Chapter Text
The cursed white sand hissed underneath the hooves of their horses, the moon high above them as they marched along the stream. It was a starry night, as were most where they came from. But the clouds - ever present over their neighbouring country like a curse - were starting to appear above them, dotting the sky with ominous grey.
Once, this river had been surrounded by lush green. Or so they said, at least. But even then, that was many generations ago. No one still knew what had lead to these lands being afflicted by this terrible curse, but they whispered it was the same thing that had driven that chasm between the hearts of the tribes within the Infinite Lands and nobles of the southern countries.
One thing that was known, though, was that the ground was now covered in sand as white and as cold as snow. The river Death, a beautiful thing with crystal water sullied only by the thousand tiny shards of impossible to spot but dagger sharp ice, trailed along the sand looking more benign than should be possible. Whenever something living so much as touched the water, after all, the white around them would be stained with ruby red immediately.
There were no plants growing here. There was no rain. No snow either. The unforgiving heat of the sun at day only covered the area in a deep veil of fog but never managed to heat the sand below. In the light of the moon, weaker and unable to hold its own against the ever present cold, anything touching the sand directly would be covered in a layer of frost within few minutes.
That's why they were traveling at night, too. They had horse shoes forged of phoenix ore, the only metal - magical or otherwise - that could prevent that outcome. They would rest at day, taking care to wake and eat before the sun was too low. While it was dark, they wouldn't stop. Not once. They couldn't.
A small army had gathered to join him on this journey. All of them wanted this to work, wanted a treaty desperately. The many fighters among them and the tribal Chiefs had joined after his leave from the capital city right in the heart of the Infinite Lands. They had come along to protect their young High Chief, or to show a united front, or even just to witness what would happen next. But they were all capable. Proud. Toughened by the unforgiving nature of the soil their homes resided on. And they were loyal, as fighters ought to be. They would fight till their last breath, would never abandon or betray their leader. They were proud, bound by honour.
In their midst, Danny was safe. Even if he was more than capable of holding his own in his fights, of course. Still, he knew no harm would come to him here.
He also knew his open invitation had accidentally turned into a formidable army fit to intimidate any enemy - which, frankly, had not been his goal at all. Now he could only hope that their numbers wouldn't be their downfall.
Then again, the Phantom was a stubborn man. He would sit at the border, stay there and wait for however long it would take. And if he would die of old age at that border - he would toughen it out.
The Infinite Lands needed this.
Danny, a boy of lanky stature compared to what their countrymen usually looked like, was riding at the front on his white mare. His pure white hair was unkempt from the winds and days of travel, but the strands sill looked silky and fluffy regardless. Nothing compared to Dan, who wore the proud hairstyle of a frontline fighter, complete with multiple types of braids at the sides to keep his bottom half hair behind his ears and a loose braid along the top of his head to tie his hair half-up. Still, Danny's white hair, combed back and held in place by a black gold circlet in the form of two dragon wings, fell around his shoulders like a thin cloak. It looked presentable enough.
His actual cloak, soft and made out of white furs, was draped over his shoulders and secured with a clasp made from the same black gold as Dan's and Elle's hair beads. His pants and his vest were made of white leather, just like his trusty boots. The gloves he wore, although leather as well, were a stark contrast to the rest of his clothes with their midnight black colour.
The pale, green-eyed man casually blew out a breath. Differently from the rest of the group, it did not fog.
"There's the border," a voice next to him suddenly mentioned, making him startle out of his own mind. He must have really been lost to it if even the Fright was able to sneak up to him. The older man was always covered in his black dragon scale armour, after all.
Glancing over to where Fright was looking, Danny noticed that the patrol post at the border was indeed close. The torches were even alight, casting the top of the guard tower in a warm light. Humming, he nodded towards that. "Looks like they noticed us."
"I'd be disappointed by anything else," Fright commented.
Phantom nodded his agreement. Then he raised his fist and let out three sharp thrills. On his command, the entire group picked up pace with the banners raised high.
As they approached, other noises filled the air around them. A wolf-howl to his left, trice. The song of an owl behind him, twice. The noise of a woodpecker hammering away to his right, four times. The roar of a lion to his left but a bit further behind this time, once.
It told him things, those noises. They were signs. Warnings of hidden dangers spottet.
Three posts readied to attack them. Two spies hidden in the woods behind them. Four archers spottet at the readied posts. One post was about to attack.
His answer was simple: One whistle, two thrills. As one, the entire company held their horses. Less than two seconds after he'd given the command, Danny and the pople accompanying him held at the border. Just about a hoof from where the Lands ended and Gotham started, right where they could stay without invading. Without asking to be attacked.
There was were hasty voices drifting from atop the wall king Wayne had erected on the border, differently from Danny's men who all knew to wait fro his next command. Who all stared up at the shadows of the soldiers above, just in case they had to intervene and save Danny. As though Danny would need saving.
After a while, finally, the soldiers came to a decision. One of them - a young man that was almost still a boy, though Danny really couldn't say anything about that - stepped froward until he was right at the edge. "What- What's your purpose? In, uh, in coming here?"
Danny figured it was supposed to be a demand. The soldier must've been newly appointed, though, because it sounded more like him begging. Too bad, the words themselves had been well chosen. Perhaps the standard protocol when someone neared the border? Danny just hoped it wasn't specifically when someone neared the border with a small army - or what looked like one, at least.
"I am the High Chief of the Infinite Realms," Danny called up as though the soldier wouldn't already know as much, "And I have a message for your king."
"A… A message?"
Giving one decisive nod, he pulled out the sealed parchment from his pouch. With confidence he didn't really feel, Danny looked at the soldier. He could not show his insecurities now, not if this was to succeed. "Deliver this to him, quickly."
"That…" There was a small pause as the soldier looked behind himself. "That might take a while, your highness."
Doing his best not to wince at the title - though he was pretty sure he failed - Danny shook his head. "I hear the League has a meeting right now, right here in Bristol. The capital is half an hour by horse from here, is it not?"
"Ah, I… Yes. Yes, I…"
The soldier left. Blinking in confusion, Danny looked back towards where Fright stood next to him. A step to his right and one behind, like always. The knight only shrugged, however. Danny shrugged back.
"If they won't help us…" He wasn't really sure how to end the sentence. He'd imagined that the king wouldn't agree to his request, fretted over it many nights on his way here and while planing prior to the journey. But never had he thought they'd disrespect him enough to not even give the request to the king.
Fortunately the awkward pause didn't last too long. Soon, the soldier stumbled out of the gate, bowing to him quickly. His eyes flitted between the parchment still in Danny's hand and the knight behind him. Poor thing had probably never dealt with diplomacy. He had gone all pale in the face. Trying to comfort the young boy almost his own age, Danny dismounted and gave him the parchment.
"Just bring that to him as fast as you can." The boy was still pale, so Danny put his hand on his shoulder and smiled. "And I promise I won't…" Won't what? What was the soldier afraid of anyways? The Infinite Lands were, after all, at a disadvantage at strategy, allies, numbers, finances… Anything other than military power, really. "…get angry," he finally finished lamely.
Somehow that seemed to have worked. At least the soldier nodded hastily, something shining in his eyes. "Yes, your majesty. Of course. Thank you."
As soon as Danny dismissed him with a wave of his hand, the boy sprinted away. For a moment, Danny waited. Then, he chirped twice. After a moment he got a click in response. The guards had retreated and the weapons were gone. So… It was all good now? Probably.
Shrugging, Danny turned around and called out: "Set up camp, we'll wait until the morrow."
"I'm not sure that's something we need to-"
A sudden shout from the hall interrupted the king of Centrea. Barry, along with most of the other royals present, immediately reached for his sword. Bruce, their host and the owner of the castle, did the same. Even though the king of Gotham did not bother to make such a show of it, sliding a dager into his hand without much movement instead.
The voices outside drew nearer. Thundering footsteps, probably from the guards chasing whoever it was that dared enter the Watchtower fortress - but apparently unsuccessfully so.
Tension build in the room as the seconds ticked by, each accompanied by the noise outside the heavy oak door until - Bam!
The door bounced off the wall with how forcefully it'd been thrown open. In the threshold stood a young boy, no older than Bruce's third son. Panting heavily, he made eye contact with none other than king Wayne himself. "My king," he gasped out, "I- He said he would- There's-"
When the guards finally caught up to the probably-not-actually-intruder, Bruce raised his hand to stop them in their tracks. "What happened," he demanded, voice icy as ever.
"A letter," the young man gasped out, shaking and pale from more than the exhaustion, "From the border - from… from across the dessert."
Once more, the tension in the air shifted. If princess Diana were to draw her lasso, surely she could have cut through it.
The king of Gotham motioned for the guards to deliver the parchment in the young man's hand to him. Carefully, almost as though it was a bomb, the chief guard took the fragile thing and handed it off to the royal.
"Thank you, Jim," he absently muttered as he inspected the glowing green seal. Sealed with magic, he noted. It seemed to be authentic, then. Carefully, he used the dagger still in his hand to cut it open. Inside of it was a few lines, written in blue ink that bathed the king's face in its icy glow. Everglowing ink, he distantly noted, a magic ink that protected the scripture from being changed even by magic. It was only found within the Infinite Lands, and Bruce had only ever heard of it before. Bulky letters with splatters of ink where the feather had scratched too heavily against the parchment in some of the curves, he noted, nothing like the careful and curled letters of the nobles within the alliance.
Dear King of Gotham and Guests, it read, It is with deepest respect that I wish to extend my greetings from you. As you read this letter, I and some of my liegemen are waiting at the border. First and foremost I wish to assure you that none of us will cross it before your reply.
Bruce's eyebrows drew together in anxious unrest. Was that a threat? They'd worded it carefully, the threat was veiled just enough to be denied should they call it out - yet thinly enough to be unmistakable. Crafty. And foreboding…
The reason for my arrival at the border is what happened with Pariah Dark. I assume you remember the tragedy that happened many seasons ago. It cost both of us so much when the last High Chief made his foolish decision. You should be glad to hear that he has been punished for what he did and has been replaced. And I can assure you that I, as the new High Chief, do not intend to repeat the mistakes my predecessor has made.
Ah. Definitely a threat, then. Would they need to prepare for war again? Would there be a repeat of last time? Or was there any chance to avoid a repeat of that awful fate they'd been helpless against back then?
The last siege - How could anyone ever forget that travesty? - had resulted in the continent lit up with inextinguishable flames and full of undead soldiers. It had only ended when the Infinite Lands themselves had rebelled against the High Chief's dictatorship and caged him. The entirety of the Infinite Lands had been needed to undo the curses. It'd been just five years since, and the continent was still healing from it.
The news of a young warrior, blessed by most of the dragons the barbarians worshiped, defeating the tyrant as he broke out of his prison and taking over the bloodied throne had come just half a year ago. The entire continent and the League in particular had tensed at the news - but the new High Chief had seemed to ignore the lands beyond his reign. How foolish of them, to think that meant he would continue to leave them alone. How foolish of Bruce himself, who was supposed to be prepared for these kinds of things.
Gripping the parchment tighter, he kept reading.
It is my heartfelt wish to heal the wounds that Pariah Dark has left. I hear that you are a wise king. Don't you agree, then, that peace would be much better than to continue this useless feud? King of Gotham, I sincerely hope that you and some of your current guests will come to the border and meet me and the chiefs in my company. We wish to talk, and to mend the wounds.
Bruce swallowed. That was it! A way out. A way to avoid another siege. Was it a trap? A way to gain justification this time, perhaps? It was probable. Likely, even. But as long as they held on to the guise of diplomacy there was a way to turn the tables and end this with a peace treaty. No matter how fragile that peace would be, it would be better than another war so soon. Bruce would have a chance to do what he'd failed to do before and prepare. Should the war inevitably arrive, he would not be left without contingencies like now.
There was a way, and he was willing to take it. There would not be a repeat of last time. He wouldn't let there be.
I hope for good news, your majesty. We will wait here. With sincerest regards, Phantom, High Chief of the Infinite Realms, king of the Zone of Death, Child blessed by the Cursed Lands
For a moment, Bruce just stared at the letter. Then, he carefully placed the item down, just in case there was more magic to it than he had realised. Mouth drawn into a thin line, the King hurried out of the hall. Behind him, he could hear uneasy murmurs. Surely some of the other royals would read the letter he left behind. He wouldn't blame them.
"Bruce!"
Ignoring the voice of his best friend, the gothamite kept his brisk pace towards the tower this fortress was named after. First of all, he would have to check. Just to make sure that it actually was the High Chief who'd sent the letter - and that he actually was waiting outside his borders for a reply.
"Bruce, what happened?" Clark managed to catch up to him, hand on his shoulder in a futile attempt to calm him. Bruce couldn't be calmed, though. Not when this was what it was about. Not with everything that was on the line. His kingdom, his friends, his family - nothing would calm him as long as he didn't know them safe.
When he only shrugged off Clark's hand, the other royal sighed but didn't make a second attempt at physical touch. "Bruce. Bruce, talk to me!"
"B?"
Suddenly, Bruce forgot how to move. His muscles locked the very second he heard his son's voice. Why was he here? Weren't he and his siblings supposed to be in the castle in Bristol? The only one who wasn't supposed to be in the capital at the moment was his oldest, and Bruce knew Dick to be in Blüdhaven where he took care of his own domain.
So then, why was Tim here?
Seemingly aware of his unspoken question, the prince answered it as he walked over. "I was delivering some reports to Gordon, you forgot them at home. But… What's wrong? Why are you so concerned?"
"Concerned?" he heard Clark's confused whisper beside him, "I thought he was angry."
Ignoring his friend once more, Bruce turned to look at his child. Tim's sky blue eyes were narrowed in concern as they made contact with his own baby blue ones. His hair looked a bit disheveled as they always did when Tim had worked through some problem until he gave up and did something else. That something else had probably been the delivery, then. He wore his armour, too, made from scarletite and the same black umbraerium Bruce's own armour was forged with. He was missing his helmet, but other than Jason most of them didn't wear that if not need be.
Bruce's heart ached to see his son so close to danger, but the armour on his body calmed him some. So he managed to shake himself out of his stupor.
"Go home," he demanded. To the ears of his son, the words probably sounded more like the plea they were, however.
The way his face hardened was telling of as much as the prince shook his head and crossed his arms defiantly. "Tell me what's going on. Something happened - what is it?"
"A letter," Clark betrayed Bruce before he managed to come up with a lie or half truth that could protect his son, "from the border. He won't talk to me, but, well… The soldier said it was from beyond the desert."
Tim shuddered at the mention, but his gaze hardened further. "Is it confirmed?" All Bruce could do was shake his head. Tim nodded. "What are we waiting for, then?"
Before Bruce could stop him, Tim had already resumed Bruce's path. It was Bruce this time who hurried to keep up. Wordlessly, the three of them ascended the stairs. Under different circumstances, if the stakes weren't so dire, Bruce would have made a comment about Clark's bad stamina when the man was out of breath not even halfway up. As it were, he could only worry about what that would mean if it should come to a war…
No. It wouldn't. There would be no war.
"You should go home," he told his son again.
"No."
"I wasn't asking, Tim."
He got a raised eyebrow and a glare for his troubles. "Nor was I, actually. I'm staying."
Bruce wouldn't allow a war to happen, especially not now that his son was here.