According to My Bond

Disclaimer: all copyrights go to those who rightfully own them. No flames please.

Since I always put in a little introduction, this is the same story concept as Through a Glass Darkly and Sins of the Father put in Nolan's universe. Thanks again to my inspirations Friend of the Knight and Daughter of the Batman.

Also, I put Harvey Dent in here and he's also a really good friend of Bruce. I think Nolan missed a big opportunity by not including him in Begins. Not just to make his fall in Dark Knight more tragic (because we would've had more time to love him, not saying Aaron Eckhart was bad because he wasn't) but to really show Bruce's respect for Harvey and to mourn the loss of not just the White Knight (and Bruce's last chance at happiness with Rachel) but of not being able to save his friend.

With that said, enjoy and destroy. No flames please. Flames are used for roasting marshmallows.

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave my heart into my mouth. I love your majesty According to my bond; no more nor less. ~Cordelia, King Lear, Act 1 Scene 1~

Ashes and Snow

Bruce Wayne gripped the unconscious body of Henri Ducard and dug his edged gauntlet deep into the glacier. It finally caught as they were hanging off the edge of the glacier. It was a long fall. He was desperate to not drop his mentor, the closest thing he had to a father. Next to loyal butler Alfred, of course. But how was he going to get the two of them back up the glacier? He didn't know how much longer the gauntlet could support both their weights. It could block sword blows and be used as a deadly weapon if necessary. But he wasn't sure if it was strong enough to hold up two men.

A rustling noise from above caught his attention. He looked up; sunlight nearly blinded him as it bounced off the glacier. As his eyesight adjusted, he saw a rope dangling down to him. Somebody was up there and knew the two of them were down there. The rope got close to his hand. Taking the hint, Bruce wrapped the end of the rope around his hand twice and tugged. The rope went taunt.

Bruce edged his way up the glacier. Eventually, he was high enough to place Ducard's body across his shoulders, which took considerable weight off his other arm. He gingerly stood up and began walking up the slippery face, using the rope as a guide.

Finally, he had made it to the top. Exhausted, he put Ducard's body down and lay beside him near the edge. Cold and crisp air burned his lungs. Off in the distance, he could hear what had been his home and training for the past four years burning. He had blown it up, rather than kill a murderer. What happened to said murderer? Had he burned up? How ironic, Bruce thought as he felt the heat burn, he saved a man from being murdered only to be roasted alive. It looked like nobody had survived the fire. So who had pulled them up?

A child's face appeared above him, answering his questions. Dressed in a black chuba robe trimmed with gray wolf fur, her young face was pale and freckled. An embroidered felt cap covered her thick brown hair, hastily twisted into a braid. A golden oval locket hung around her neck. Dark blue eyes, very similar to Ducard's. "Lydia? How'd you pull us up?" Bruce gasped and sat up.

The little girl pointed at the compound's water well. The long rope that had supported them was tied around one of the wooden supports of the awning that covered the well.

"Is he ok?" she asked, sitting next to Bruce. Lydia was pointing at Ducard, her father. He saw the nervousness in her face.

"Yeah," Bruce saw his faint breathing. "He's just out cold. I need to get him to a safe place." There was a little house, maybe two miles away, on the path leading down the mountain. The little girl nodded, standing up with Bruce. He supported Ducard's body in a fireman's carry.

The sound of footsteps crunching the snow down followed him. Lydia was coming along. Just as she always had.

It's been many years since Bruce destroyed the League of Shadows compound. And I still don't know why I followed Bruce as he carried Father's body down the mountain. Maybe it was because I wanted to make sure Father got help. Or maybe it was because I had to make sure Bruce got away. He had made a deadly enemy in Father. Even as an eight year old, I understood that. I had seen what happens to those who displease Father…

Not that it matters now. All that does is that Bruce went down the mountain and I went with him.

After a while, Bruce recognized the header's house on the trail. He also realized that Lydia had stopped following him. He stopped and looked back. The girl was looking at the thick black smoke that smeared against the brilliant blue sky. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"This is the farthest from home I've ever been." She said, Bruce noticed a sadness in her voice. "And something tells me I won't be coming back."

He remembered the sadness he felt when he left Gotham all those years ago. While it had killed his parents, it was still the place he called home, the place where he grew up. The place where his friends were. "Not unusual," he said as he shifted Ducard's weight on his back. "I mean, to be sad. You did spend a long time here. At least that's what your father told me."

"That's the thing," she looked at him, confused. "I'm not sad to leave."

"Then what are you sad about?" Bruce asked as he continued walking down the path. Lydia shrugged her shoulders in response to Bruce's question. And she followed, just as she always had since the day he came at Ducard's invitation half-alive and she was at least four or five years old.

The little girl attached herself to him and toddled after him as a shadow would. At first it bothered him. Until he noticed that she spent a lot of time alone. Ducard cared about her, that much he was aware. But he treated her more like an adult than a child.

Maybe it was because he felt sorry for her. Or maybe it was because Bruce spent a good part of his life alone and knew what it was like. Whatever the reason, he bit his tongue and let her follow him. Eventually, he would look around if he noticed she wasn't with him and would slow down long enough for her to catch up with him.

They were near the house now. An older herder came out, dressed in grey sheepskins. He seemed to recognize the urgency and waved Bruce inside. Inside was simply furnished with crudely carved furniture lit by a smoky lamp. The herder gestured to a pile of grey blankets, a bed. Ducard groaned slightly as Bruce put him down on the bed. But he didn't open his eyes or respond.

Now that Ducard was safe, Bruce needed to leave. Ducard would hunt him down as soon as he got the chance. That and he needed to get back to Gotham. He needed to protect the city. There were still good people there. Like Alfred, Gordon and Harvey and…Rachel. The herder looked up, a knowing look in his dark eyes. "I won't tell him that you saved him." He said in broken Mandarin.

Bruce nodded in thanks, turning his back on his mentor. Lydia stood patiently in the doorway, looking at him. He couldn't leave her here, he realized. The cold and lonely mountain wasn't the place for a child. Ducard, if he weren't so fixated on vengeance, would agree with him.

He walked outside and held out his hand to her.

"Come on. We need to leave." Bruce said, holding out his hand. I took it and walked alongside him, down the trail and away from where I had grown up.

"Where are we going?" I asked. Not that I was afraid, because I trusted Bruce. I knew he wouldn't let me get into trouble. Father also trusted him, telling me that if something ever happened to him to do as Bruce said.

"Home," he said, not taking his eyes off the path.

I was confused. "Home's back there," I pointed behind us. "And it blew up." I was outside doing morning chores, so I hadn't seen what happened inside the compound.

"We're going to my home, where I grew up."

"And where's that?" I listened carefully. Bruce had rarely talked about his life before coming to join us.

"Gotham."

"Yes, and Alfred?…thank you. Ok. Bye." Bruce hung up and nodded his thanks to the hotel clerk before leaving. Everything had been set. The first chance he had gotten to a phone, he called his faithful butler Alfred, speaking to him for the first time in seven years. Alfred would bring the private jet to a small airfield outside Lhasa, Tibet. Bruce and Lydia were at least a day away, just enough time for Alfred to arrive.

Speaking of which…he saw the little girl sitting on a wooden bench outside, patiently waiting for him to come back. They had been walking for quite some time, a few hours at least. In either case, they were out of the mountain range of the League and heading southwest. He was hungry. No doubt Lydia was too. Bruce spotted a little store across the street.

But how were they going to get food? They didn't have any money. If it were just him, it wouldn't be a problem. But now that he had Lydia with him, he needed it.

"Bruce?" Lydia tugged on his coat elbow. He looked down and saw her holding up a gold oval locket. "Use this for food."

"Lydia…I can't do that." Bruce had often seen it around her neck.

"Take it." She said, pushing it into his hand. There was a familiar look in her eyes. "We've got to eat." Lydia sat back down before Bruce could stop her. He stood there for a few moments, realizing that he had seen Ducard in his daughter's eyes. The same look he had given Bruce when he refused to kill that man back in the compound.

Using Mandarin and bartering skills, Bruce managed to buy a loaf of bread, a first aid kit and a can of lukewarm kumquat juice for the locket. It would have to do until they could get to Lhasa. He didn't want to raise suspicions, just in case the League were around…

Sighing, he sat down on the bench next to Lydia. "We've got to make it last as we've got a long way to go until we get to Lhasa."

"I thought we were going to Gotham." Lydia asked as Bruce tore off a hunk of the bread and gave it to her.

"We are," Bruce said, helping himself to some bread. "We're going to meet up with a friend of mine in Lhasa and he'll fly us home to Gotham."

"Oh." Lydia said, eating her bread. They quietly sat on the bench for a while, eating bread and taking sips of the sweet fruit juice. "What's Gotham like?"

Bruce didn't know how to answer. No doubt Ducard had told her some pretty nasty things about Gotham's residents. "Well…it's big and it's loud and it's dirty. And there's a lot of people there."

"Can see why you left," Lydia licked her fingers clean of the sweet juice. "Father told me that there's a lot of bad people there."

"That's true, but there are good people there too." Bruce tried to find the right words. "There are bad people everywhere just as there are good people. And fortunately there are more good people than bad."

"Even in Gotham?"

"Especially in Gotham." Bruce wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "It's just that in Gotham, the bad people have scared the good people into not standing up for themselves."

"Why are they afraid?" Lydia rubbed her eyes. "If there's more good people than bad people, why don't they stand up?"

Bruce scrupled for an answer. He didn't have one for her. "Good question, I don't have an answer." He put the can and bread back in his bag before standing up. "Come on, Lydia." Bruce held out his hand. The little girl took it. "We've got a long walk ahead of us."

It was near sundown by the time we finally stopped at what looked like an abandoned hut surrounded by miles of nothing and mountains. "Wait here." Bruce said, speaking for the first time in several hours. "I'm going to check it out."

"Ok." I said, sitting down on a nearby boulder. My feet felt like many white-hot knives were stabbing them. They were also wet and tight in my boots. I had never walked for so long or so far before. Not that I complained. But I really wanted to cry. That was how bad that it hurt.

Don't cry. I could just hear Father's voice and see his stern blue eyes. Crying is a sign of weakness. And you are not weak, are you, Lydia? No Father, I wanted to say, feeling the tears bite at the corners of my eyes. I'm not weak. I'm strong. A tear rolls down my cheek. Try harder. You let a tear slip loose. Don't think of the pain. Reflect and meditate as I've tried to teach you. Don't you want to please me? Don't you want to make your father proud?

Yes, Father. I thought as the tears fell down. "I want to make you proud." I whispered, wiping my face dry.

It looked safe, Bruce decided as he left the hut. Not much, but compared to what he had been through previously…his thoughts stopped as soon as he saw Lydia sitting on the boulder. Her face was all scrunched up and she wiped at her face with her sleeve.

What was going on…it took him a few seconds to realize why she was looking the way she did…she had been crying. This was the first time he had seen her cry and he felt a little confused. Or more like he didn't know what to do.

"You ok?" Bruce cleared his throat.

She didn't look up. Was she ashamed to look at him? "My feet hurt." Lydia mumbled, still looking at her folded hands in her lap.

He remembered his father's gentle touch and soft voice after he had fallen in that well and broke his arm all those years ago. How it soothed Bruce, how it comforted him…"Let me see." Bruce said gently as he knelt by her and began untying the boot strings. Lydia winced as Bruce began easing one boot off her foot. The woolen sock was caked with blood. No surprise then that the other foot looked pretty bad. "Ouch. That looks like it really hurts." Lydia nodded, still quietly crying.

Now Bruce was really glad he had bought that first aid kit. Hopefully there would be some bandages and antibiotic cream in it. "I'm going to pick you up so you don't have to walk on those feet." Bruce said as he stood up and wrapped his arms around her. Lydia linked her hands around his neck.

Bruce carried me into the hut. The only furniture inside was a mattress, wooden table and chair. He had put his shoulder bag onto the table and then put me next to that. Sitting down on the chair, he took the first aid kit out of his bag and opened it. "Now let's see what we have in here." Bruce said as he rummaged through the meager supplies inside. There was a tube of antibiotic cream, a roll of gauze and a bottle of hand sanitizer. Taking off his gloves, he rubbed the hand sanitizer all over his hands. "It's ok to cry, just so you know. I know it must hurt pretty bad."

I winced as he peeled off my woolen socks. My feet immediately felt better once he had gotten the socks off. The cool and dry air felt so good against my bare feet. Bruce grimaced as he saw the soles and heels of my feet. "It's just that Father said that crying was a sign of weakness. I'm not weak."

"I never said you were, Lydia." He uncapped the antibiotic cream and squeezed out some white cream. "Hold still." Bruce gently cautioned as I flinched from him rubbing the stuff on my feet. Bruce wrapped the gauze loosely around my feet. "There." He patted the loose ends down.

"Thank you, Bruce." I smiled, feeling warm inside. It sounds incredibly clichéd, but that's what I felt. I can't remember the last time Father had treated me gently just like how Bruce had. I liked that feeling, I realized as I tried to stifle a yawn.

"You've had a big day today." Bruce said, picking me up. "Get some sleep." I leaned against his chest, feeling warm and safe. As I dozed off, I wished the feeling wouldn't end.

Lydia was asleep by the time Bruce gently put her on the mattress. She didn't stir, instead she curled up. By this point, the sun had long gone down the stars were shining against the dark night sky. Bruce groaned as he stretched out his limbs and sat down in the chair. How good it would be to rest…but now wouldn't be a good time to sleep. No, he had to be on alert in case the League was about. Thank goodness he was used to lack of sleep during his training with the League. After what he had seen today, he knew they were capable of anything.

Besides, something was bothering him. Lydia's question from earlier.

Why are they afraid? If there's more good people than bad, why don't they stand up?

He finally grasped the answer. As Falcone and the other crime lords of Gotham had shown their strength, the people needed hope. They needed a sign. A symbol. Bruce slightly shivered as he realized this. It was more out of epiphany. But he could see his breath. It was getting cold out. But he was used to it, Bruce thought as he took off his coat and draped it over Lydia's sleeping form. The coat swamped her, almost hiding her entirely.

That's it. Bruce smiled and leaned back against chair. A plan was beginning to take shape in his mind.

Maybe there would be a way to avenge his parents' deaths after all.

A/N: So how is it, please don't be afraid to critique (constructively please). I don't feel satisfied with it, I feel that I made Bruce too OOC. Please tell me how I can make this better.