AN:
Okay, so I went to see 'The Dark Knight Rises' two days in a row. I'll admit, I'm not a comic book reader. I have, honest to God, living in England, never read a comic in my life. They're just not as readily available here, unless I just haven't been looking, and the sheer quantity of them scares me. I have, however, watched all three Nolanverse films. Batman Begins I remember scaring me, because I have a weird aversion to a not-very-frequent phonemenon – villains with bags on their heads. So, the Scarecrow terrified me. When he briefly popped up in this film, my eleven year old self shrank into my seat. The Dark Knight, I have to say, I only liked for Heath's scenes, which were freaking amazing. I just kept wanting The Joker to come back on as I watched that. Now I approached this film a little wary of the whole length issue, but I have to say, you just don't notice the length until you stand up and realise you can't feel your behind. I loved the way the story went and how it wrapped up, but the best bits were Bane and Talia IMHO. I wish they weren't so rushed. So here's just a little thing. I hope you like it. I DO NOT OWN 'THE DARK KNIGHT RISES'.
Miranda Tate is born of necessity after her father's death. She's told of his passing by several members of the League, who find her in their usual cloak and dagger way. She has not spoken to him in over a decade, and she's surprised to find she grieves the lack of contact now.
She had hated him for so long that she had forgotten she'd loved him once, all those years ago when she'd found him as a child in rags. He'd been the light at the end of such a long, dark tunnel, and she'd idolised him for that if nothing else.
But his actions against her protector pushed him deep into the recesses of her heart. The feelings of daughterly love she had held were shut away, locked tight, and it took nothing less than his murder to set them free. Suddenly, she recalled his ideals and his teachings in a wave, as if the key to that door had swiftly been turned and a flood of understandings had come pouring through.
That was when the foundations of the plan were laid, when she headed for Gotham City to confront this notorious Batman – Bruce Wayne.
Getting him to aid the building of the reactor was easier than she had anticipated, but his following isolation had set her back. She knew it had worked, she knew it. It had worked, and that had scared him, because he understood, as she certainly did, that the device could become a weapon. With no clue as to its whereabouts, all she could do was wait and wheedle without causing suspicion.
She attempted every form of cajoling she could conjure, alas, to no avail. Finally, at her own party, there he appeared, devil may care, Bruce Wayne, cane and all, no eight inch fingernails or facial disfigurements. Practically perfect and prime for the picking.
Seduction came easily to her, but she knew to be too brazen wouldn't work with this poor, pathetic wounded soul. Let him see her first as a colleague, an ally. Only then would she be considered for a lover, though she had no doubt that between them Alfred and Fox would ply her case in their subtle little ways.
Like candy from a baby, after that slight delay, everything fell into place, and the necessity of Miranda Tate worked very well indeed.
She found in herself a consummate actress, no doubt a skill inherited from her devious father – she knew she had even given dear Bane a shock when he came face to face with her at the reactor.
They had kept their distance over the years, as the slowly wielded knife came closer and closer to its target. Any contact would have been foolish and unwise, something that neither of them had any intention of being, even for the sake of their connection.
He had kept up his side of the bargain and she hers, and they had played their parts as well as anyone could. Their partnership this time around was more equal, but, childlike tendencies die hard, and there were times when even she, the unflinching Talia al Ghul, wanted nothing more than to let him be the leader again, if only for old times' sake. She both hated and felt warmed by her easy dependence on his strength, a residual feeling from those long gone days.
This was war, however, and wars are hard won. Always in her mind was the focus that she must destroy Batman. She must destroy Bruce Wayne and secure her father's victory by taking down Gotham. Revenge and the unleashing of a destiny are plans that cannot be put aside simply for your own selfish, fleeting emotions. She understood that, had since her mother had been killed in the Pit. Revenge ate at you, and she believed the only way to stop it was to fulfil it.
It's strange, how certain strange moments fill your mind with thought. As per their idea, Bane has brought her with him and they wait for Bruce, for Batman. She wishes sometimes that she could feel any kind of remorse for what she will do to him. She knows he cares for her. She wonders, sometimes, at the coldness she feels towards strangers. She cannot develop attachments anymore. Perhaps her father's betrayal rid her of the ability forever.
She changes into something more appropriate, something from that culture she abandoned but never forgot, something befitting the daughter of Ra'as Al Ghul – he will not notice the similarity, not until it's too late. His heart is too trusting, even now, and just as his trust grows to its fullest extent, she will puncture that organ and end it, the way she's been waiting to do for so many years.
She pushes away that rebellious part of herself that continues to rear its head. She is not her father. She is not her father. Can she do this? But the part that wants destruction, that wants revenge and an end and victory wins out, and so she waits.
The commotion begins on the street, and she watches through the high windows as her protector once again strides forward to her aid. He will bring her the Bat – she finds she cannot think of him as wounded Bruce Wayne – and it will all end. She cannot think beyond it. Her life has been consumed by it.
She allows herself to become what her father hoped she would be. He had his doubts. She never truly believed in him as her 'father'. Master fit better, guide perhaps. Father was a word too tender for him, a word she might have bestowed on her protector, if the feelings she had developed did not make it sit awkwardly on his shoulders.
She will take that slowly wielded knife, and its slow path shall finally find its mark in Bruce Wayne's heart. This is how it must be, and how it will be. The bomb shall blow, the war shall be over, victory shall be hers. Theirs.
She will rise.