Fic: The Beat Of Bats Wings (1/10)
Apr. 6th, 2008 08:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starsandseaTitle: The Beat of Bats Wings (1/10)
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Bruce, BatClan, eventual Bruce/Clark
Word Count: 834
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: A retelling of the fairytale 'Six Swans' with elements from the Irish Myth 'The Children of Lir' thrown in. Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct.
Bruce woke up slowly, blinking at the sunlight that was streaming in through his curtains. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. He had overslept. He should have risen with the dawn. He wasn't all that late; the light still had the golden glow about it and he could just see a patch of blue sky, laced with pink. It was going to be a gorgeous day. If his father let him live after oversleeping.
Bruce groaned again. It was tempting to just stay in bed, stay under the pile of warm blankets. It had been very cold last night. Bruce groaned once more, before he slipped out of the bed. His feet met warm fur, then a lapping tongue.
"Ace! Why didn't you wake me?" He kicked at his dog half heartily, Ace rolling away, whining slightly, then looked up at him with soulful eyes as Bruce stood. Bruce looked away and spied the source of his oversleeping. His new book. It had just been so fascinating, so interesting, he couldn't put it down.
He picked it up from the seat next to the fireplace and placed it gently on the small table next to his bed. He dressed quickly, then slowly left his room and descended the spiral stairs. As King Thomas' first born, and first son, he had the luxury of having his own, abet small, room. His privileges wouldn't extend to his father looking kindly on his late arrival for breakfast, however.
Bruce sighed, then took a deep breath as he neared the doors of the great hall. He straightened his back and opened the doors.
*****
Bruce was looking down at his empty plate, hands folded in his lap, listening to his father berating him for being late. No breakfast for him today. Bruce looked up and into the eyes of Dick, the sibling closest to him in age. Dick had only eaten half his breakfast, he noted, glancing down. He looked back up and shook his head minutely. Dick's eyes narrowed and a hint of anger flashed through them. Bruce just hardened his gaze. He wasn't about to let Dick, or any of his other brothers and sisters, go hungry for him, especially not because of his own folly.
He looked down the table, making his intentions clear. There were scowls on faces, but they all accepted his choice. He softened his look then, and received one or two fleeting smiles in return from them all. There was Dick, sitting opposite him, then Jason sat next to Dick, the third child son and fourth child. Next to Bruce sat Barbara, her flame red hair glowing in the morning sunlight, the eldest daughter and third child. Next to Jason sat Tim, the fourth son and sixth child. Next to Barbara sat Cassandra, the second daughter and fifth child, and then next to her, Stephanie, the third daughter and seventh child.
Bruce's eyes lingered for a moment on the empty chair at the end of the table; his mothers chair. She had died only a few weeks after she had given birth to Stephanie. Bruce had only been nine at the time, could hardly remember her, save for the fear that had gripped his heart when he realized she was dying.
Bruce sighed and returned his gaze to his empty plate, hearing his siblings eat in silence; his father's angry voice. Finally, his father stopped. Bruce looked up at him. He hadn't aged well, the shock and grief of losing his wife had forever marked him. Not even his children could ease his grief, though they had tried, they all had tried. Still, he had not taken another wife, though he was a King, and arguably needed one. But Bruce, and his bothers and sisters, could only feel relief at that.
Bruce swallowed, then spoke. "I'm sorry, father."
His father looked at him a moment, before nodding shortly, then standing up, his children rising with him. "See that it doesn't happen again, Bruce."
"I will, father." But his father was already gone. Bruce sighed again. He could remember his father before his mother died, how he had been happy. Cassandra touched his arm and looked at him in concern. Bruce smiled at her. Cassandra, with her extra-ordinary way of being about to see what people were feeling.
"It's all right," he assured her, and his other siblings who had now gathered around him too.
"What did you do? Stay up late reading again?" Jason's voice had a sneer to it, and Bruce sighed to himself. Tim gave Jason a dirty look.
"Maybe," was all Bruce said, their group breaking up as Ace padded over to his side.
"Young sir, I have something that requires your attention in the kitchens."
Bruce couldn't help but smile at Alfred, and the blatant arrangement of breakfast for him, regardless of his father's command. "Thank you, Alfred."
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Bruce, BatClan, eventual Bruce/Clark
Word Count: 834
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Author's Note: A retelling of the fairytale 'Six Swans' with elements from the Irish Myth 'The Children of Lir' thrown in. Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct.
Bruce woke up slowly, blinking at the sunlight that was streaming in through his curtains. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. He had overslept. He should have risen with the dawn. He wasn't all that late; the light still had the golden glow about it and he could just see a patch of blue sky, laced with pink. It was going to be a gorgeous day. If his father let him live after oversleeping.
Bruce groaned again. It was tempting to just stay in bed, stay under the pile of warm blankets. It had been very cold last night. Bruce groaned once more, before he slipped out of the bed. His feet met warm fur, then a lapping tongue.
"Ace! Why didn't you wake me?" He kicked at his dog half heartily, Ace rolling away, whining slightly, then looked up at him with soulful eyes as Bruce stood. Bruce looked away and spied the source of his oversleeping. His new book. It had just been so fascinating, so interesting, he couldn't put it down.
He picked it up from the seat next to the fireplace and placed it gently on the small table next to his bed. He dressed quickly, then slowly left his room and descended the spiral stairs. As King Thomas' first born, and first son, he had the luxury of having his own, abet small, room. His privileges wouldn't extend to his father looking kindly on his late arrival for breakfast, however.
Bruce sighed, then took a deep breath as he neared the doors of the great hall. He straightened his back and opened the doors.
*****
Bruce was looking down at his empty plate, hands folded in his lap, listening to his father berating him for being late. No breakfast for him today. Bruce looked up and into the eyes of Dick, the sibling closest to him in age. Dick had only eaten half his breakfast, he noted, glancing down. He looked back up and shook his head minutely. Dick's eyes narrowed and a hint of anger flashed through them. Bruce just hardened his gaze. He wasn't about to let Dick, or any of his other brothers and sisters, go hungry for him, especially not because of his own folly.
He looked down the table, making his intentions clear. There were scowls on faces, but they all accepted his choice. He softened his look then, and received one or two fleeting smiles in return from them all. There was Dick, sitting opposite him, then Jason sat next to Dick, the third child son and fourth child. Next to Bruce sat Barbara, her flame red hair glowing in the morning sunlight, the eldest daughter and third child. Next to Jason sat Tim, the fourth son and sixth child. Next to Barbara sat Cassandra, the second daughter and fifth child, and then next to her, Stephanie, the third daughter and seventh child.
Bruce's eyes lingered for a moment on the empty chair at the end of the table; his mothers chair. She had died only a few weeks after she had given birth to Stephanie. Bruce had only been nine at the time, could hardly remember her, save for the fear that had gripped his heart when he realized she was dying.
Bruce sighed and returned his gaze to his empty plate, hearing his siblings eat in silence; his father's angry voice. Finally, his father stopped. Bruce looked up at him. He hadn't aged well, the shock and grief of losing his wife had forever marked him. Not even his children could ease his grief, though they had tried, they all had tried. Still, he had not taken another wife, though he was a King, and arguably needed one. But Bruce, and his bothers and sisters, could only feel relief at that.
Bruce swallowed, then spoke. "I'm sorry, father."
His father looked at him a moment, before nodding shortly, then standing up, his children rising with him. "See that it doesn't happen again, Bruce."
"I will, father." But his father was already gone. Bruce sighed again. He could remember his father before his mother died, how he had been happy. Cassandra touched his arm and looked at him in concern. Bruce smiled at her. Cassandra, with her extra-ordinary way of being about to see what people were feeling.
"It's all right," he assured her, and his other siblings who had now gathered around him too.
"What did you do? Stay up late reading again?" Jason's voice had a sneer to it, and Bruce sighed to himself. Tim gave Jason a dirty look.
"Maybe," was all Bruce said, their group breaking up as Ace padded over to his side.
"Young sir, I have something that requires your attention in the kitchens."
Bruce couldn't help but smile at Alfred, and the blatant arrangement of breakfast for him, regardless of his father's command. "Thank you, Alfred."
