Nasrin.

She was who her name proclaimed her to be although she neither knew nor cared about that truth. She was already a member of the League of Shadows when Bane took control; they first saw her with the ones in Tibet – she was still so young and looked so innocent, it was what Bane could appreciate about her but in his black heart he knew that her innocence had been corrupted like his own was. And so Bane wasted no more time with her, instead sending Barsad to mentor her, to nurture the hate within her and the need for correcting a world tainted by places like Gotham, places of injustice and unforgivable or perhaps simply uncorrectable abominations. Each man or woman in the League of Shadows had a story behind their need to destroy. Some men's stories where just that they needed to destroy something. They were pathetic. But this girl was… less so. Her story was unknown but Barsad had reported that she was there simply because she had no reason not to be. And so many years later, she was still there and still so young. Bane often wondered how this girl survived here in this world of men who were certainly so much stronger than her – and when he asked Barsad to tell him why, the man thought for a moment before looking over to the solitary figure in the snow who lingered by the fireside long after the embers had started to die. Bane saw something longing in the way Barsad looked at the girl but did not care. I didn't truly matter whether either of them lived or died so what they had to do with each other concerned him not. Barsad had ended his gaze to reply to him. "What she lacks in strength, she makes up for in will."

Bane questioned him no further but before he turned away, he contemplated why Barsad had any sort of attachment to the girl. "She does not speak to many," Bane stated.

"No."

"And yet she speaks to you."

"She fears you… And so she also fears me," Barsad seemed slightly defeated when he said this, his deep blue eyes hitting the ground before the last of his words resounded. "Her intelligence stems from her need to survive, and nowhere else."

Bane did not care for Barsad's attachment. It made things complicated and Bane was a result-oriented man above anything else – and in his mind, getting the result in the most uncomplicated way possible was the best way. Plans were better when they were simple on his end – kill, threaten, massacre. Basic things. But Barsad was an asset that he didn't feel like… wasting. Turning away from the other man, he contemplated the girl in a more fastidious manner; she was middle-eastern, a traditional sort of beautiful with proud-looking demeanor that was suppressed in the darkness which haunted the world. "She distracts you with want. If she distracts you further, she will be taken care of… by you. Personally," Bane started to walk back into the compound but turned back to his right hand man and spoke. "Find out everything you can about her. Your… ignorance about her seems to be one of the main things that distract you from the cause. You want to know. And if you want something, you have the right to take it… If you can, that is." He left.

Barsad's chest tightened. He had been aware of his attraction to the woman; he had been for years. And although he had known her so long, he knew her in very few ways. He did not know where she was from or what she had been – he knew virtually nothing about her. And now he had been ordered to take the information and to take her. Barsad didn't love her and he knew she did not love him; neither seemed to be capable of feeling something even close to love for anything beyond the cause and anyone besides themselves or their leader. And even the latter was in question when it came to Nasrin.

But he did care for her – he didn't remember when he started, but he did. Often he thought back to the time he had realized this.

It was years ago and she and some others of her comrades had been sent out for a retrieval mission – she was to find and retrieve a very important piece of information from an undisclosed location in Mumbai; she had (of course) completed it without a hitch but when she was coming back, a storm moved through the mountains. Barsad was hastily sent out to recover the team.

"Look for any type of cover that they might have taken – they would have looked for shelter as soon as they saw the storm surge moving their way," he commanded sternly as they started to trudge through the already knee-deep. His group was wearing the proper equipment but even so, the climate was unrelenting to even the most prepared. Scanning the terrain with his sharp blue eyes, he sought out any slight difference in the snow-clad environment with a pair of high powered thermal binoculars that were given to each member of the recovery operation. But after hours of bitter Himalayan cold and dwindling hope, the best option seemed to be to turn back – cut their losses, as it were.

That is, until one of Barsad's men discovered something rather unintentionally.

At first, Barsad thought the man had passed out after seeing him seemingly keel over in the snow but after a few panicked moments, the truth became apparent: in the flurry, the man had not seen the figure lying inert and face-down in the snow. Barsad could not be sure about what exactly what he was thinking at that moment but it was something along the lines of 'Not her… Anyone but her.' His prayers had been answered. The body was a man's, frozen, stiff. Lifeless. But with this man's death, there was a renewed hope of finding the others alive – although to Barsad, there was a small, deniable place that didn't care about finding the others, only her. Only her. He prayed to find her.

And once again, his prayers were answered with the discovery of a small cave, nearly hidden by drift. He clambered into the hollow with a small flashlight to illuminate the darkened chamber. The light only seemed to breach a few meters in front of him, making the easy process of searching the small cave maddeningly hard. But, after a minute that seemed like a decade, Barsad saw it: the small cocoon that held her within its unsatisfactory folds of fabric. Crawling forward, he reached around to feel for a pulse on her smooth, cold neck. It was faint, but steady – she seemed determined not to die but instead fight. He remembered calling out to the team about to go back for help, that he needed to help her first. They threw down a bulk survival pack and left him to slowly try to warm her extremities before pitching the small subzero tent that really should have only held one. But he kept stayed with her in that small tent, wrapping her in his arms, shivering with her.

He couldn't sleep that night; he could only watch her breathe shallowly and struggle to take as much heat from him as she could. As she was locked in that rigid and painful sleep, he tried to soothe her by stroking her soft black hair whispering comforting words in Arabic – he didn't think about how out of character he was acting; they were both alike in their stoicism, and anything different would usually make both of them perturbed at themselves. But in this moment, this singular moment, it was alright. He could admire the sharpness of her dark features and the loveliness of her eyes, which flickered open to reveal a bright green that in were usually dulled by an unnamable sadness. But not then.

Yes, everything was, in that moment, alright.

Nasrin.

Making his way towards her, he decided many things about how that night must play out: He had to take the information he wanted, by force or no; but he wouldn't – couldn't – take her by force. No, as much as he wanted to have her, he couldn't have her in that way.

He knelt down beside the young woman as if he was praying to her, his idol. She merely whispered his name in greeting but still the short, familiar word sent jolts of electricity up his spine when she said his name. He did not yet know what to say, what to start with to make her feel the need to tell him everything he needed to hear.

"Are you here to kill me, Barsad?" Her simple words echoed through his head and stunned him for a moment. He reached out with a gloved hand to turn her gaze to meet his. She was compliant against his touch.

"No, Nasrin," he said gently, "but I do need you to…" He trailed off, unable to finish a simple sentence. How could he when those green, dead eyes were turned to him.

The woman blinked and looked back to the fire. Standing to leave with a feeling of utter failure, Barsad was shocked when a lithe hand reached out to hold his. She stood up slowly, silently as if she was a ghost that had come for reckoning.

What occurred next would be what he thought about the moment he died. Nasrin took his face in her hands and glided closer until he could practically hear her heart beat against his chest. He watched as her eyes closed and she leaned in until her lips ghosted against his. Barsad's hands started to move on their own accord, weaving through her dark hair and pulling her figure closer to his.

Suddenly, she withdrew from him and walked back into the darkness where she did not belong.