Senio
Feelings of the Unpleasant Variety
A new night fell on Wayne Castle. In Damian's room, the valets were just leaving, and he adjusted the tie around his neck as he sat down at his desk and opened up his diary. He'd meant to finish updating it last night, but then things became somewhat sidetracked.
…So we are currently waiting for Lady Mighdall to send us her copy of the book. Until then, we are at the mercy of fate. I find myself angrier each day, and yet my actions feel subdued. I feel as though my tongue has been trained not to speak, and my hands to be as gentile as can be. It is very different from everything I have ever known.
Mother remains similar, however. She is firm and ever watchful, holding us all to the highest standards. It is… strange… seeing her with Richard and Jason and Tim. Stranger still to see traces of her in their faces. I had always wondered what it would feel like to have biological brothers… yet somehow… very little seems to have changed. I suppose we are all closer than I first realised.
He put down his pen and read over his work. It fascinated him how writing down one's thoughts brought out such raw feelings. He would certainly never admit any of this out loud, even writing in the diary left him feeling somewhat vulnerable, yet he couldn't help but continue.
One thing in particular which I have noticed since arriving is an acute sense of trust between the four of us; much stronger than it was before. Aside from potential brides, the only people these Wayne brothers have ever had to lean on was each other, and I can feel their camaraderie within my subconscious and my heart. I have no doubt in my mind that they would risk their lives for me, and I for theirs. Even Tim.
When Damian read over that last paragraph, he felt the urge to tear out the page, but decided against it. Instead, he signed off and hid the book back underneath the desk where no one would ever read it. It did feel strangely good having admitted those thoughts in a way, though he fully intended to keep them on their secret page.
As he walked down to breakfast with his brothers, what he had written came back to him, and he found himself looking around at them all, almost wanting to smile. Until Tim caught him staring and he frowned and turned away again. It was just as well. They had bigger things to think about. Like Jason's proposal to Lady Mighdall on Saturday. If they couldn't figure a way out of the situation before then, they risked losing the medallion.
"I'm quite surprised to hear of your plans to propose, Jason," said Bruce at the morning meal. "May I ask why you have not mentioned this sooner?"
Jason swallowed and kept his eyes on his plate.
"I believe he was nervous," Lady Wayne said for him, smiling fondly. "A silly notion, really. Of course Lady Mighdall shall accept. It's plain for anyone to see where her affections lie."
The Marquis "hmmed" to himself. "We'll discuss this further at a later date."
Oh boy. They were going to have the ever popular "pre-marriage" chat. Damian couldn't exactly say that he envied Jason.
Tonight's lesson revolved around party etiquette (aptly timed, it would seem) and Lord Wayne spent an awful lot of time with Damian, making sure he knew how to diffuse arguments and be as congenial with other noblemen as possible. He did his best to answer correctly, but it wasn't until after his first mistake and subsequent punishment that those helpful little memories began to come to him. As he stood, back straight, demonstrating how one leads a distinguished lady into a room, he wished he had a way to fight back against the Marquis' demanding tone.
"AAH!" He suddenly cried, clutching his head.
"How many times do I have to tell you?" Bruce groaned. "Keep your forearm level with your elbow!"
"I was—AGH!" He tried to say, but the pain seared his thoughts away.
"Do not talk back to me!" The Marquis ordered, his brow becoming more furrowed by the second. "Again!"
Then, as Damian was catching his breath, daring to look the Marquis in the eye, something peculiar happened.
"He's doing his best!" Tim suddenly shouted, stepping between them.
Damian and Lord Wayne stared at him in pure shock for a solid two seconds, until Tim's familiar gasp of pain sounded and he dropped to one knee.
"How dare you speak to me that way!" Bruce thundered.
"Leave him alone!" Jason cried, only to meet the same fate as his brother.
"Father! AGH!" And now Richard was on the floor too.
Damian watched them all, writhing in agony at his feet, and his chest and throat went tight. He knew that words would only get him into trouble, so he did the only thing he could think of. He bent down and put his arm around the closest person to him—Tim—silently thanking him for standing up to Lord Wayne. When Tim saw him and felt his arm across his back, he gave a tight smile and grabbed a hold of Jason's shoulder, who then took hold of Richard's arm. Somehow, holding on to one another made them each feel more protected. Damian tilted his head upward, delivering a scathing glare at his alternate dimension father who narrowed his eyes at them all.
"Fine," he said coldly. "If you wish to fight together, you will suffer the consequences together as well." He snapped his fingers and a group of valets appeared. "Take them to the dungeon."
They were dragged to their feet quite roughly and taken by the arm all the way down the hall and down the stairs into those dreaded, coldest parts of the castle. Their feet stumbled most of the way as their senses struggled to return to their sharpest state, but in time, the soreness in their temples lessened. They were turned away from the cellars and the kitchens and came to a place ripped straight out of a fantasy book. The cell bars were wrought iron and chilling to the touch, there were no windows and the only light the naked eye could see was the occasional candle, and rats roamed the dirty corners and crevices, looking for bugs and crumbs and dead things to nibble on.
The boys were thrown into one of these filthy cells and the tightly woven bars were locked behind them with a loud CLANG, preventing even the smallest breed of bat from escaping. There was one guard down here—the keeper of the keys—and he sat in another room entirely, where it was actually warm. Here in the cell, water dripped occasionally from the ceiling, and in what little light shone from the single candle flickering in the corner, you could see your own breath. The rest of the room was nothing more than scurrying little feet hidden in pitch blackness and silence.
Damian adjusted himself on the damp floor, feeling who he presumed to be Tim and Richard on either side of him.
"Thank you," he said quietly. Tim standing up for him had been the last thing he expected to happen when he woke up that evening.
"Don't mention it," said Tim, bumping their shoulders together gently. "At least we aren't getting tortured again." He sniffed as the cold air had begun to make his nose run.
"Not that this is exactly an improvement," said Jason, the shape of his face just barely illuminated in the dim light.
"I prefer it over being alone," said Richard.
As the four of them sat there on the hard, stone floor, they felt themselves inching closer to one another to keep warm. They were shoulder-to-shoulder now, arms folded and some heads leaning to one side (such as Damian's which, as the minutes wore on, drew steadily closer to Richard.)
"Why do you think he does all of this?" Tim asked after a long while.
"Because he's insane."
"Come on, Jason, I mean a real reason. Like… is maintaining this perfect image of the Wayne Family that important to him?"
Richard breathed in. "I think it's one of the only things he has to occupy his time with. Or that anyone else does, for that matter. Think of it. What else does he do in a day besides manage the rent he earns from his properties and attend parties?"
"So the entire upper class is just really bored and they have no idea what else to do with their obscene amounts of time and money?" Jason summarised.
"That sounds about right," said Damian.
"Don't forget matchmaking and social finagling; everyone trying to get ahead of everyone else and avoid destitution," Tim added, rubbing his nose.
Jason sighed. "Yeah, somehow that just doesn't give me any sympathy for him."
"It's an utter waste of time and money," Damian sniffed. "Of all the things they could do, they waste it on frivolous nonsense."
"Well, what would you do with it?" Tim asked.
"For one thing, build my home with far more sensible defences," he mused, thinking back to the League of… He paused. The League of what? Oh no… was he beginning to forget just like Tim and Richard? The League of… of what? He remembered lots of people in his formative years… and he remembered… his mother… in an emerald green dress and pearls… was that right? And of course, his father had always been Bruce, and both his parents had spent a great deal of time training him… but for what? It wasn't social etiquette, like it was here, it was definitely something else—something far more practical and exciting—but… all of a sudden, he just couldn't picture it clearly. And then there was his grandfather… "Do you all remember…"
"What?" Richard asked.
Damian felt his lips go tight. "Nothing. Never mind."
"If you're having trouble remembering something, we could help. I don't want us forgetting our real lives. We let that happen, then we may never go home," said Richard, quite aptly.
And so, Damian began again. "Do you all remember my grandfather?"
"Grandfather?" Tim echoed, thinking. With that word spoken aloud, an image came to mind. An older vampire with quite the moustache and beard, standing tall and scrutinising them all when they were young. "I remember," he said, suppressing a shiver. "He's our only living grandparent, after all."
Jason squinted for a moment, almost as if that sounded wrong, but then he too recalled the imposing figure of Ra's al Ghul, narrowing his eyes at him when he was being presented to him for the first time, many years ago now. Richard, he thought, had taken after the old man somewhat in appearance. "What about him?" He asked Damian, wondering where the memory problem was lying.
"I suppose…" Damian thought long and hard about it. "I'm not sure. I thought there was something I was forgetting about him, but…"
"It's not as though there's much to remember about him," Tim lamented. "He only ever comes around on occasion, and when he does, it's to check up on his grandsons' education."
"Maybe that's where Father gets it from," Jason sighed, leaning his head back. Then his eyes widened. "I mean—Bruce. That's where Bruce gets it from."
As Richard listened to the conversation, he felt all odd inside. Grandfather… Grandfather Ra's didn't sound right to him at all, but then again, when Jason had called Bruce by his first name, that also didn't sound right. Actually, a pang of surprise went through him, as though he couldn't believe Jason would address him by his first name like that, but then he shook his head. "Bruce isn't our biological father," he said, trying to keep it all straight in his mind. "Excepting Damian, of course. And therefore, Talia is not our biological mother, which means that Ra's is not our grandfather."
Tim and Jason both felt astonished with themselves.
"Oh my gosh…" Tim muttered. "But… the memories are so vivid."
"So… who is our grandfather?" Jason asked, trying to think.
Dick suddenly felt an empty hole forming in his chest. "I… don't remember." He was still just barely hanging on to the image of his mother and father's faces, he'd never even considered any grandparents. Now he wished he had.
And then, something strange happened. After two or so minutes of silence, one of their voices began to sing a melody. It was Jason. It was very soft at first—so soft that one could hardly determine the tune for a few lines—but the words, they all seemed to know.
I sat beside the streamlet,
I watched the water flow,
As we together watched it
One little year ago;
The soft rain pattered on the leaves,
The April grass was wet,
Ah! folly to remember;—
'T is wiser to forget.
The boys had had a very long week, filled with a cornucopia of emotions and fears and worries, but while they had this singular moment together—while they could simply be in one another's company uninterrupted—and while they had nothing better to do, they joined together in song, harmonising to the old, melancholy tune.
The nightingales made vocal
June's palace paved with gold;
I watched the rose you gave me
Its warm red heart unfold;
But breath of rose and bird's song
Were fraught with wild regret.
'T is madness to remember;
'T were wisdom to forget.
I stood among the gold corn,
Alas! no more, I knew,
To gather gleaner's measure
Of the love that fell from you.
For me, no gracious harvest—
Would God we ne'er had met!
'T is hard, Love, to remember, but
'T is harder to forget.
The streamlet now is frozen,
The nightingales are fled,
The cornfields are deserted,
And every rose is dead.
I sit beside my lonely fire,
And pray for wisdom yet—
For calmness to remember
Or courage to forget.
And so, the four brothers' voices rang out through the empty dungeon, with nary a soul to hear them, or to come and save them from their prison.
Eventually, someone did arrive to break the silence.
Hours after they had been locked away, the valets came and, with their usual wooden countenance, took Damian away to face his morning with Princess Raven at her party.
"Have fun," Jason called to him. Damian just rolled his eyes.
"Do you think he's going to be alright?" Tim asked, leaning over to Richard as their youngest brother left the room.
"I have no idea," he replied, looking worried in the candlelight. "But I've got a bad feeling."
"There you are," said Talia fondly when Damian entered the foyer. She was noticeably wearing one of her fancier dresses, although not an evening gown. "My little Damien. You weren't causing trouble tonight, were you?"
He swallowed and felt his cheeks flush as she stroked his slick hair on their way out into the rain, two servants covering them with umbrellas. Perhaps, he thought, it would be better for him if he remained silent.
"But no trouble at the party, do you understand? And I mean it, Damien. I don't care how much that pretentious little Lord Jon berates you so." She hugged his shoulder and then gave him a hidden smirk as they climbed into the carriage. He couldn't help but smile back at her. At least she wasn't oblivious, just trapped by societal convention like the rest of them. Of course, she'd never bring something like that to the attention of the duchess, she was the duchess after all. But that didn't mean Talia wasn't on his side regarding the matter of Lois' snide son.
During the carriage ride, Damian found himself pondering the best way to handle the upcoming… situation. He had never really done well at any of his father's social functions, or with the Teen Titans, to be altogether plain. He could only imagine how much more poignant his "bad behaviour" would seem under such an intense spotlight. Perhaps it wouldn't be too horrendous if he simply kept to himself for the duration of the party. Would anyone notice? Moreover, would anyone care? If the adults were to be around, the answer would sadly then be "yes." After all, "timidity and shyness are to be avoided." He sighed inwardly and listened to the rain fall as the carriage wheels sunk through puddles of mud.
The Royal Family of Azarath, when traveling abroad, made their home at Grimsdale Castle. Similar in size and scale to Wayne Castle, however for more gothic and foreboding in nature. Gargoyles sat perched atop the stony roof, eyeing them suspiciously as they approached through the massive iron gate, and thorny rose bushes framed the dark oak doorway.
By now, Damian already knew where they would be going first: the foyer, where the hostess would be waiting to greet them. And so it was. He and Lady Wayne, accompanied by a servant carrying a lovely looking present, walked inside, out of the rain, and were met by the pleasant face of Queen Angella Roth, flanked by two motionless servants. She kindly welcomed them in and directed them toward the grand sitting room where the party would be taking place. As Damian suspected, Lady Wayne remained by his side.
A terrible thought made itself known to him upon entry to the sitting room; he was betrothed to the lady of honour, and all of her closest companions (and every other young nobleman and gentlewoman besides) was in attendance. The room was full of prying eyes, all around Damian's age, and they and their parents bowed when he and his mother entered the room. There was a table set up, piled high with gorgeously wrapped gifts of every size, and then there was a neat little table set with small hors d'oeuvres that were chosen for the event specifically because they were not likely to cause a mess. Some form of silly game was commencing in the centre of the large room, though it wasn't one that he was yet familiar with. Talia gave him a subtle nudge, and he could only guess as to where he was meant to go first.
"Good morning, Princess Raven," he said stiffly as he approached her, wearing a deep blue birthday gown. She was standing off to the side of the room, watching the other children from a distance.
"Lord Damian," she replied emotionlessly.
He stood there a moment, hoping that would be the end of it, and yet he knew it would be considered "improper" to let the conversation wither and die.
"Terrible weather we've been having," he said, noting the rain still pattering against the windows.
"Quite," she agreed.
"…And it's your birthday."
"How very astute of you."
He almost growled. On second thought, he might just go and get something to eat. He hadn't had anything since breakfast.
"Excuse me, Princess," he said, leaving her alone. How many more hours of this torture were left? At least one, probably more, which was far too many for his liking. He would undoubtedly get roped into playing silly games with the children, or else sitting around doing nothing until it was time to go. His mother at least seemed to be enjoying herself as she chatted with the other adults in another room connected to this one via an open double door. He almost wished he could join them, rather than being stuck here with all the other juveniles.
"Come, let us begin a dance in Princess Raven's honour!" Said one of the royal attendants, and all the girls in the room squealed with delight. Damian let loose the tiniest snarl, having been so close to the snacks when he was forced to change course. People would notice if he wasn't there to dance with Raven, and noticing would turn to gossiping, and then gossiping to rumours, and so on and so forth.
Luckily for him, this was not a waltz, or any other kind of couples dance. This was a group dance, where everyone would line up and stay at a distance, weaving in and out among each other. If it weren't for his recent lessons, Damian probably would have made a fool of himself a second time, but thankfully he just went along with the uninteresting moves with a bored countenance, similar to the Princess, actually.
When all of that nonsense was finally done, he went back over to the food table. At last, a moment somewhat alone where he could glower in peace. He'd only just popped a small hors d'oeuvre topped with caviar into his mouth when he spotted Lord Jon coming his way, chatting with a friend. There was only one way to avoid getting into a tussle with the boy, so Damian turned around and made his escape. Perhaps he could now find a quiet corner to hold up in for a while?
"Hello, Lord Damian!" A girl suddenly called to him. Damian turned and saw a group of girls all watching him as he passed, giggling to themselves. He had to resist pulling on his collar. What a bunch of weirdos.
But then, catastrophe.
"AH!" He suddenly cried as he felt his footing slip and he heard something tear. He barely avoided falling, but he had failed to avoid ripping the dress of one of the young ladies there in attendance. She looked to be perhaps a little younger than he was, with strawberry blonde hair, freckles, and bright teal eyes.
She gasped when his foot stepped on the hem of her skirt, and she turned on him, growing red in the face. "You tore my dress!" She cried.
"A simple mistake," he said, just barely holding himself together. He really, really, really didn't have the energy to deal with this right now. "I'm sure you have plenty more."
"Apologise," she ordered, raising her chin and glaring at him.
"What?" Of all the arrogant, pretentious, entitled things a girl could say to him…
"Apologise," she repeated. "Now."
"And what if I don't feel like it?" He asked, crossing his arms and leering at her. He knew he ought to act "congenially" and "cordially" but as of this moment, he was finding it far easier to be anything but.
"Some gentleman," she snarked, raising an agitated eyebrow. "Do you even know to whom you're speaking?"
"At the moment you're a—" but he never got to finish his polished insult, for a certain, smug someone had approached them through the crowd.
"Has little Diddy-kins found himself in a spot of trouble?" Lord Jon asked, looking far too happy. Damian found himself twitching at the mere mention of that horrendous nickname. If he could just find a way to discreetly choke him…
"What do you want, Lord Jon?" He seethed through gritted teeth. Both his parents would surely punish him if things got out of hand.
"Ooh, someone's in a foul mood today, isn't he?" Jon pressed, his red eyes gleefully taking in Damian's ticked-off demeanour.
"Lord Jon," said the strawberry blonde girl. She didn't look very pleased to see him either. "Kindly take your poor man's insults elsewhere."
"I would never insult Lord Damien," he said in mock offence, placing a hand over his chest. "Why, Diddy-kins here is one of my nearest and dearest companions. Isn't that right Diddy-kins?" He wrapped an arm around him which nearly sent Damian into an instinctual fight response. His hand was already inching closer to his arm, his fingers so tense they looked like claws.
"I said, leave!" The girl insisted, stepping right up close to him. "Go and join the other nine-year-olds playing Ring-Around-the-Rosie and rid us of your contemptuous remarks!"
Lord Jon seemed to falter and released Damian not a moment too soon. "Letting a girl stand up for you, Damien? You've reached a new level of pathetic."
"Go!" The girl urged, pointing past his arrogant face, and with a look of disdain that was oh-so satisfactory, the youngest member of the El family stalked off. Damian would have loved to be the one to tell him off himself, but at least now he was gone. "Come along," the girl continued, suddenly grabbing Damian's hand.
"Excuse me?" He said as she dragged him out into the middle of the room where the other children were gathering again.
"I've decided how you shall make up for the damage you caused to my gown," she said simply. "You will dance with me."
"I will do no such thing," he spat, trying to remove his hand from her grip. "Besides… I'm betrothed."
"And so? Half the children in this room are. And our parents don't let marital bonds prevent them from paying their friends the kindness of a dance. So you shall dance with me, there is no excuse. Or perhaps you would prefer to get down on your knees and beg my forgiveness?"
Just then, Damian caught his mother's eye in the next room over and he set his jaw again. There were several things which he desperately wanted to say, and with no small amount of effort did he keep those thoughts to himself as the strawberry blonde girl positioned herself across from him. Then, the royal attendants began to play a merry little tune.
Damian tried to keep his eyes from glazing over as he moved through the steps, taking the girl's hand, walking in a large circle with the other children, then turning her around with a spin, then changing partners, then back to the start with the strawberry blonde girl.
He had to admit, she was quite graceful and light on her feet (she likely practised often) and despite the fact that a portion of her skirt was trailing behind her on the floor, her shimmering, turquoise gown swished and swayed beautifully with every move. Or, well, maybe not beautiful, that was giving the gown far too much credit. It was lovely, or charming at best. Perhaps quaint. Yes, quaint. Quite quaint.
At last came the end of the song, and the two of them were left holding both each other's hands at the end of the long line of people. My, she… certainly had soft and dainty hands… but that was to be expected, of course, she was a member of the nobility, of course she would be like that, or, whatever.
Damian bowed low, his eyes staring across the room, waiting for the moment when he could leave and never speak to any of these ridiculous children ever again.
"Hmph."
"What?" Damian asked her, suddenly becoming annoyed with her snobby attitude.
"You're a quaint dancer for a Wayne. I expected more."
Damian couldn't help but frown. Who did this pompous little cream puff think she was?
"Oh well," she continued airily. "That's your payment settled. Goodbye, Lord Damien."
He had his mouth open and finger raised, about to retort with something equally as snide, when she walked right by him, flipping her soft, fragrant curls into his face with a soft POOF.
He stood, motionless.
The dance had ended and the others were calling for another game, but he just stood there, mouth ajar, finger drooping.
He could still smell the flowery fragrance of her hair…
His shoulders were high and his chest wouldn't stop thumping.
Not to mention the odd, squirming feeling in his stomach.
What was this? What had happened to him? Was it some form of superpower affect? Poison? Mind control? Why was he feeling so warm all of a sudden?
He needed to remove himself from all these eyes immediately.
One of the attendants accompanied him (quite unnecessarily) to the nearest powder room where he made for the wash basin, filled with cold water. He cupped his hands and washed his face, letting the chill of it creep into his skin, but it wasn't enough. He still felt unnaturally warm, and it had something to do with that girl. Had there been an airborne agent in her hair? Her long, strawberry blonde, curly… hair…
Now his throat felt tight, too. Was he going to choke to death?
He gripped the sides of the bowl and thrust his face into the water, letting loose as much of a scream as he knew the water would muffle. When he came back up for air, he hastily grabbed the nearest towel and mopped up the water before it spilled all over his suit.
Taking heavy breaths, he stared at himself in the nearest mirror.
"You are Damian Wayne," he said to himself. "Son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul. Grandson of Ra's al Ghul. Pull yourself together!" He was fine, he was cool, he was collected. All he needed to do was practise those breathing exercises he had been taught, to control himself and bring his heart rate down. It was working already. There was no reason to be all shaken up by some prissy little cream puff with long eyelashes and pink lips and cute little freckles on her nose and—now his heart was pounding again!
"AAAAH!" Damian cried into the crook of his elbow, bending over and hopping about in frustration. What. Was. Going. On. With. Him!? He leaned back, hands on his hips, and took another breath. Surely, this couldn't be poison, but it just might be from the influence of a superpower, if she did, indeed, possess such a power, which she must. Like Queen Bee, or… well, he couldn't really think of another example right now, but Queen Bee was a fine example all on her own. Yes, that had to be it. He simply needed to be stronger than her and keep his wits about him. Nothing and no-one controlled Lord Damian Wayne!
A minute later, he was walking back into the sitting room, his chin held high as he made for the hors d'oeuvre table a second time. Yes, some food on his stomach would undoubtedly help. He grabbed the first thing he saw and held it in his hand, noting the light orange cream that had been delicately piped over the top of it. Light orange… almost like strawberry blonde…
No, no, no! He shook his head and went to throw the thing into his mouth, but suddenly found it, for some unknown reason, to be impossible. Dash the food, then, he wasn't all that hungry to begin with.
A group of girls started giggling and he found himself standing up a little straighter, scanning the room. Then he chastised himself. What had that reaction been? Who had he been looking for? No one, that's who. Obviously. Absolutely, unequivocally, no one at all.
After giving a brief and half-hearted apology to Raven for the night of the El ball, he situated himself near one of the windows and prayed that he would be left alone there. Glaring sullenly out at the room, he watched as the other children played silly game after silly game, all to commemorate Her Royal Highness' date of birth. What utter nonsense.
But then, when he caught a glimpse of strawberry blonde hair bouncing among the other girls, he had to stop his legs from moving toward it at once. He must not be controlled by any means, magical, supernatural, or otherwise.
Then came a selection of gifts for Princess Raven to open, selected by the royal attendants. Of course, she would not be opening every single one of them, there were simply too many, but about five or so were presented to her, including the one which Lady Wayne had brought.
It turned out to be a music box, decorated in pure gold. Fitting for a princess, he supposed.
But just then, as Raven moved on to the last gift, Damian noticed something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The strawberry blonde girl was standing just one person over from him, and she was unaccompanied. What should he do? His mind suddenly felt blank. All he seemed able to do at the moment was glance in her direction and wonder what to do!
Oh, why did his throat feel so frustratingly tight? Why did his stomach feel so lopsided, almost to the point of making him nauseous? And why did he feel so terribly warm?
"Hello, Lord Damian," said an older boy after the presents were unwrapped and the crowd dispersed. He had warm skin, black hair, and an altogether pleasant face. "You look awful."
"Prince Donald," Damian said instinctively, and tugged at his collar. "Come to mock me?" He wouldn't be the first of the night.
"Nothing of the sort," he replied. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"Depends on what you mean by 'unwell.'"
Prince Donald seemed to squint in deep thought. Then he pressed a hand to his forehead.
"What are you doing?" Damian asked annoyedly.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have quite the fever, Lord Damian."
"Well I don't! As a matter of fact, I feel downright chilly!" Damian declared, puffing out his chest. "Bring me my coat!" He ordered one of the servants, who retrieved it at once and he shoved it over his shoulders. "See? Perfectly fine."
Prince Donald watched as beads of sweat began pouring down Damian's red face and he raised an eyebrow. "If you insist."
"As a matter of fact, I do. Goodnight, Your Royal Highness!" With that, he turned on his heel and made for the refreshment table where he downed three glasses of chilled punch in under six seconds. How much longer was this going to last? All he wanted was to be home with his brothers—anything but here, writhing in the prison of his own body!
"Excuse me?"
He went rigid. He knew that voice. She was standing right beside him now.
"Would you mind giving someone else a turn at the punch?" She asked, her arms folded daintily.
"Actually, I do mind," he said without thinking.
"Do you, now?" Her expression was becoming dangerously thin.
"I… um… yes, I do," he continued.
"Rather attached, are you?"
He tried to tune out the smell of her soaps and perfumes as he said, "I'm growing fond of yo—OF IT. Growingfondofit." WHAT HAD THAT BEEN?! WHAT HAD HE ALMOST SAID?! "A-anyway, shouldn't you be off playing with your silly friends?" He finished quickly.
Her nose became wrinkled with anger. "No, I don't think I will. I think I'll just stay here and wait."
Oh crumbs, was she serious? Staying there… right there… until he moved?
WHAT SHOULD HE DO NOW!?
"You're quite stubborn for a girl," he blurted, and he nearly dropped his punch glass.
"I beg your pardon? I am a Princess! Her Royal Highness, Princess Layla'a Ata'lanticah, I'll have you know!"
"Well, don't you know who I am?" He fired back.
"Lord Damien Wayne, of the esteemed Wayne family." She rolled her eyes as she said "esteemed." "I was taught that the Wayne family had better breeding than whatever you're supposed to be, and I must say, it's quite the disappointment."
"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Princess," said Damian, truly becoming agitated now. "I suppose I'll just have to pack up my things and leave, seeing as how I'm bothering you so much!"
"Good! Maybe you should!"
"Fine then!" He plunged his hands into his large coat pockets and stormed off to another corner of the room. What was he doing!? What had all that been about!? He wasn't even sure he was actually angry with her—okay, well, he was at least a little—but he kind of didn't want to be at the same time? He didn't know what to make of it. Better to just stick with one, straight forward feeling. He was angry with her. She was annoying and pretentious and arrogant and stubborn and he was angry with her.
Alright, he needed to take off this coat, or else he was going to get heat stroke.
Three miserable hours later, after Damian had spent the bulk of his time ping-ponging across the room to avoid Leyla'a, not to mention Lord Jon, it was finally, finally, mercifully time to go. He practically ran across the room to meet his mother and was on the verge of begging her to finish talking with her friends so that he wouldn't have to keep looking at Leyla'a's flowing, strawberry blonde hair anymore and be reminded of her existence!
"And where are you off to in such a hurry?" Lady Wayne asked as they walked across the foyer, toward the front door. Damian was several steps ahead of her already.
"I just… I would like to go home," he replied curtly.
As they climbed back into the carriage, Talia was still eyeing him. "Did you spend much time with Princess Raven?"
"A little, yes."
"Did you get along with Lord Jon?"
"As best as I could, yes."
"…what was all that commotion I overheard, then?"
"Commotion?" Oh no. Was he in trouble?
"I heard raised voices. You weren't causing trouble… were you?" She was watching him now, full-on, waiting for his answer.
He swallowed. "It was nothing. Just a little disagreement at the punch bowl. It wasn't with Lord Jon."
Talia continued to eye him, but said nothing more.
When they reached home, Damian didn't even wait for the footman to open the door for him. He was trotting up the front steps of the castle and marching down the hallways, on a course for his bedroom, barely even noticing the scores of servants there were, milling around, carrying large decorations to and fro. When he reached the second floor, there was a line of people—his brothers and their valets—also heading for the bedrooms, but he didn't stop to say 'hello.'
"Damian," said Richard, spotting him pass by. "How'd it go?"
He didn't dare speak. He wasn't in the mood. Instead, he quickened his pace and slammed his bedroom door behind him. The others stared after him, a little more than worried.
Dinner felt oddly… strained that night.
Damian sat, glaring at his bloody venison, taking small, perturbed bites, while the other boys glanced at him periodically, wondering to themselves what had happened at the party. It must have been something particularly awful to warrant such intense plate-glaring.
Despite his unpleasant mood, the Marquis didn't mention it, or speak to him at all, really. Everyone seemed to be minding their own business that night, which was probably why it ended so soon. That, or it had something to do with all the servants who had been running about, coming and going from the ballroom. The Marquis had mentioned once before—something about Friday. Well, tomorrow was Friday. What sort of party was it? The boys wished they could ask, but it would undoubtedly come off as a stupid question, since they all ought to know.
Coffee in the family sitting room was also cut short, and everyone went away to bed without a word. Despite Lord Wayne's natural proclivity for mono-syllabic dialogue in the evenings, there was something odd about the brevity of tonight's conversation in particular. Or, more accurately, the sheer lack of conversation. Lady Wayne was also guilty of this, which was a far bigger concern. But still, the boys were glad to be heading upstairs so soon. They had business to attend to.
Damian dreaded the customary meeting in Richard's room and let his changing into his nightgown drag on for as long as he could, then sat, waiting for his hot chocolate.
He sat on the end of his bed, staring into his fireplace. It was terribly warm… like how he had felt at the party. Though, perhaps that was his own fault for stupidly putting on his coat. He let his head hang low. He'd never in his whole entire life acted so foolishly before, and even still, whenever he thought of… of Leyla'a… oh, his anger seemed to reach new heights! Although, he couldn't decide why that was.
At last, his coco arrived and there was no reason left for him to make his brothers wait. He sighed for a long time as he begrudgingly transformed and crawled away into Timothy's room, and then Jason's, until finally he was blinking in the light of Richard's fireplace. When he detransformed, all three of them were standing together, watching him.
He paused and stared back at them. "What?" He spat.
"I take it the party did not go well?" Jason asked carefully, raising a curious eyebrow.
Damian felt his face twitch. "It was fine."
"Are you sure? You don't sound 'fine,'" Timothy chimed in.
"I said I'm fine!" He pressed, his fangs showing.
"If you say so," Timothy muttered.
"So what are we doing today?" Damian asked, turning his attention toward Richard.
The oldest brother sighed. "Unfortunately, there's not much. For a start, we can't go back to the secret place for a while, it's simply too dangerous. M—Talia may discover us again."
"So," Jason piped up. "Anyone come any closer to remembering the spell by chance?"
The room seemed to collectively sigh.
"I've been thinking of the word 'visages' a lot lately," said Timothy thoughtfully.
"How droll, but I don't suppose you've realised how that doesn't really help us?" Jason snarked.
"It could be a word in the spell for all you know."
"Or, it could be your scatterbrain acting up again."
"Let's not fight, please," said Richard, sitting down in his armchair. "I don't care how good you are at it, I've got a headache coming on, and you are not helping."
Damian watched them all and thought back to where he'd last seen them before heading to Grimsdale Castle. "Did Father keep you in the dungeon all night?"
"Just until the last hour before supper," said Richard, sounding tired. Then he sighed. "I don't know if… if we can really afford to wait until Artemis sends us that book."
"Especially since she's been delayed," Jason added, staring at the floor.
"And you're proposing on Saturday," Timothy added.
Jason covered his face with his hands and plopped down on Richard's trunk. "Ugh! Don't remind me!"
"What? Are you nervous?" Richard chuckled.
"No," Jason sniffed. They didn't believe him.
"Aw, he's blushing," Timothy cooed with an enormous grin. "Our sweet little Jason is all grown up!"
Jason gave him a scathing look; a warning look.
"I say, forget about the proposal altogether," Damian suddenly said, arms crossed.
"Hey, it wasn't my idea," Jason growled.
"Yes it was," all three of them said at once.
"Grr! Okay, fine! So it was technically my idea, but I wasn't actually gonna go through with it! That was all Mooo-talia. Ahem. Talia."
Surprisingly, the room went a little quieter.
"It's getting harder to remember…" Timothy observed, no doubt referring to their many slip ups in dialogue. "…I still can't… you know…"
Richard nodded solemnly. "All the more reason that we need to…"
Now, up until this moment, the only sounds beyond the boys' voices that could be heard by the naked ear was the fireplace, the rain, and the occasional creak of the castle as it settled, but then, as Richard's voice faded away, an expression of alarm overtook his face. Though it was faint, he thought he could just make out the distinct sound of heeled shoes clicking down the hallway outside. He wished he'd said something sooner, but unfortunately, it was too late for that now.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
There was someone at the door, and he could only guess as to who it was that had come to pay them a visit.
Richard was on his feet at once, urging the others to get out of his room—NOW—and they transformed, diving for the head of Richard's bed where the hole in the wall was located, but it still felt as though they were too slow.
"Richard?" Lady Wayne called through the door.
"Just a moment, Mother!" He called to her, squeezing every last millisecond out of the situation that he could, but he knew better than to keep her waiting. That would look far too suspicious.
So, sadly, he opened the door, and Damian, Timothy, and Jason were forced to pause their escape right on the cusp of entering the getaway hole. They were hidden from sight by the bed canopy, but if they hurried now, Talia would certainly hear them scrambling away. They forced themselves to move at a glacial pace now, to avoid making even the slightest click or scratch.
Richard did his best to smile when he opened his bedroom door and saw Lady Talia Wayne waiting for him. She invited herself in, Richard closing the door after her.
"What brings you here?" He asked, trying to keep her attention on him. If he could talk with her a while, that would give the others the time they needed to get away.
"Just saying goodnight," she replied innocently. "You're not too old to give your mother a goodnight kiss, are you?"
Richard swallowed. Giving Talia al Ghul a goodnight kiss? Boy, he really hoped that if he got home, he would forget about all of this.
Dreadfully, he leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. "Goodnight, Mother," he said, doing his best to sound genuine and hating every second of it.
"Goodnight, my love," she replied.
Now, he couldn't exactly tell from here, but Richard could reasonably guess as to his brother's progress, and he was very near the mark. Just above them, Jason was almost to the other side of the hole, Timothy and Damian right behind him. They needed just a little more time.
Richard thought of something inconsequential to ask her about—something that might get her talking for a while—but to his surprise, she beat him to it.
"Richard," she said, watching him as though there was something on his face. "You look tired."
"What?" He asked. "No, I feel fiiii—" a large yawn suddenly cut him off. He covered his mouth and turned away slightly. "I'm fine," he finished, trying to fight off a sudden heaviness in his eyes. He needed to keep Talia talking so that the others had plenty of time to get away. And yet… out of nowhere, he just felt so… sleepy.
"Are you sure?" Talia asked, stepping a little closer.
Richard backed up toward his bed, not liking this sudden panicking feeling in his chest. "Yeah, I'm… I'm…" He rubbed his eyes, trying to keep them open, but finding the task to be a Herculean effort.
"Shhh…" Talia hushed. She reached a hand to his forehead and stroked him tenderly. "Sleep now, my dear Richard."
It felt almost like falling under the influence of anaesthesia. One moment, he was awake and trying to fight off the coming drowsiness, the next, he was completely asleep, and he would have fallen over if Talia hadn't caught him with her telekinesis. She lifted him up, his head rolling back peacefully, and she tucked him under the covers.
"Goodnight," she whispered to him, planting a kiss on his forehead and smiling at his calm, relaxed face. "Sweet dreams."
Next door, in Jason's room, the second oldest had just detransformed and looked back up at the hole where Damian was crawling out.
"Damian! Jump!" He whisper-called to him, reaching out his hands. Timothy was already flying across the room, and after spider-Damian had landed softly in Jason's hands, he was running after him and depositing his little brother on the head of his bed where the next secret passage was hidden.
Then,
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Come in," Jason called, grateful that at least Timothy and Damian were out of sight, but once again forced to slow their movements.
Lady Wayne entered and closed the door behind her. "Hello, Jason," she smiled, though he couldn't decide if that smile was genuine or not. Either way, he needed to make it appear as though he hadn't just been running across his room frantically, and so he started wandering over to his fireplace with as much nonchalance as he could muster.
"Hello," he replied. He'd only caught bits and pieces of her conversation with Richard, but had seen nothing, leaving him rather confused about what had happened in there. "Come to say goodnight?"
"I have." She was approaching him now, and he was getting a bad feeling.
"Well, goodnight," he said awkwardly. He hated this sort of stuff even when it wasn't totally creepy.
"Come now, is that all you have to say to your mother?" She asked, looking a little disappointed.
Jason suppressed a rude comment and stared ahead, trying not to let on how uncomfortable he really was. Then, he felt his head suddenly droop and he had to catch himself.
"Mm… you seem tired," Talia said quietly as she came closer still. "Why don't you lay down, my love?"
"No," Jason suddenly said, his eyes darting between her and literally anything else. That bad feeling was growing tenfold as a large yawn overtook him. His head was getting groggy and he really didn't like it. "No, no, no…" He made to get away from her, for clearly this was her doing, but the only other area of the room that was far away from her was near his bed, which was looking awfully comfortable right about now. Another yawn sprouted from inside of him, and then, suddenly, he felt a hand pushing him over. He landed on his back, bouncing somewhat on his springy mattress. He made to get up, but everything felt just so heavy…
Talia's face appeared above him, upside down from his point of view, and she smiled at him.
"Goodnight, Jason," she whispered.
"No… no, no…" he kept saying, everything shutting down against his will.
"Shhh… just give in, darling. Give in to sleep." She stroked his fighting eyes, and with every touch of her feminine skin, the further his eyelids fell, until they were sealed shut. Jason, too, was asleep.
She lifted him into the air and pulled back the sheets, setting him cozily into bed and giving him his own goodnight kiss.
"Sleep tight, little one."
Timothy and Damian were almost in the clear now. Damian was just through the hole when Talia came knocking at the door of the third brother.
He cleared his throat. "Yes?"
Tim watched as Talia stepped into his room and he nervously waited for her to say goodnight to him. It had been a long time since he'd done something like that… but then, all of a sudden…
"Goodnight, Timothy," she said, and at once the lights went out in his mind. She nearly let him fall to the ground, unconscious, by mistake. "Oh, Timothy," she grumbled as she lifted him into bed, a loud snore escaping his lips. "You were always the easiest to put down. My sweet, sleepy boy." Once he was tucked in, she planted a kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight."
Finally, only Damian remained.
He had received ample time to jump onto his bed and await his mother's arrival. He sat there, twiddling his thumbs, and wondering if perhaps he should try to pretend that he was already asleep. But then… the knock came, and with it, Talia al Ghul.
"Damian," she said tenderly as she came over to him. "Time for bed, sweetheart."
He needed no further instruction and carefully pulled the covers up over himself, eyeing her the whole time. Once he was laying down, she began to stroke his head, as she seemed so fond of doing.
"Hmm…" she sighed. "You've grown so much… but no matter how big you get, you will always be my little spider." With that, she planted her final kiss of the night, and now Damian too began to feel the effects of whatever sort of power it was Talia had over the four of them. "Goodnight, العنكبوت." ("Aleankabut." Arabic for 'spider.')
With a massive yawn and a rub of his eye, he replied, "Goodnight, أمي." ("Ommi." Arabic for 'mother.')
And just like that, he had nodded off to the land of dreams, Talia still stroking his face and remembering the precious little baby she had once held; of all the babies she had held. How was it possible that something so tiny and helpless could one day grow up to be such a handsome, strong young man? If only it were possible to keep them that small and precious for longer. Soon, they'd all be married and out of the house. Well, except for Richard, that is. He would be inheriting the estate, after all.
Well, her work here was done, so she bent over Damien's bedside table and blew out the candle flickering there. They would all sleep soundly tonight, make no mistake.
"It is done," she said when she returned to her room. Her husband was in his dressing gown, sitting in the armchair by the fireplace. She came over and reached for his shoulders, feeling his muscles and kissing him atop his head. He seemed stressed, as usual, although at least she understood why. "You were correct. They were meeting again."
He breathed heavily. "Something must be done to stop this. Their petulant scheming could very well ruin us one day."
"Have they found their meeting place yet?" Talia asked, hugging him around the shoulders now.
"They're still looking, but I'm certain we're getting close now. Once that is expunged, I believe we shall have them."
"It would be good to also find whatever doors they've been using to sneak into Richard's room and board them up."
"Indeed."
"But you're certain you want to go through with the engagement party right now?" She asked, her hands fingering his chest. Bruce just watched the fire stoically.
"There's enough talk already. We can't afford any more rumours of ill-breeding and poor upbringing."
"From the Inner Circle, or from my father?" She asked with a knowing smile.
"Both," he replied, finally relaxing.
"Mm, what are we going to do with those boys?"
"Well, we've tried just about everything else."
"We didn't try boarding school."
"For good reason," Bruce reminded her. "Can you imagine them, running about a whole school, without me there to rein them in? I shudder to think…"
Talia pulled away from him slowly and let her ladies in waiting come to dress her for bed behind her embroidered screen in the corner of the room. "I don't need to think, I know. Just look at those El boys, for one example. Kon is bad enough with his reckless, promiscuous behaviour, but that little Jon—how I wish I could strike him for half the things he says to our Damien!"
"Hmm," he hummed in agreement. "Yet another reason to keep them at home as often as possible. I feel certain members of the Circle have gotten rather lazy over the years. They don't seem to remember how much their status and titles really mean."
"Speaking of which—Jason's proposal to Artemis," she shifted, thinking of all the recent goings on with the boys.
"You still think there's something more going on?"
She stepped out from behind the screen in her long, flowing white nightgown, her ladies in waiting coming over with her to undo her long hair and brush it out for her by her vanity. "I do believe so, yes. After all, a brooch is very similar to a medallion in size and shape."
"But what could they possibly use a medallion for? Most of them are trifles, designed to dazzle party guests."
"Whatever the case, we will be needing to keep a close eye on them."
Bruce sighed, sinking deeper into his armchair. "And to think, we had peace for so long." Talia watched him from her mirror, lamenting those fleeting days when the boys were actually behaving for once. "I blame those visitors. It must have been their bad influence that rekindled all of this."
"It wouldn't surprise me," she replied, the last of her hair being brushed out. When she was finished, her maids disappeared, and she walked back over to her husband. "But I know what would take your mind off of these silly little things for a while."
They smiled at each other.
Even if their sons were set against them, at least they still had each other.
Jason felt his eyes opening. For half a moment, he expected to see Mother standing over him still, as she'd done any times before, but he was alone in his room, moonlight shining through the open window.
He sat bolt upright.
When had he fallen asleep? When had he gotten into bed?
Oh, no no no no no no… he did not like this feeling at all.
Shoot! How had he just let that happen!?
He would have gone on feeling horrible about it all if not for his valets which appeared much sooner than they normally did, and insisted on getting him changed straight away.
Once more, he sucked up his pride and let them do their work. He still despised the feeling of hands on him, even if they were fleeting, and more than that, he despised the frills and the lace and the coat tails and the pointy shoes, but if he refused to let it happen, he would just be in for a world of hurt.
This time, the valets didn't leave after he was finished. Rather, two of them remained by his side as he walked out into the hall and met his brothers, who were also being escorted. Oh no. Added security could only mean one thing: the Lord and Lady were on to them in a very big way. How were they going to put their plan into action now? Would there ever be a time in the near future when they could meet each other in secret? A time when they could discuss the missing spell and actually use it? How much did their parents know and how intent were they on keeping them from having a moment alone?
"Good evening, boys," Talia said upon their arrival in the dining room. "Sleep well?"
They all watched her uncomfortably. Not even Richard felt like he could feign a positive attitude.
"Fine," he said dryly.
They sat down at the table, knowing full well that they had been busted two nights in a row now, and they expected some form of punishment to ensue. But, strangely, nothing more was said on the matter. Breakfast began in total silence.
And then, after all the food had been eaten, it was over. Just like that.
However, the Wayne brothers did notice that their valets still did not leave their sides and remained with them even after breakfast. Jason caught a knowing look from Bruce on his way out of the dining room, and he knew that this was their punishment. House arrest.
There was to be no lesson tonight, but it wasn't as though the boys had much time to themselves to talk. A long, drawn out night of preening awaited them while the rest of the castle prepared itself for the lavish party they would be throwing later on. But even when they were being bathed and shaved and sprayed with perfume, they were still never given a moment to be alone. The valets followed them everywhere, and they dared not speak a word about their plans while in their company, lest they report to Bruce and Talia their findings, and destroy their only hope of returning home, a word that more and more seemed to be associated with the building they were currently inside of, rather than… any other far away place.
They spent some time in the library, pretending to read while the valets watched them over their shoulders, and Jason had to resist letting his frustration boil over into fist-to-cuffs. They tried several methods of communication over the course of the night, but there was little to be said. They were each still just trying to remember that blasted spell, and until one of them made a breakthrough, they might as well start thinking ahead to the party.