NOTE: I've made some updates and edits to this story, since I wrote it so long ago. Please enjoy!


December 1990

Somewhere in the French Alps - 01:00 am CET


Prologue

They were coming for her. He was coming for her.

The cold alpine wind nipped violently at her exposed face and hands. Her feet were bloodied; her lungs cried out. She knew she would not come out of this unscathed. Hell, she knew she might not come out of this at all. But none of that mattered. In her hands, she held the only thing that really did: the child. So she ran; like a white rabbit being chased by a hungry fox. Fearing for her life; for their lives. This was the only option; the only way to keep her child alive. If she had to live without her mother, then so be it. She would not let her child die at the hands of him.

She cursed in her native tongue as she ran. He was close; she could feel it.

Her breathing came in frantic gasps, ragged from both the running and the fear that boiled within her. "Faster Anastasia," she whispered to herself between gasps.

She nearly collapsed when she finally reached her destination.

The rusted double doors of the monastery loomed over her as she willed her body to do her bidding. Small grunts escaped her lips, synchronous with the pounding of her fists against the thick wood of the monastery gates. "Please," she begged, "open up."

Her salvation was the moan of the entryway as it abruptly swung open to reveal a frantic woman draped in black and white cloth. "Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed. "You made it! Come quickly." Dread settled into Anastasia's loins as the kind sister ushered her and her child deep into the shelter.

Lit by candlelight and a lambent fire in the center chamber, the monastery radiated warmth and serenity. It felt like a safe haven; a place none would ever want to leave. It was unfortunate that in their situation, that feeling of safety and reassurance was merely an illusion.

"Sister," she whispered to her companion, "I must go."

"No! He will find you!" The older woman cried, tugging on her coat for more effect.

Anastasia felt her eyes become glassy. "And if I stay, he will find her." Both pairs of eyes looked down at the crying little bundle of cloth with sorrow in their hearts.

The baby was beautiful, even in her wailing state. Her eyes, obscured from the onlookers' view by blurry tears, were a shiny jade green, her skin a warm olive tone. She radiated a purity that all possess in infancy, yet it was one that was magnified by her own characteristic aura. Even now, both women could tell that she would be a beauty when she grew up.

It was too bad that neither of them would be able to witness that.

The sister sighed despondently, darting her gaze to the mother. "Very well, my dear. May God be with you."

As Anastasia slipped her thick coat on, the sister came to a realization that involved the small child she held in her arms.

"You never told me her name."

Anastasia looked the sister in the eyes with a sad smile on her face. "Katerina."

With great desolation, the young mother put her child in the sister's arms and prepared to run for her life.

The room that the woman left became warm in her absence. It was an unexpectedly sad warmth; one that radiated melancholy tinged with hope—that hope being the child. Sister Linnea felt this warmth and basked in it, knowing that the child was the beacon of light in Anastasia's darkness. She tilted her head downward and spoke in a hushed tone.

"God bless you, little Katerina."


He found her in a remote part of the alps thirteen miles west of the monastery.

Anastasia knew that her capture was inevitable. This was a man who had spent more than a hundred years hunting and killing his foes, and she was surely not the most formidable opponent that he had faced. Still, her child's safety served as her motivation. The farther she could draw him away from the monastery, the better.

She would die with pride. Even she herself was surprised at how far she had gotten before she could sense his presence. She'd fled to roughest terrain she could find, where she knew he would have the most trouble. Still, it would not be enough. No matter how far she fled, he would find her. He made that fact clear when she left.

Her horse could only go so far. Gradually, the rocks became rougher and the edges higher until she knew she had to carry on alone. She'd given in when her body had. She could feel her muscles start to shut down, the lactic acid flooding every limb until her arms and legs became so stiff that she could go no further. Now, she rested on a flat rock, awaiting her pursuer.

Awaiting her pursuer. The thought placed a bitter smile on her face. It was unlike her to give up so quickly.

The mountain cold was bitter and unforgiving. There was little she could do but welcome it, as it numbed her limbs to the point that she could not feel their aching soreness. She was thankful for it—maybe it would make her death less painful.

It was when she heard the crunching of rocks behind her that the fear really settled into her body.

"Ra's." The name burned bitterly on her tongue as she stood and turned to him with the fire of a woman scorned in her eyes.

Her former lover stood five feet in front of her with hands folded behind his back and a familiar confidence in his stature. He looked different from when she last saw him. The lines etched on his face seemed to be deeper, the gray in his hair more profound. A sickening smirk played on his lips—a look she'd once found attractive on him. Now, it just made her want to vomit.

"Hello, Anastasia." There was an unpleasant, sickening way he said the words that made fear blossom in her stomach. "You took something that belongs to me."

"I was protecting her!" she exclaimed bitterly. "I saved her life!"

He raised his eyebrows. "So it is a female."

Anastasia's answer was a pregnant silence. She drew her eyes to the snowy ground, unable to look at him.

"I don't want to kill her."

His sentence made her head snap up in surprise. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

"I want to train her."

She gasped. "To...to be like you?"

His answer was a wicked grin.

"That is a fate much worse than death," she spat bitterly. She knew it was too good to be true.

Suddenly, he surged forward and forcefully wrapped his hands around her neck, choking her. "You should be glad that I am willing to spare her life!"

Small ragged gasps escaped her throat as she clawed at his hands uselessly. "Doesn't...matter...she's...gone."

Ra's smirk widened sickeningly. "I've sent reinforcements to collect her from the monastery." Anastasia's eyes widened. "Perhaps she'll enjoy meeting her sister."

"Stay away from her!" she used her last breath to shout. "Tal—"

The name was cut off by the closing of her airway as Ra's fingers tightened fatally around her neck and lifted her off of the ground. Her face turned a sickening color and her mouth fell open, a strangled scream leaving her. Hands fell at her sides as the energy escaped her body.

Ra's al Ghul dropped the body of his former lover on the ground and dusted off his hands.

"I have to admit that I'm impressed." Few people managed to evade him for as long as she had. He admired that. Leaning down to where she lay, he stroked the back of his hand against her cold cheek. "You should have listened to me, Beloved."

"No one can hide from Ra's al Ghul."


A baby's cries echoed throughout the monastery as Sister Linnea ran out of her quarters to tend to the wailing child.

"Hush now," she said, putting a finger to her lips while she leaned over the small basket that served as a makeshift crib. Young Katerina had been sleeping soundly in one of the rooms of the monastery before she had been awakened abruptly by an unknown noise. Taking note that her constant shushing was not impeding the child's cries, Sister Linnea proceeded to slip little Katerina into her arms to rock her back to sleep.

To accompany her lulling movements, she began to sing.

Sleep my child and peace attend thee,

All through the night

Guardian angels God will send thee,

All through the night

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,

Hill and dale in slumber sleeping

I my loved ones' watch am keeping,

All through the night

Angels watching, e'er around thee,

All through the night

Midnight slumber close surround thee,

All through the night

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,

Hill and dale in slumber sleeping

I my loved ones' watch am keeping,

All through the night

She was about to begin the third verse when a sudden series of loud thwacks against the monastery doors interrupted her lullaby.

She froze. Had they come for the baby?

She acted quickly, whisking the young one away to a dark room deep within the monastery and alerting the other nuns of the possible presence of the League. It was only moments later that she herself stood before the looming double doors, praying to God for protection. She and the other nuns were fully aware that they were defenseless against Ra's sword-wielding foot soldiers. She knew that it would take an act of God to keep Katerina safe.

Still, she swung the doors open.

There stood a single figure draped in black rags that contrasted greatly from the snowy white background. The being was of short, adolescent stature; it was clear that it was a child.

"Please!" The figure cried. "Help me! My parents...I've lost them!"

The young girl couldn't have been more than ten years old. Her altruism getting the best of her, the sister inherently stepped closer to the bawling being. "Are you alright?" she yelled over the raging wind. "You must be freezing! Come inside."

The child eagerly did as she said, stepping into the monastery and out of the violent cold. As soon as the doors were shut, the child removed her hood from her head, basking in the warmth.

"You have been so kind to let me inside. It is a pity that your altruism will only earn you this."

Sneering, the child drew a sword from within her rags and pointed it at the frightened sister's neck. "Tell me where the baby is and I'll spare you."

Ragged breaths escaped the sister's throat as she shook in her clothing. She had expected twenty sword-wielding foot soldiers or an army of ruthless killers. But this was a child—a little girl who couldn't have been older than ten. There was something about this situation that made it even scarier than the former. Men are corrupt—time has done that to them. Their experiences have shaped them, molded them into who they are today. But a child? A child is supposed to be pure and innocent, untainted by the sins of mankind.

This one, however, was the opposite.

She held a coldness in her eyes that would make most men cower in fear. There was a calculation in her every movement that brandished an advanced wisdom that was beyond her years. She was a decided killer.

Forgive me, Anastasia. Forgive me, God.

"She's in the cellarage," she whispered, defeated. She watched in horror as the child's sneer became a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Thank you," was the child's reply. "Your death will be painless."

"Heavenly Father, have mercy on my—"

The rest of the sister's plea was interrupted by the sound of a slashing sword and the thud of her body hitting the ground.


The girl crouched close to the ground and snatched away the sister's veil, careful not to get any blood on her fingers. The thin line of blood on her sword was wiped away by the piece of translucent cloth, and the blade itself was slipped back into its sheath without trouble. There was something in her movements that gave light to a routine and practiced methodology. In simpler words: this was not the first time she had done something like this before. Most would be horrified, shocked, or appalled at her actions. But to her, it was simply another mission to execute; another order from her father to follow. She did not shed a tear or even blink an eye in the wake of her assassination.

The cellarage was not hard to find. It was a small storage room in the depths of the monastery that the nuns living there had evidently thought would be enough to hide a babe. They had been half right. She had not at first seen the child once she entered the room. It was dark, cold, and musty, and things were hard to see in the complete lack of light. She could not be bothered to take a candle down there.

Luckily, the girl was especially good with the dark.

The screech of bats filled the room as she entered, silent as night. She stalked deeper and deeper into the cellarage, seemingly unaffected by her decreased ability to see. Instead, what served as her sight were her ears, fine-tuned as a cat's.

She squeezed her eyes shut and relied on her only helpful sense. And if she listened hard, she could hear it: the soft, chiming cries of a little babe echoing from the left corner of the room.

"Well, well, well," she taunted. "What do we have here?" Dropping her hood, she removed the cloth that obscured the baby from sight and carefully slipped her into her arms.

"Hello, baby sister," she cooed in a sickening tone of voice as she made her way out of the monastery. "Ready to meet our father?"


Author's Notes:

To anyone who is actually reading this, hi! This is my second attempt at writing a story. I haven't figured everything out yet or edited much of anything, so go easy on me, alright? Reviews are ALWAYS welcome and I am very very grateful to anyone who leaves one.