Famous Flower Of Serving Men Part Five

((That same night, the bedchamber of William/Diana))

Diana slept fitfully that night. At first she could not sleep at all, and spent several hours tossing and turning before, finally, finding a comfortable position. At last she dozed off restlessly, but awoke bare hours later, gasping in fright, biting her lip to keep herself from screaming out loud. Tears of anguish were streaming freely down her face. Her dream had been plagued by visions of her mother and her son. She remembered very little of the nightmare, except for her infant's cries and that there was blood everywhere, on hr hands, on her bed, and that her so-called sisters were there to kill her...

Diana sat with her knees tucked under her chin for a long time, shivering, though her room was warm, and the fire had not yet completely burned down. At last, calmer, she lay down again, trying to fall asleep once more, and eventually succeeding.

Several watch-cries later, she sat bolt upright in bed, awakening with a start from an entirely different sort of dream. She could still almost feel the lingering touch of his fingertips, could almost taste his lips on her own, touch his body as he enfolded her in his arms…

Hera damn the man: did thoughts of the King have to plague her sleep as well as her waking moments?!

Sighing, she stood up and forced herself through several sets of stretches, trying to take her mind off of Bruce, but the attempt was completely unsuccessful. She could not get him out of her thoughts. After awhile, she gave up and walked over to the large window on the south wall of her chambers. She sat on the stone ledge, the chill in the air not bothering her, and stared out into the night.

Why, she wondered absently to herself, am I so against having these feeling for the King? It is not as if he is a cruel man… And he is certainly handsome enough… Then, she shook her head to dispel such thoughts. He did not even know that she was a woman. She was living a lie in front of him, and when she revealed herself, he probably would not forgive her deception.

She was riddled with guilt for having to lie to him…having to lie to all of them, really; Kal, Oliver, Arthur…but especially Bruce. Especially the King. Diana rested her cheek against her curled fist, sighing as a single tear coursed its way down her cheek. She had found friends in this place where she had only hoped to find allies…and she was doing nothing but deceiving them and betraying them. She didn't even deserve to speak their names…

"I'm sorry." She whispered into the chill of the night air. "Bruce…everyone…I'm sorry…please, please forgive me..."

***

((The Next Day-Midday))

Bruce, mounted upon Batwing, his favorite steed (a midnight-black gelding who used to be a racer) galloped thunderously along his favorite woodland hunting trail. He had been there most of the morning, but so far had had little luck: a few small squirrels and a hare. He supposed he had been asking for it; it was not a bountiful hunting season. Still, he had to get out of the palace. He hated being cooped up for long periods of time, and the confinement of the palace walls had been grating on his nerves for far too long. He was glad to get out, though he knew that William was probably having to physically restrain Kal from going after him. He grinned to himself. His old friend was far too paranoid.

He slowed Batwing to a walk, stopping to enjoy the quiet scenery of the Gotham Forest in winter. Then, he stopped the horse, suddenly. Staring at him, from between two snow-covered trees, was a gorgeous white doe. A hind.

Carefully, trying to make his little noise as possible, he pulled an arrow from his quiver…and the hind bolted. Bruce kicked Batwing into a gallop, following the ghostlike deer at almost breakneck speed. Suddenly, she disappeared. Bruce reined his horse to a stop. Where in hell…

The hind broke from the bushes behind him, rearing silently and pawing the air with hooves of an impossibly silver hue that glinted razor-sharp in the midday sun. Bruce gave a yell of shock and squeezed his knees into Batwing's sides. The horse, however, needed no encouragement and raced off on it's own. That was no normal deer, and his horse could sense it as well as Bruce himself could.

Batwing was agile and fast, but he could not totally avoid the branches and brambles that entangled in his master's hair.

Bruce rode hard for a long time, the strange hind sometimes racing behind him, sometimes running ahead. It seemed clear, though, that she was leading him…or driving him…somewhere.

There was little doubt in his mind that this was no ordinary hind. The pure-white color for one, and the silvery hooves for another. He had never seen a creature like it.

Each time he tried to veer of the path the hind was driving him, she was there, in front of him, keeping him on the same trail. Each time he slowed or tried to turn around, the doe was behind him, flailing razor-sharp hooves, driving him forward again.

He rode like this for what had to be hours, until he was sore from riding and panting with thirst, and sweat flew from Batwing with each time his hooves struck the frost-hard earth.

At last, they reached a clearing, and the hind stopped. Just like that, she stopped, standing perfectly still, fixing him with an impenetrable gaze from her deep, dark eyes. Bruce reined Batwing to a clumsy halt, feeling the huge breaths the horse was taking as they stretched the straps of his saddle. He could hear the panting of his beloved animal, and his jaw tightened angrily.

Furiously, Bruce leapt down from Batwing's saddle, drawing his longsword and advancing, confronting the oddly calm, utterly unmoving hind, which did not seem exhausted in the least.

Just then, the sun moved from behind a cloud, shining directly into his vision. By the time he had cleared the color-spots from his eyes, she was gone, leaving no sigh she had ever been there, not even a hoof print in the earth.

Bruce looked around. He had no recollection of this place, and that was not good. The hind could have taken him miles from his palace, and he had lost all sense of direction. Suddenly, he realized that something was wrong. The air was unusually warm, for winter, and patches of grass peeked through the ground. If he didn't know better, he would swear it was spring…

He glanced into the wood to see if the seasons had changed without him realizing it, but no… Where the clearing's boundaries ended, the wood became merely a bunch of snow-covered trees, as it should be in winter. He shivered, despite the warm air. He should not be here. He was about to mount Batwing and leave the clearing, when he saw the graves. They were nothing elaborate, simply two small mound of earth with large stones at their heads. He walked over to the graves and knelt before them, paying his respects silently. He knew not who was buried there, but it seemed only fitting to pay homage to the dead.

Just then, a small white dove alit on one of the gravestones, cocked its head and stared at the king.

"It's the wrong season for you, songbird." Bruce said absently. Then, as an afterthought, and a bit of a joke, asked jokingly, "I don't suppose you know whose graves these are?"

The dove opened his beak and let out a clear trill. Unusually clear. At first it sounded like regular birdsong, but once he listened for a moment, there were what sounded like words beneath the avian trill.

"Alas the day my love became

The Famous Flower Of Serving Men."

To Bruce's shock, the dove began to cry, red tears streaming from its eyes. Still, it raised itself up and sang the eerie song again.

"Alas the day my love became

The Famous Flower Of Serving Men."

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked the bird. He felt ridiculous, speaking to a thrush, but it obviously spoke of William. Perhaps this was the time to see if he could unravel Some of William's Past.

The bird cocked its head and spoke to her, in a clear, deep voice that Bruce could almost recognize.

"You call her William, but that is not her name."

"Her?" Bruce asked.

The bird chirped. "Her. She. The one you call the Flower of Serving Men. Have you never wondered why William is lovelier than any of the women in the palace? Or why 'his' voice was so high?"

"Who is she then?"

"When I was alive, she was my wife. Then her mother came and killed me. And our son." The bird let out a mournful trill. "Came and killed us in the night, my wife cut her hair and changed her name: Once it was Diana, now she calls herself William, and serves you as the Famous Flower Of Serving Men."

Suddenly, the pieces clicked together in the King's head. Diana was the wife of the Baron Treverus. She had not kept the fact that she knew who killed the Baron to herself out of fear; she had kept it to herself because she wanted no one to guess that she was a woman.

The bird hopped over to Bruce, and buried its head in his palm.

"Tell her to stop grieving, my King." It said. "Tell her I know she loved me, but she cannot go on as she is now."

"As you wish, old friend," Bruce responded. The bird chirped, happily, and alit off of his hand, flying off into the trees.

Bruce stood up. At last, things were just beginning to make sense with William. He cursed under his breath. Damn him--her! He'd thought he was falling for a damned stripling knight.

Batwing's hooves thundered against the earth, as he made his way back to the palace. Inexplicably, he knew where they were. Just as oddly, they were not far. He remembered riding out earlier in the day farther away from the palace than they were now. Bruce, however, was not a man to question the workings of magic.

***

~ authors notes ~

And the fifth installment is…done! The next one will be up soon, too. I hope. Peace out,

cat