, in fact, perfect for the king. Slade wanted the gift to be well received, after all, and, in turn, be appreciated for his choice.
"Then I'll take it. But first I think I want to look at one for myself as well," Robin said.
"A rapier for you too, Your Highness?" Wintergreen asked.
"Hm… no. I've mostly had training with those and lighter swords, but I'm very curious about those ones," the prince said and pointed towards a row of sturdier broadswords. Their basket-hilts were works of art, the engravings depicting everything from twisting dragons to plants and animals.
"Good choice. Let's find you one, Master," Slade nodded in approval.
"I'll leave you to it and go see about some food, My Lord," the trader bowed.
The slave handed Robin sword after sword, comparing the length, the handle and the weight, until they had finally chosen one, fittingly enough with engraved horses on the hilt.
"If my fencing instructor isn't familiar with these swords, will you teach me to use it?" the prince said, so engrossed in admiring his new weapon that he didn't realized that he was asking instead of ordering.
"It would be my honor and pleasure, Master," Slade agreed. If nothing else, he might be able to cause the prince some bruises for once, instead of the other way around. There were still places on his skin which smarted slightly, even today.
Robin almost changed his mind about having lunch at the camp when it turned out that they would be eating outdoors around a fire, sitting or leaning against logs on the ground. Seeing the other nobles all but faint, however, he steeled himself behind a smirk and ordered Slade to sit down first. After the man had, Robin simply took a seat on one of his thighs, thus avoiding the ground altogether. His friends didn't have the same luxury and glared daggers at him as they had to dirty their breeches on the sooty logs.
"Men, feel free to join us. Alfred, you as well of course," Robin said and gestured to the empty logs.
"We're eating with the guards?!" one of the nobles all but screeched.
"Oh, hush, we're all guests here," the prince snapped. "And where would you have them eat? In a hole in the ground?"
"This is beneath my dign-"
"Not another word!" Robin barked, his voice having his so called friends jump. "If you don't like it, you are free to leave. You're not going to be allowed to bring any guards with you for protection, though. …or to show you the way…" the blueblood added the last part under his breath, so quietly that only Slade could hear him.
The large pot on the fire spread a very mouthwatering smell, at least, and soon they each were served a bowl of what appeared to be a beef stew. They had a spoon and a slice of bread as well, and were then served a flagon of some sort of ale.
"Watch out, Master, it's very strong," Slade warned him quietly. Robin nodded and passed the warning on to Alfred, who let the guards know as well. No one bothered to raise their voices so the young nobles heard them, though. The prince could almost believe it was an oversight. Almost.
"This is delicious," he said to Slade, who had positioned himself so he could eat as well, despite a member of the royal court sitting on his lap. "What is it called?"
"It's a northern dish we call collops," the man answered. "It can be made in a variety of ways, from different meats, depending on what you have."
"I like it. Maybe I should go to a diplomatic journey to the north… find out what more delights you are hiding and visit that mysterious king of yours," Robin grinned.
"I'm sure he'd love having you, Master," Slade deadpanned.
"Well, as a guest or my head…" the prince shrugged, "I'm not exactly sure how bad our diplomatic relationship is right now…"
"You can't mean it, Robin!" one of the nobles who had overheard the conversation, gasped. "Going into the mountains among the savages?"
"You are right, Lord Riley, that would be madness," Robin nodded.
"Yes, My Lord, it-"
"I'd better send you first. Establish relations. Very important," the prince continued. Both of his companions were very quiet after that, not too sure if he had made a joke or not.
After the meal Robin approached the trader. "I have chosen two swords that I wish to buy. Could you give me the price, please?"
"They are my gift to you, My Lord," the trader bowed.
"If you insist, but I had every intention of paying for them," the prince frowned.
"Yes, of course, My Lord, but if you would be so good as to mention, if someone should ask, where you got them, that would be more than enough, I assure you."
Robin's lips stretched in a small smirk. "I see. Yes. I'll do that. I- oh!"
Slade followed Robin's line of vision as the young man had just seemed to freeze. A man was leading one of their horses to the smithy to be shoed. The rest of their steeds were gathered in a makeshift paddock further down the river to be able to graze and rest in peace, always guarded by a few men, just in case, because there was a reason the prince was gaping.
"He's… he's beautiful… and enormous…" the young man just left the group and slowly walked up to the horse, fearlessly presenting his hand to be sniffed. The stallion was as black as coal, apart from a white star on his forehead, which bled down into a thin stripe down his nose. The prince's so called friends again gasped in horror, but Slade, who followed his little master, knew there was no danger; the young man had read the horse perfectly. Besides, this particular big brute was a bit of a softy when it came to attention. Slade should know. It was one of his. "He's as big as those lumbering plow horses, but his build is nothing like theirs, so much more agile… I've never seen anything like him before…" the young man went on.
"He's a Blüdhaven War Horse," Slade explained.
"War horse?" the prince asked, frowning.
"They are used to pull carts as well, their muscular build gives them both strength, endurance and speed."
"I thought mountain horses were small… nimble… how does one like these even find enough food up there?"
"Not all of Blüdhaven is rock, Master," Slade grinned. "Although, some old tales say that horses like these can eat stone as well, if they need to, and drink mist."
"I can almost believe that," Robin chuckled, completely enamored with the beast who was snuffling his hair, wetting it with its breath. "What is his name?" he asked the young man holding the reins.
"Um. 'Slayer', Sir," he was told.
Robin chuckled softly. "Well, a good name for a 'war horse', I guess. I want to ride him!"
"Maybe we can find a saddle…" Slade said hesitantly. They had saddles, hidden in the ceilings of the caravans, along with their armor, but he'd rather not risk anything by letting the young man see one of those, as they were clearly for battle, with fastenings for swords, shields and spears. Besides, Slayer could be a bit picky about riders.
"No need, and he's already wearing a bridle. Kneel down, on one knee," the prince ordered. Slade obeyed, although less willingly here, as his men could see him, and then the prince's foot was first on his thigh and then his shoulder for a moment before the young man swung himself up on the horse which was so tall that he hadn't been able to see over his back from the ground. "Amazing," he breathed, and then gathered the reins. "I'll be back soon!" with that he dug his heels in and was off.
"Oh, dear…" Alfred muttered. "That can never end well."
But it did. Half an hour later the prince returned with the widest smile Slade had ever seen him wear. The man helped the young man down, and the prince immediately turned to Wintergreen.
"I want him! Name your price."
The northerners did have a few extra horses, of course, but couldn't afford to lose one needlessly. Wintergreen glanced at Slade who shook his head just a fraction.
"I am terribly sorry, My Lord, but all the horses are part of the teams we need for our wagons. Replacing one would not work, especially with a smaller or less strong horse from the plains."
"Any price, Trader," the prince frowned, not used to be told 'no'.
"Again, I'm terribly sorry. Our horses are all but sacred to us. They are not for sale."
If Slade had expected the young prince to throw a tantrum, he was wrong. Robin wasn't happy with the answer, not at all, but he didn't insist.
"Very well. If you change your mind, send word to the castle. And I want to see you before you leave here. I will own a horse like this, and I want to arrange the trade with you, for when you return to your country. That is not too much to ask, is it?"
"Certainly not, My Lord. I can have several of our finest stock brought here for you to choose from. I'll make the trip myself as well."
"Good man. You'll be staying here for some time, however, won't you?"
"As long as the business is good, but at least a month. The men and beasts need to rest before the return journey."
"Maybe I can visit you and ride again?"
"It would be my honor, Your Highness," Wintergreen bowed deeply. "And then you can choose among our horses, of course."
"No, I want him…" Robin smiled and leaned against his new love. His smile then turned into a grin, and he patted Slade's chest. "Don't be jealous, the horse reminds me of you," he all but snickered. "Doesn't he?" he added to his friends who snickered along with him.
"Maybe you should saddle your slave instead?" one of them suggested.
"Maybe I should," Robin agreed. "Just to see how far he would be able to carry me, and how fast…" Then he seemed to get an idea. "What if any of my horses were in heat? Would you let Slayer breed them? I noticed he's a stallion?"
"Of course, My Lord," the Trader nodded with a grin. "Far be it from me to deny a male that kind of activity." Slayer was indeed a stallion. It was more common to use geldings in wars, because they were less likely to act up and call out to other horses in critical situations, but the Blüdhaven horses were exceptionally well trained, and this one was no exception.
Robin was glad that he had heard Slade say worse by now, so he didn't blush.
"I will ask the Stable Master at once when I return, and I'll send you word. Now it is high time for us to depart, however. Goodbye Trader Wintergreen, it's been a very interesting morning."
"Goodbye, Your Highness, may your sword serve you well."
Slade gave his friend a glance. That was quite a powerful blessing, especially given to a man you planned to slay. Wintergreen just gave a tiny shrug back, however, which could mean anything.
The ride back was amusing, as the two nobles, who had been drinking the ale like it was lemonade, fell off their horses twice each until the guards had to steady them. Robin was grateful to his slave for warning him about the strength of the beverage but even he felt just a little bit dizzy. The stew had been spicy, after all, and he had to take the sting off somehow. He probably should have eaten more of the bread instead.
With the horse still at the front of his mind, Robin called for the Stable Master at once, and received good news. One of his best mares was showing the first signs of heat. Excited, the prince sent one of the stable hands back to the camp to tell the trader, and arranged for word to be sent to all parties when the time was right.
After that, leaving Alfred and the others behind, Robin led Slade away by his leash. The man had been trusted with carrying the swords, which were wrapped up, but the slave noticed that they weren't taking the expected route.
"Aren't we going back to your rooms, Master?" the man asked.
"No. Not quite yet. We're going to go see the King," the prince answered, his mood suddenly darker. "I have a few things to discuss with him."
They entered the throne room, but the king was not there. One of his attendants directed them to the man's private study, however. Robin wanted to speak to him privately so this was a good opportunity to do so, it seemed. The monarch, however, didn't appear to agree.
"I'm very busy at the moment, Robin," he told the prince after they had greeted each other.
"When are you not? I won't take up much of your time. I just wanted to report that the inspection is done, and nothing incriminating was discovered. Also, I have a gift for you." Robin took the sword, wrapped in a piece of cloth, from Slade and handed it to the king. The man unwrapped it and studied it closely.
"It is a very fine sword, these people know what they are doing," he nodded.
"They do. They are exceptionally good at metal work," the prince said. "I hoped you would appreciate it," he added, although the king, strictly speaking, hadn't thanked him. "There is one more thing, though. I'm turning eighteen in two months…"
"Yes, I'm aware of that. Isn't the planning for the celebration going well?"
"It is."
"Well then? Is this about the engagement? Have you found anyone?"
"No, it's not about that. It's about…" the prince drew a deep breath. "Bruce, it's about how I was found. Who my real parents are. I'm about to become an adult, I think I have the right to know now."
The king's eyes narrowed for just a moment, and then he put the sword down on his desk, almost like he couldn't stand the sight of it anymore. He sat down and shuffled some papers. "I'm busy, Robin."
"Too busy to tell me the truth?" the young man growled.
"It's in the past. Let it be. It doesn't change anything; not who you are and not your destiny. Understood?"
"I know! I don't care if my parents were farmers or slaves or whatever! Or if my mother was a woman you bedded, but I want to know!"
"I'm not your real father, Robin, I thought we were clear on that."
"Y-yes, but… there's rumors of this noble woman, who…"
"No."
Robin swallowed. He knew he wasn't the king's biological son, but the rumors had still been there, whispered, since he was a child, and, deep down, he had wished for them to be true. To actually have a father. He had spun stories about how Bruce fell in love with a beautiful servant girl and planned to run away with her, as they couldn't marry, but then she died in childbed, and his grief had made it hard for the king to love his son as a real father. But that was just a fantasy, a dream. Robin realized that now. The hard voice and the look in the king's cold, pale blue eyes said it all.
"I see. So you deny me my right to know about my roots?" the prince said tensely.
"They are not your roots anymore. When you were adopted by me you became a Prince of the Realm, and that is what you now are. Nothing else."
"But I'm about to become an adult, and I know nothing!" Robin almost pleaded. "I don't even know how old I was when I came here!"
"Even I don't know that," the king said dismissingly.
"But…" the young man looked stunned. "My birthday…?"
"It's your adoption date. You were a very small child, but if you were a week or a month old, I don't know. We choose the day of your adoption instead of guessing."
"It's… I don't even have a real birthday?" the prince stuttered.
"It's just a date, what does it matter?"
"But you never TOLD me!"
"I didn't think it was important. And I don't appreciate you raising your voice to me, especially as you insisted on dragging your pet with you. Are you through with your childish questions? I have work to do."
"Yes. I'm quite through. I have a fencing lesson to attend," the young man said, no emotion at all in his voice now.
"Then go. You know better than to be tardy," the king snorted and gestured at the door before ignoring them completely in favor of his papers.
Slade wished he could use the sword and finish the king off right here and now. He was armed and they were alone, after all, but unfortunately there were rules and regulations he needed to follow if he in fact wanted to take over Gotham and not just start a war. He couldn't help but fantasize about it, though, although he only pictured the king's death, not the prince's. It wasn't because of any attachment, however, but because Slade was actually appalled on the prince's behalf. He had known the young man was adopted, yes, but had had no idea that his origin was kept a secret from him. The King of Blüdhaven found himself taking the side of his young enemy in this: why wouldn't the king tell him? Would it taint the house of Wayne somehow? Hurt relations with other powerful families? A man ought to know where he came from, that was something Slade felt to the core. Even so, and even though he was slightly curious, it was still something he wouldn't have spent much further thought, but it created a very good opportunity for him. This was not the time to speak to his 'master' however, because he was, clearly, not in the mood. Especially judging by the way he was slapping his riding crop against his boot while walking.
The man had paid close attention to their surroundings the whole time, not knowing how many opportunities he would have to be able to see this part of the castle. All the major entryways had guards, but they seemed to be stationed there more to keep curious commoners out than to fight off attackers, and, due to this, most looked pretty bored. Even the prince seemed to notice this, and decided to vent his anger, because his riding crop suddenly snapped against the chest plate of one of them.
"Straighten up!" was all the young man barked before continuing on. Slade smirked at the other man's horrified expression. That guard would not slouch for at least a week, and, once word got around, neither would any of his friends...
To Be Continued….
A/N: About the term "broadsword" please don't picture one a' la' Conan the Barbarian, because those kinds of more "impressive" swords are usually what's called longswords (also spelled long sword/long-sword). The kind Robin picked out, however, was called broadswords because they were somewhat broader than the rapier, so look them up on Wikipedia for pictures, and marvel at the beautiful basket-hilts as well… ;)