Alright, so I accidentally uploaded these chapters last week and skipped the three that were supposed to be uploaded, so I uploaded Selina 4, Alfred 4, and Richard 4 to correct the problem! Enjoy!
Selina: Chapter 5
Well, let us see how well the whore can blend in with nobles. Selina thought to herself as she followed the flood of people up towards the giant red and white tent sitting atop the crest of the hill. She was wearing a dark violet dress with a green scarf draped around her neck loosely and a silver necklace she had found in some nobleman's bedroom. Heh, in a double locked safe she reminded herself with silent pride.
As she made her way through the gaping mouth of the massive tent, she followed the steady stream of better dressed people branching off from the less extravagantly dressed. As she made her way up the steps to an open seat she spotted, a man bumped into her backing up from finishing a conversation. Despite Selina planning on trying to act closer to a noble lady tonight, she lost herself in a quick moment of irritation.
"Well excuse me ser, but I do believe when a lady is walking, true gentleman should give caution and not stomp around like an elephant. If you wish to act like one then you could go out back and joi-" she cut herself off mid-sentence as the man turned. Selina heard the sound a cane makes when it thuds against hard wood beneath it. Bruce Wayne was actually much more handsome than Selina pictured him to be. He was rather tall, had a defined jaw, and eyes that froze Selina where she stood. He had a face chiseled from marble as well. Selina realized she was still holding her breath so she refrained from further insulting the richest man in the city, and the star of the party.
"Ah I am incredibly sorry my lady. With this cane I am unfortunately not as vigilant or cautious as I once was. Forgive me lady…?" Bruce Wayne said with a gracious smile. Even his teeth are perfect, may the Others take him.
Tonight Bruce Wayne was dressed in a rich black doublet with gold trim and a golden, flapping bat on the breast of his matching black jacket. His shoes were shined, his trousers perfectly straight, and his dark, black hair combed back. He looked perfectly noble, and not at all like the bearded, rugged looking traveler she had heard of from alley gossip.
"Kyle, Selina Kyle," she replied without thinking. Fool! Why did you use your name, ugh now it's out there and never able to be taken back. Now he knows who you are and-. Before she could finish yelling at herself internally, her aggravator asked her, "Would you grace me with the pleasure of sitting beside me Lady Kyle? I have a hard time focusing on dancing bears and men walking on wooden poles and could use some entertaining company." Damn it all, including that shiny, white smile of his.
"It would be my pleasure my lord," she said with a small, curt smile.
She followed him up the wooden stairs of the stands to the center stands the wealthiest of lords sat. As they neared their seat, a voice called out from behind.
"I had to see it with mine own eyes to make sure it was true. So men truly can return from the land of the dead."
Selina and Bruce turned to see their caller approaching them with an eager pace. He had thin black eyebrows standing above his almost purely black eyes. He was older, as his shoulder length black hair had streaks of silver running through it coming to the point of a widow's peak on his forehead. The man wore a red doublet with matching leather gloves and boots, a red sun with a gold sun piercing through it blazed on his chest.
Bruce smiled and spoke, "Prince Oberyn, I was not aware you had arrived to the city."
Oberyn Martell smiled, "Yes, well, if I could not sneak up on a cripple I would fear for my reputation as a warrior."
Well he certainly is quick of tongue, quite a fashion of greeting a lord that has just returned home. Selina had heard of Prince Oberyn but had never laid eyes on the man. His renown on the battlefield was legendary, as his tactics were crueler than those of most men. While most men felt using a simple blade was enough to kill a foe, Oberyn Martell felt that a thin layer of poison on all of his blades would be a necessary touch. His poisons were not only deadly but capable of drawing death out for days, and making the pain excruciating for any unfortunate enough to be nicked by one of the Prince's edges. It is how Oberyn received the rather fitting title of the Red Viper of Dorne.
Bruce chuckled, "Yes I suppose a viper would lose a great deal of renown if he couldn't scare a flightless bat. What has drawn you from your lovely Dornish hills Prince Oberyn? I find it hard to believe you would travel such a long distance for only a glimpse of a man returned from being seemingly dead."
The prince smiled, the aged lines in his face stretching at his lips' corners. "Your father and I met once or twice in his lifetime. We did not agree on a great deal as you can imagine I am sure, but he was a good man. If it were me, I would have found the killers and hung them from iron bars through their ankles and let them bleed to the street below from their heels."
Selina's eyes widened at the sudden gruesome detail. Well he is unlike any royalty I have seen.
Prince Oberyn turned to Selina and smiled, "And who is your lovely friend my lord?"
Bruce returned the smile as he turned to Selina, "This is Lady Kyle of Gotham. She has agreed to be my company for the evening."
Oberyn gave a perplexing smile and kissed Selina's knuckles, "You are a rare beauty in a city of eye sores my lady. Speaking of company, I should best return to my dear Elia before she decides it best to hang me by the ankles. My lord, I will assuredly see you at the feast. I have brought a Dornish wine that most lords would tempt fighting me to have but a sip of."
Bruce chuckled, "I can hardly wait my fork-toothed friend."
The prince gave a hard laugh at the comment, gave Bruce a strong pat on the shoulder, and returned down the stairs to his seat. This city seems to be full of curious nobles and lords.
Bruce led Selina to his two satin seats saved in the middle of the stands, directly across from the center ring. Well living high and mighty certainly has its perks. The man's limping made him a hard leader to follow however, as his pace was as slow as a cow's.
As they sat, Bruce asked her, "So tell me my lady, what is it that you do for a living."
Ha, what kind of living would my life be branded as? "Ohh I'm but a simple florist, growing, selling, and trimming flowers," she lied with a sincere smile across her lips.
"You must make a lot of people happy with that life. Giving young lovers flowers to gift each other with, young boys to show their mother that they love them, young girls to wrap around their head like the crown of a queen," he said looking out to the ring.
Is this man a saint? Does he do no wrong? "Yes, many people to help, many smiles to see." Or just my own rather, for as long as I'm smiling who gives a damn what other people are doing with their mouths. "So tell me my lord, where did you travel? You were gone for quite a few years."
His eyes turned from the stands to meet hers. He smiled and said, "Ohh, across the Narrow, to cities and lands you could only dream of I'm sure. But enough about me and my boring past, tell me about yours."
Well if that wasn't an aversion of conversation then I still have my maidenhood. Fine, by your rules then Lord Wayne. "Me? I am simply a poor girl raised by parents to try and earn an honest living this life my lord. Giving beauty out to the city is the least I can do." She saw the ring leader walking out into the center of the ring, causing a giant roar from the thousands of eager viewers in the crowd. She didn't even notice Bruce lean in right to her ear.
He whispered at a level of volume only she could have ever heard, "Tell me Lady Kyle, are you as good at picking flowers as you are lying through that beautiful little smile of yours?"
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped some, how did he…? She turned to face him and ask, but he was already applauding and roaring on the ring leader with the rest of the crowd. Entertaining company indeed.
Richard: Chapter 5
The lion tamers were the first to perform. They led their golden beasts out into the large cage laid in the center of the arena with whips and loud cries. The creatures roared and clawed as the lion tamers ran them through their routine. The largest male's mane danced like a tawny fire as he stalked around the cage leading the rest of his pride.
Once the lions had left and the giant iron cage taken down, the jugglers, stilt walkers, and dancing bears were lead out in a parade around the perimeter of the giant ring. The walkers towered over the crowd and threw out little fragments of exotic silks and multicolored streamers into the masses. The jugglers tossed up their wooden pins or poles into the air in groupings of four, five, or even six. The bravest few juggled knives and daggers with jewel encrusted hilts. Bright flashes of silver reflected in quick glimpses as the twirling blades reflected the grand illumination of the hundreds of torches laid throughout the arena.
Then the elephants were led in as the crowd gasped in awe at the colossal creatures' grand size. They had vibrantly colored blankets draped across their backs with long golden tassels dangling at the corners. Golden rings and ornaments littered their ivory tusks and reflected the torchlight even more beautifully than the jugglers' blades. The behemoths would raise their trunks up to the sky in unison and trumpet making the first few rows of commoners jump back in fear. Dick always found it funny how entranced regular folk were with the large creatures. They should try doing back flips on top of one, let alone try riding one.
Finally the fire breathers entered the arena and began blowing their flames up into the sky. They wore beautifully detailed vests and loose-fitting djini pants from across the narrow sea. Likenesses of dragons, chimeras, and other fantastical beasts were tattooed into their skin. Their breaths wound together in twisting pillars and intertwining rings of bright orange streams. Dick always thought the men looked like dragons in human skins as the fire erupted from their mouths.
The Flying Graysons was the last act of the night to perform. Dick climbed the rope ladder up to the wooden planked rafters high above the crowd. As Dick stood on the edge of his stage towering over the arena, he felt alive. It was his turn to perform, his time to fly.
He looked across the large, gap of open air to his parents opposite him on the far side of the tent. They smiled and waved as the crowd quieted and ring leader Haley shouted from the middle of the ring. "Ladies and Gentlemen! The hour is at hand for us to look on in awe as the world's greatest acrobatic family performs death-defying stunts right before your eyes! They have soared in Highgarden, they've dumbfounded the people of Golden Grove, and they flew with wings of gold in King's Landing! People of Gotham! I give you, the Flying Graysons!"
The crowd roared as Dick leapt out and grabbed the bar hanging in front of him and began the show. He soared through the air and flipped and twirled as he jumped to the next bar. He loved the rush of wind through his hair and the feeling of anxiety and excitement his stomach flurried with when he leapt from one bar to the next. As he neared the other side of the tent, his mother jumped out to join him. They passed each other in the air as they jumped to each other's now vacant bars. The crowd erupted into cheers as they each successfully grasped the wooden pole dangling more than one hundred feet in the air.
Soon his father took to the air, as the three robins of Grayson flew above the ground in unison. Dick leapt from his bar and locked arms with his mother as she dangled from hers by her legs. Soon he was riding his father's shoulders as the hulk of a man swung from his bar with one hand grasping it and another holding onto his son.
Dick looked down to watch the waves of multicolored dots blur beneath him. The crowd blended together into one giant sea of color. That was another thing Dick loved about being in the circus. He relished the sight of the blurred tapestry of people unfold beneath him as if it were an exotic rug from the Free Cities.
After a dozen or so forays across the open air, their grand finale was drawing closer as Dick jumped from his mother's legs to the wooden stage on the leftmost side of the tent. The roaring of the crowd was deafening, and Dick savored every moment of it. He gazed on in awe as his mother and father danced across the air in a way no other husband and wife could. The way they moved was like two birds courting each other as they flew in parallel through the skies.
He looked down to Bruce Wayne's seat of honor, seeing nothing but a black spot where the young lord should have been. The nobles all appeared as vibrant specks of red, blue, gold, silver, violet; while the city folk sat around them on the ground as dots of brown, green, yellow, and black. Dick returned his gaze to his parents, and what he saw made his eyes widen with horror.
At first he did not see his parents falling, or even hear the crowd gasp in unison; he just saw the rope falling from the rafters. His stomach sank inside of him as he knew what was coming but for a moment tried to pretend as if he did not. His skin turned to ice, his lungs locked in their air, his blood ran cold like a river in the North. He collapsed to his knees on the platform, tears running down his face in steady little streams.
Bruce: Chapter 6
Bruce's mind stopped thinking, stopped running, or even having the ability to do so. He did not think of the well dressed, wealthy looking woman next to him who just a week past had been a street whore fighting him. He did not think about Lucius and if he was working on what they had planned at this very moment. He did not think about Gotham, its plague of crime, Batman, any of it. All Bruce's mind could focus on was the pair of bloodied bodies lying before the crowd at the center of the ring. The look on the boy's horrified face up on a wooden platform; tears streaming down his cheeks and his mouth open in screams of pain and anguish, but Bruce could not hear any of it. He could not hear the crowd gasping or screaming, he could not hear the boy, he could not even hear his own breathing.
Am I still breathing? Bruce could not find the strength to check. It was as if time had slowed around him to but a crawl. He looked around him, the noblemans' faces frozen in horror, the commoners' legs frozen as they tried to stand, even Selina's eyes were frozen wide and her mouth aghast. Bruce's eyes returned to the boy, high above them. That face, I know that face. He did not know the boy personally, but he did know the look of a young boy who had lost his entire world in the flash of an instant.
Bruce began to rise on his own two feet, before somehow remembering he was playing the role of a cripple and reached for his cane. Selina hadn't noticed, her eyes locked on the bodies of the Graysons. Alfred stepped to his side immediately, trying to mask his emotional torture after watching another boy lose the two people he loved most. "What do you need Ser?" His voice cracked slightly on the word "need."
"My suit Alfred, I need my suit," with that he turned and limped down the aisles, avoiding the frightened city-folk fleeing the tent in droves. Alfred followed him dutifully. "Ser I don't think this is the proper time for your suit. It won't bring the Graysons back and it will not help that young boy."
As they passed under the main entrance to the tent, people rushing past them in a mob, Alfred stopped and stood his ground. He grabbed Bruce by the shoulder and turned him back around but before he could say anything Bruce growled, "Nothing will help that boy! Not me or you or all the gold in the world! I have an odd feeling about this in my gut Alfred, this circus has never had a fall like this in its many years on the road. I've checked!," Bruce said shouting louder over the course of his words.
"Master Bruce, Batman cannot bring this boy's parents back, and neither can you," Alfred said regretfully. Bruce gazed into his eyes for a few moments longer before turning.
"Ask the ringleader what he plans to do with the boy now that the Flying Graysons are no more. If he says anything you don't agree with or don't like for the boy, tell him we will take him into our home and he can live with us," Bruce said as he limped down the hill, leaving Alfred alone in a herd of people all pouring out of the tent and back to the city.
It took Bruce a while to even make it halfway back to the castle while feigning a limp. As soon as he hit a back alley where he feared no one seeing him, he would sprint to the next street in hopes of quickening his pace. As soon as he reached the edge of the woods he lifted the cane and sprinted to the hidden entrance to the cave. He ran into the shadowy hole leading deep into the ground and remembered the way to get back to his second home. Right left left straight right left, he repeated in his head at every intersection of tunnels. A man could get lost down here easily if he did not know the way.
He reached the massive open den of bats in good time and found Lucius wrapping up work in his corner of rock. "Lucius, there's been a change of plan. Is it finished?" Lucius shuttered at the unexpected voice in the dark, lonesome cave.
"I, uh, I suppose it's ready for a test in the field, mind me asking what happened?" he responded curiously.
As Bruce finished dressing himself in his darkened armor and placed the pointed helm on his head he replied sorrowfully, "I fear the Graysons have been murdered."
He did not look at the expression on the dark-skinned man's face, only grabbed the item he needed from his hands and mounted his horse. He kicked it into a gallop as he returned out the way he had come and returned to the city. Near an hour had passed since the Graysons fell so he suspected the tent should be emptied out of the city-folk by now. The tent would no doubt have a good number of city guards there inspecting the area, with Ser Gordon leading them. That is why Bruce needed the tool Lucius had been working on so intently these past few days.
The grappling shot Lucius had named it, his crossbow design modified. It was lightweight with a light, tightly coiled, but above all strong metal line capable of supporting Bruce's weight as he climbed it. He would use the item to climb to the top of the tent without being noticed by the guards.
As he neared the back of the tent, he saw a few guards finishing their rounds and returning to the front. Bruce had maybe a total of five minutes until they returned. He left his mount in the woods, and crept up to the tent before firing the grappling shot up to the nearest colossal support pole piercing out from the tent. It reached the pole and wrapped around a few times before the metal hooks jutting out from the arrowhead clung to the taught metal line. Impressive reach, I will need to thank Lucius when this night is done, Bruce thought as he tugged the line to make sure it was secure.
He climbed his way up along the tent, expecting no guards to look up and notice the slight bulge his feet gave as he braced them against its thick, tarp skin. When he made it to the top, he slowly lowered himself to the rafters ten feet below through the circular gap around the thick support pole.
He walked across the wooden planks of the rafters soundlessly; making his way to the place where the broken lines the Graysons had fallen from was tethered. He inspected the ropes and was disappointed with what he saw. He was right; the line had been tampered with. When most lines snapped, both ends were pulled as the rope tried to hold together. This line had no such stretching, only a flattened end where a knife had been at work. Bruce looked around and found a knife lying half on the wooden plank, half over the open air. Whoever had cut the line had left in such a scared rush that they had forgotten their murderous tool. Now to find the sorry soul, and make him understand what pain truly is.