If I owned it, it wouldn't be posted here.
Iason is 11 at the time of this story.
Iason is kicking himself, he shoulda got while the gettin' was good. No way a horse that fine would be left unsupervised long enough for him to safely come back for its armored bridle. He shoulda just been happy with the saddle and fancy black blanket. Now he's seated on the back of that same horse, (re-saddled) his arms wrapped tightly around the armor-clad waist of his…captor? (he doesn't know what to call him) as the charger runs through the narrow, twisty streets at a speed that has him squeezing his eyes closed and trying to think what his fate is likely to be. It's preferable to contemplating his imminent death when this massive horse collides with something or stumbles.
Not that the other possibilities look all that good either.
Best case scenario, The Dark Knight of Gotham City here decides he's not worth it and tosses him off the horse, hopefully slowing down a little first. Far more likely he'll end up on the auction block, dead in an ally-way somewhere, or hanged as a thief. Somewhere in between these is the bad but not so bad likelihood that he gets off with just a beating, though if that was the case he doesn't think The Bat would have bothered to drag him from his den. Why take the trouble to take the street urchin with you when you can just as easily break a few ribs in the broken down building you found him in? Though, he's heard stories, of nobles with secret rooms below their dungeons. Torture chambers, places of blood and screams.
That seems a little extreme for nicking a stupid saddle though.
He's yanked from his gallows-bound thoughts when the horse comes to a sudden, stamping halt, snorting like some great monster of myth. They are in a part of the Narrows that Iason has never seen before, but the ramshackle huts stacked one upon the other show that they are still in the Narrows somewhere.
The Bat dismounts, then pulls Iason down to the ground after him, never letting go of him, as though he's afraid Iason will bolt.
He's probably right. Probably.
An old, wrinkled, witchy looking crone answers the door, giving The Bat a curt greeting and Iason an assessing look that makes him shiver, though he thinks he hides it well enough.
"Iason, this is Mistress Gunn," The Batman says shortly. "Mistress Gunn, Iason."
Iason and Mistress Gunn exchange grunts. The Bat drops his other hand onto Iason's other shoulder and this time it's almost…gentle. He has to remind himself that he doesn't want to be anywhere near the man, but it has been so long since anyone was gentle with him. Not since well before his mother died.
"You'll be well cared for here."
And then there are no hands on Iason's shoulders and all he hears is the faint clank of The Dark Knight mounting his dark steed and all he feels is a twisting sense of abandonment and a growing sense of dread as he watches Mistress Gunn grin toothlessly after the departing warrior. Well cared for his worn out left boot.
He's right of course, not a month later he is once again on the back of that horse, after having helped The Bat take down the theft ring Mistress Gunn had been running, using the orphaned boys brought to her. This time, The Bat informs him. He's coming home with him.
Thanks for reading this little blurb! If you want more in this universe, there are a few stories here on ff, and all of them are on my AO3, linked in my profile.
Review and let me know what you thought?