A/N: I own nothing, sadly. Titles are from the song If I Burn by Emilie Autumn. I've been hearing some complaints that revealing Talia undermined Bane's character. I don't think that's true and I wanted to explore the situation further.
Darkness surrounded him. He could see the light far above, but it did not touch him. There were places where he could have felt it, but men went mad sitting there in the sun. He would not show such weakness. As a young man, there was still the climb to consider. None had made it, the old ones said. Still, that did not mean that no one ever would. He was strong and he was young, barely old enough to grow a beard, and he did not doubt his ability to do what no man had ever done.
He observed the other inhabitants of this hell, not allowing himself to sink into it as they had. They fought over nothing and formed meaningless bonds only to break them within hours. They disgusted him. There was one, however, who interested him. Unfortunately, for her, he was not the only one interested. She was not the only woman in the Pit, but she was certainly the only unbroken one. And she had a child. Few of the other prisoners seemed to notice the small creature moving about the cell; focused instead on the prospect of a proud woman to be taken. He was not interested in that prospect. He had lived a brutal life, though not always in this place, but he did not engage in ruthless acts without reason. Down here, there was little reason beyond mere survival.
Food did not come regularly. When it did, it was never enough for all of the prisoners. He was not sure if this was planned or not. He was larger than most of the others, and only occasionally had to fight a man for his food. Most of these men were older and desperate, and unaware of what they were facing. He killed swiftly and without remorse. Such men would have died soon, and in more agony. The woman, he noticed, received her own supplies separately and did not have to fight. This piqued his curiosity, but he did not expect her to explain herself to someone like him.
There was a well for water, so there was technically enough. However, a group of younger men often took control of it and would demand compensation from any who sought to quench their thirst. This did not trouble him. They were afraid when he approached and he rarely was addressed. Often, these groups would fight and destroy each other, making way for a new group to play at having power. He could have taken over the water source, and probably held it on his own. It did not seem like something that would be worth his time, however. So he left them to their illusion of control as long as they did not bother him with it.
Most of his time was spent training for the climb. Other prisoners often attempted it when they were weak and desperate, killing themselves when their despair made them sloppy. He studied the task and prepared himself accordingly. His first attempt resulted in him only making it up a few yards. This did not trouble him: he learned what he did wrong and did not repeat the same mistake. The second time, he nearly doubled his progress. When he fell this time, he injured his back and had to heal before he could attempt again.
Time passed without notice in the Pit. He watched the others while he waited to be able to climb again. The child had grown. He could not be certain of its age, but it seemed to be around nine or ten winters old. Winters were brutal and he was somewhat surprised to find it still thriving. The mother did not appear to be able to endure much longer. The men watched her with some sort of sick anticipation. He did not want to consider of what, and chose to observe the child as it played alone.
After a while, he was able to climb again. He progressed further each time, but not as dramatically as the second time. Eventually, there was only one barrier in his way. Several feet of what was once a walkway jutted out near the surface. Another one was a few feet above it, and appeared to provide easy access to the top of the wall. He attempted many times, but no strategy he could devise allowed him to reach the second one. He did not allow himself to despair, even though each failed attempt required several weeks of recuperation before trying again. He had nothing but time.
One day, as he was resting in preparation for another climb, he observed the doctor enter the cell of the woman. This was not unusual, but it was the heat of the afternoon and most others were asleep, so he had nothing else to occupy himself. The doctor examined the two inhabitants of the cell, his hands visibly shaking, even from where he sat, from morphine sickness. He smiled contemptuously; even their doctor was as damned as they were. The doctor clumsily shut the cell door behind him and wandered away. And then the cell door slowly swung back open.
He froze, wondering if anyone else had marked this. Sensing movement from the other cells, he slowly left his own, hoping that no one would see. The stupid woman who was now in such danger did not notice, either. But the child did. It tugged at its mother's skirts, but did not speak. Perhaps it realized the peril of drawing any more attention to the situation.
There was a wild cry from somewhere, and dozens of men ran toward the cell. He was shocked by their speed and determination. They grabbed the woman and dragged her away. He was close by enough to see the look of terror on her face. He looked away in fear and revulsion as he anticipated her fate. His gaze fell on the cell door, where the child was emerging with a sharp stick. It attempted to stab one of its mother's attackers. As the man turned around, he ran forward and struck him before he could lay his hands on the child. He swept the small creature into his arms and carried it to away from the violence he did not want to see or hear.
He sat on a ledge with the child in his arms, shielding it from view as best he could. No one seemed to have taken notice of his actions, but he did not want to risk attracting any attention at a time like this. The other prisoners were like wild beasts in their attack and he shuddered to think of the fate of the little one. To its credit, it had not made a sound or moved away from him. He supposed it knew that he had saved it. Though for what? It was not as though he wanted to care for it for the rest of his time here. He still planned to escape and wondered how this rash action would affect that outcome.
The unspeakable sounds quieted. He waited patiently as night fell and it grew pitch dark in the Pit. There was silence. He stood up and set the child down, unsure what to do next. It looked up at him with large blue eyes with such trust he could not bear to hold its gaze. He looked around and considered whether he should return it to its cell or go to his own. The prisoners would certainly want to attack again if they saw another inhabitant in the woman's cell, so he decided to take it to his own. He picked it up again and made his way as silently as possible to his own cell, careful to shield the child's gaze from the direction they had taken its mother.
The journey to safety felt long and agonizing. He carefully locked them inside when they reached his cell. It occurred to him that he did not know what language, if any, the child spoke. He could not remember hearing how the mother had communicated with it. Surely she had, though; it would have been cruel not to. He set the child gently on his cot and wrapped it in his blanket. He could feel its eyes on him in the dark, watching warily.
"It's time to sleep," he said gruffly.
"With you?" He was surprised by the suspicion in such a young voice.
"If you would rather sleep elsewhere, you are welcome to," he replied, ashamed by his tone. It had been a long time since he had spoken with someone.
"Why did you save me?"
He ran his fingers over his closely cropped hair in perplexity. He had not expected to be questioned by anyone. "You needed saving," he said simply, for he could think of no other reason.
The child nodded. "What do you expect from me?" This question was quieter than the others. Perhaps it did not want to know the answer.
He considered. "Nothing," he said at last.
Silence. He could not see what the child made of this response. "My name is Talia," she (for clearly such a name was female) told him.
He wondered why the gender of the child had never occurred to him before. It would be more dangerous for her to be thought a girl then a boy, though not by much. He would have to take care to hide her sex from the others. "I am called Bane," he replied. It was not his name, but no one knew that anymore. She did not appear to notice anything strange about his response.
"Thank you, Bane, for saving my life," she said gravely.
"It is not saved yet," he replied. "But you should rest." She lay down on his cot dutifully. He stretched out on the floor beside it and wondered what he had started.
A/N: Please read and review! I will be updating every couple days.