I've had this story sitting on here for a while, but I don't think I've seen anything like it yet. (Though I don't read much FanFiction anymore, so what do I know?) So here it is, possibly the last TDKR Bane/Talia story I will write, unless inspiration strikes me. It's probably my favorite at the moment, and I enjoyed writing it and thinking through it.
Also, a few credits. While I tried to keep my story different, some inspiration does come from the lovely story 'Noor' by Harlequin Sequins as well as 'All for You and You Alone' by TheEvilPeaches. This mostly occurs in the first two chapters, but after that I hopefully diverge into my own thing.
On to the story!
LET THE WORLD SINK
Chapter 1: With You
It was the shouting that made her open her eyes and poke her head out of the blanket she shared with her protector.
Early morning in the pit was cool and dark, which was likely why the man was choosing to make the climb. Talia knew of the heat that made one feel listless and unenergetic, the limbs slow to respond.
The ledge of the cell prevented her from seeing the man or the crowd. For that, she would have to go outside.
She got up carefully, swaying slightly from the sudden act of getting up, pushing the blanket gently aside while keeping a close eye on her protector. Bane had an extraordinarily annoying skill at feigning sleep. Too often, Talia would try to crawl out of the bed early, only for him to reach out, eyes still closed and with no discernible change in breathing, and scoop her back into beside him.
But this time, she made it over his body and out of the bed with no incident. Still on bare feet, she tiptoed to the cell door and unlocked it. The creak of the metal hinges made her wince and glance back at the bed, but Bane had not moved.
He was definitely awake, she decided. She had seen him spring up at a whisper from her; there was no way he could sleep through the noise and shuffling she had made. But he was not stopping her, which meant he had given his tacit permission for her to investigate.
She shot a glance down both ends cells, checking the corners, then scampered out, gripping the railings. At the other end of the prison, she saw a man, the rope already tied around his waist. He was rubbing his arms and legs, gaze fixed on the opening above them all. Other prisoners had gathered around him, starting up the chant they always used when one attempted the climb.
The man leaped onto the rocks with a fury that surprised Talia, then started up the rocks. She twisted her hands around the metal railing as he climbed higher. Not many had the courage or strength to attempt the climb, and those who did often did not make it to the ledge, falling when their hands slipped on the rocks of the walls. But this man scaled them carefully, stopping to check his footing, to plan his route. As the sky grew lighter, he drew nearer the ledge.
She squeezed the bar as he pushed himself onto the ledge. The man was now only a dark speck, barely discernible. He was close to the opening, so very close. He had only a leap to the next outcropping of rock. As she watched, she could see tiny movements, the adjustment of the rope, the stretching of tired limbs in preparation for the jump. The chant was nearing its climax, a shout rumbling around the prison. She climbed up onto the railing just as the man made the leap.
His arms flailed at the ledge uselessly as he missed. The chanting stopped abruptly. The only sound then was the snap of the rope, and possibly the man's back, as his fall came to a sudden stop.
A sigh seemed to sweep over the collective prisoners, though perhaps it was only the shuffle of their feet on the stone as they moved away, already losing interest. Talia climbed down the railing, pulling back into the cell, as the other men left. The climber was being lowered down, his body hanging limply from the rope. Whether he was dead or merely unconscious, she did not know.
She closed the cell door as the body hit the ground, not wanting to know the fate of the man who had pressed on so bravely during the climb. Locking the door, she turned towards the bed, not surprised to see Bane's eyes open and looking at her.
"He did not make it," he said. It was not a question.
She shook her head.
He turned away. "Of course not." He held up the blanket and gestured her towards it. She climbed onto the bed and over his large body, flopping herself beside him and against the wall where she always slept.
"They never do," he said, folding the blanket over her.
She grabbed his arm and plopped it over her own shoulder. "You could," she said. Only the strong could make the climb all the way up to the ledge, and Bane was the strongest man she knew. "Did you ever try?"
He cocked his head at her. "Is that why you insist on watching them? Thinking of me, falling..."
"No." She was silent for a moment, gazing at him. She lifted a finger and traced it down the bridge of his nose to his lips. "But you could. I know you could." She imagined it for a few moments, him traversing the walls, leaping off the ledge, climbing into the bright sunlight...
Bane sighed, Talia feeling his breath hot against her hand. "Nobody makes it, little one." He drew back to look down at her. "And if I did, who would be around to take care of you?"
She had not considered that, considered that he would leave her. The thought alone made her stomach queasy, and she pushed her head under his chin, his scent and the feel of him reassuring her of his continued presence. "You won't ever leave without me, will you Bane?"
"No little one. We leave together or not at all."
She smiled at his reassurance before her thoughts turned elsewhere. "You said I would climb out," she reminded him, voice muffled against his chest.
"Mmm..." He ran a hand down her head and its fuzzy crop of hair. "That I did." His fingers brushed her forehead, stopped. She glanced up and saw him pull away from her, frowning. She blinked up at him curiously; had her words disturbed him that much? She only grew more puzzled when he put a finger to her forehead.
"Are you warm?" he asked abruptly.
She blinked at the unexpected question, but shook her head. If anything, she felt rather cool. His frown deepened, but he accepted her nuzzle into his shirt without another comment.
"Well?" she said.
"Well, what?"
"You said I would rise."
"I did. You will climb up the rocks. You will not slip as the others do, but get to the ledge. And when you jump, you will fly."
"And you will come too, right?" she added. There was no safety without Bane at her side, no comfort without his arms holding her tight and holding back the frightful things that came from the shadows.
He was silent a moment, as if the question had never occurred to him. "Of course, little one." She smiled, satisfied, and felt a low vibration through his chest, as if he were sighing. "But... not now." He tucked the blanket in tighter. "When you are bigger, stronger. Now, go back to sleep."
The illness came with the summer sands.
Bane had never been afraid of disease. Most passed over him without affecting him at all; only a few times had he suffered a low fever that died within a day, often the same sicknesses that struck down men in droves. Foolishly, he thought that his immunity might be given to another, that his mere presence might guard her from disease. For a time, it seemed he was right, for the girl had never caught the plague that sometimes went around the prison, nor the sleeping sickness, nor any of the other innumerable diseases that came when so many men were locked up together. In their time together, she had not suffered anything beyond a temporary cough from the dryness of the desert.
This time, though, was different.
Talia began to show symptoms in the middle of the day, that same day she had been gazing out at the climbing man. She was sluggish, though he had not noticed it overly much. It was the hottest time of the year, and most of the inmates would spend their days in the cell, dozing away until night time, when it would be cooler. She had never lacked for energy, but today she had looked rather dazed, and complained of a headache. The heat, he thought, and he let her lie a bit longer in the bed, the blankets bunched at her feet, and sat by her side, watching the dust gather around the bars of their shared cell.
But later, he had come back with food and found her barely able to sit up. When he shook her awake and offered her bread, she had to grip the wall for support and said that her head was spinning, and when he offered her some bread, she shook her head slowly and lay back into her pillow. He left the bread beside her, knowing she would eat when she was hungry, and left to conduct business among the other prisoners. When he returned, he found the bread untouched and attracting an all-too-inquisitive rat. He squashed it, then sat down beside the girl, concerned. He had seen the doctor take the temperature of his patients before, and had tried it himself, putting a hand against her forehead and then to his own to compare. It had not helped. She was warm - what wasn't, in this heat? - but he could not be sure if she was too warm. He let her sleep longer, hoping that the cool night air would help her recover.
By then, though, it was clear she was ill. He had lain down beside her and drawn back, for her body had felt as if it were giving off its own heat. She had felt him move and had opened her eyes, puzzled as to why he wasn't joining her in the bed.
"You are very warm, little one," he explained. He put a hand to her forehead once again, but pulled back quickly. She felt as if she was on fire. "You are ill."
"I feel a little better," she whispered, pushing up against him. She watched as he reformed their blanket, but her eyes had a glazed quality to them, and he knew she was lying.
"Sleep," he told her, and she closed her eyes and sighed. It seemed foolish to wrap a blanket around her, not when her body was already so warm. So he lay back down next to her and let her pull an arm around her own body, and tried to get used to how hot she was – as if he were holding a burning ember to his chest. He pushed his nose into her head and let her smell fill his nose - a sweet, clean scent underneath the pungent odor of her sweat, with a hint of freshness that he thought might be similar to the smell of air in the outside world that some of the men spoke so longingly of.
She woke him up in the middle of the night, though unintentionally. She had clambered around him to retrieve the blankets, but even in the darkness he could sense her weakness, her fumbling, clumsy movements. When she began to pant from the exertion, he sat up, pushed her back down, and pulled the cover around her. Never had she grown so tired so quickly from such a little thing.
"You don't need the blanket, little one," he said quietly. "You are hot enough to warm the entire cell."
She shivered next to him, curling her body up. "But I'm cold."
So he laid the sheet over her, tucking it close around her shoulders and body, pulled her close to him and stayed awake, feeling the heat of her fever burn him.
In the morning, she was so hot he could not bear to touch her for long, yet even as the sun rose directly over the pit, she continued to shiver.
"I'm cold," she murmured again, twisting her body around his.
"How can you be?" he whispered back. "You are sweating so much." Her face was shining with wetness, her clothing soaked; it had even seeped into the blanket.
She shook her head. "I want the sun," she mumbled into the blanket. "Can I see the sun?"
But when he brought her out of the cell into the light, swaddling her in blankets and robe, she buried her head into his chest and did not look at the bright ball hovering above them. But she sighed and he could feel her tense little body unwind, soaking up the sun like one of the few, rare plants that would sometimes grow in the pit, their roots set into the cracks of the stone walls but their thin stems drawn up towards the light.
"Feels good," Talia said, face still in his shirt.
"Mmm." He stroked her head gently - even the short fuzz of her hair was damp with sweat - then reached into his pocket. "Eat, little one." He pressed the bread to her hand.
She glanced at it, taking too long to comprehend what he had given her. "I'm not hungry." She dropped her head back to his chest.
"You are always hungry," he said almost angrily. Always - returning to find her rubbing away her stomach pangs, standing still as she scrambled through his robe for crumbs, watching her small face light up when he came back with some new, rare treat. He had learned to go long periods with only a little food, but not her, and trading for more now made up the majority of the business he conducted with the other prisoners.
Talia shook her head. "Well, I'm not," she said, a touch indignantly. He let it pass; she could eat more when she was recovered.
Later, he pulled the blanket from her grip to let it dry, knowing that its dampness could not help her. It had not taken long for her sweat to evaporate into the dry desert air, and then he had bundled the blanket around her and held her even though it was almost painful to touch her. But soon, too soon, she was shivering again, clinging to him for heat, asking him to let her out, please, to soak in the sun, and he knew her confused mind could not register that the sun had long since fallen over the lip of the pit. So instead, he took the precious bits of wood he had gathered and gathered it into a small pyramid, then took his two rocks and sparked a fire to life. It was insanity, to build one in the hottest part of the year, when even the night was sometimes too warm for blankets, and within moments he was sweating as much as she had been before, but he forgot all about it when Talia awoke from her fitful doze, turned towards the orange flames, and smiled, holding her hand out weakly to it.
"But it's not raining," she whispered, her half-sleepy gaze going up to his. He usually would make a fire during the rainy part of the year, when the nights were coldest. The long nights, with crackling flames mixed with the pattering of rain and Talia's warm weight resting in his arms now seemed very far away.
"This is more important," he told her, lifting her so that she might sit up, resting against his chest. He gripped her arm in his hand, surprised at how thin it was, and held her hand towards the heat, and she smiled and nodded off to sleep once more.
In the morning, the fire was dead and Talia was stirring fretfully in her sleep, eyelids fluttering with dark dreams, a sheen of sweat on her face. He awoke her and tried to get her to eat, soaking the bread in water to soften it. She managed half a piece, but could barely lift her head.
"It doesn't feel good," she whispered to him. Her eyes seemed to see past him. "It feels like spinning."
Dizzy, he wanted to correct her, but he didn't. "Eat more," he told her, dumping the bread in the bowl of water and passing it to her. She shook her head and pushed it away. He grabbed her wrist. "Now, Talia."
"Bane-"
"I said now." He grabbed her face, not caring at this point if he was being too rough. "Talia." She went still, for he never said her name, not unless he was angry or, far worse, afraid. He released her chin and tilted her eyes up to his. "Eat it now, or I force it down your throat."
Her eyes grew very wide, but at least there was some focus to them now. She pressed the bread unwillingly to her lips, taking small bites. Each mouthful took an age to go down.
As she ate, Bane said, trying to be more gentle, "You have to eat something, or you won't get better." He held the bowl of water to her lips and let her sip. It was his last, and soon there would only be a few skins of water left, but he didn't care. Panic was beginning to flutter at the back of his mind, beating against rational thought. He could not lose her.
Only when the entire piece had been swallowed did he let her sleep. He lay down beside her, touching her gingerly. Her skin felt dry as bone, and so fragile he thought he might pierce it should he press too hard. Releasing her, he settled beside her, but sleep was slow to come. The worry would not go away; it felt as if it were growing like it's own disease, squeezing his chest and making him weak and helpless. He could not afford to be weak and helpless right now. He had to be strong for her. He had always been strong for her, had protected her and hidden her away from the dangers of the prison. But with all his strength, he could not protect her from a simple illness; all his power but it was her tiny, fragile body that was killing her, and he could do nothing but watch.
He pushed the fear down forcefully. She was eating and drinking, that would give her strength, and she was sweating. Sweating was good, the men had said so before; sweat the illness out, and Talia had sweated enough for the entire prison. Eat and drink and sweat and rest, and she would be running about, crawling over his body when he was too tired to drag her back, chattering at him and running loose over the prison...
He didn't know how he felt her twitch. All he knew was that he was about to sleep, in the half-dozing sleep between wakefulness and unconsciousness, when he felt her shift. It was not the painfully slow movements that were all she could manage for the last few days, but a sudden start, and before he knew what was happening, she had sat up and almost launched herself over his body, but even then he did not quite register what was going on until he heard her retch and a wet splash.
"Ta-" He stopped himself, pushed himself up and grabbed her, for without his body to lean on she had nearly slipped off the bed into her own pool of vomit. Her body spasmed in his hands, and for one horrid moment he was caught in a memory of a man he had strangled who had flailed under his grip in the exact same way – then she relaxed and threw up again, brown sludge enlarging the pool under her.
She gasped, her hands clutching desperately at him. "Bane-" That was all she could manage before her body twisted itself up and forced out the bread she had tried so hard to eat. There was rising panic in her eyes that was beginning to match his own, but he could not think of that now, had no such luxury; he had to hold the child, clutching her shoulders and stroking her back and chest until it was over and Talia's spent body was clutched in his arms, stinking of vomit and sweat.
The little girl wiped at her mouth, breathing raggedly. "Bane-"
"Quiet-"
"No." She clung to him, her body knotted with pain. "I couldn't help… I couldn't... I'm sorry, I had to-"
"Never mind that," he said, wrapping the covers around her. "Drink something," he said, holding out the bowl to her. She lapped eagerly at it as he went on, "Do not think about it, Talia - little one. You need to rest. Go to sleep."
"Should I - should I eat-"
"After sleep."
She was so tired that she fell asleep almost immediately, which he was glad for. She must not notice that he was clenching the bed so hard it might break, and with her restless dreaming, she would probably awake at the slightest movement. Only when her movements had quieted did he clean the cell. He would not waste water to wash the vomit away, but there was plenty of sand. He grabbed a handful and threw it over the mess, then later kicked the congealed mass out the cell. That done, he went to the girl and wrapped her up in her mother's blanket and his own, then threw his own robe over her for good measure until she was just a bundle in his arms. He moved carefully, making sure not to wake her, until they were at the door of their shared cell.
There was little activity in the prison, but it did not ease the tension he felt. Less men outside meant more in the cells, and right now he needed to go to a specific cell, and Talia was not in any condition to run or even hold onto him. He could not fight this. The little girl he had tried so hard to take care of, done so much to protect, and was the only person who had made the last few years halfway bearable, was fading away in front of him and he did not know what to do.
It did not look like anything in the prison was likely to change, so Bane pushed open the cell door and hurried out, opting to take his chances. As he moved among the shadows, creeping close to the walls, he shifted the girl over so that at least one arm was free, cradling her head with the other.
They were lucky. Nobody met them on the way, and he received no harassment from those inside the cells. He glanced back as he reached his destination. Attention at any time was never a good thing, with Talia so vulnerable, it would be a danger indeed. But he sensed nothing, and so he moved the girl back to a more comfortable position, checking her. She was asleep, and remained so as Bane kicked open a cell door and dragged the prison doctor from his bed, and did not move even when Bane thrust her small body out.
The doctor glanced at her with a lethargy that seemed almost insolent. "And what would I want with her?" he croaked.
Bane pulled her back as the child, deprived of Bane's body heat, began to shiver, even though the air was unbearably hot. "She's sick," he hissed.
The doctor shuffled over and managed a careless glance over the girl. He shook his head and tried to turn away, but Bane grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "Help her," he demanded, his patience run out. Could the man not see how ill she was, her cracked lips, her pale cheeks, the lines of her shoulders pulled tight against her skin...
The doctor jerked his arm back. "I already know of this." He spat. "You think she is the only one who is suffering?"
Bane looked around the prison. He had thought the emptiness was due to the heat, but now he could hear the coughing, the quiet moans. It seemed there was a sweetness to the air, a sickly, poisonous smell. Too preoccupied with Talia's illness, he had not noticed it striking down others.
He rounded on the doctor. "Then you know what this is," he said almost angrily. "You can help her!"
The doctor rasped a laugh. "You think - you think you are the first who has thought of me?" He waved a dirty hand around a cell, indicating the broken jars, the shattered bottles, the dried stains of liquids that had spilled onto the floor. And he saw the doctor's face clearly now, how his lip was split open, a livid bruise forming under his eye – rewards for his service left by some of the other men.
Bane took it in and felt the fluttering in the back of his mind grow. He rounded on the doctor. "You have to help her," he hissed, clutching Talia's body more tightly. "What is it? What causes it?
The doctor shook his head slowly. "I do not know. A fever, that comes with a pain in the bones and a chill around the body. The sands bring it… or the insects…" He shrugged, referring to the little biting gnats that sometimes swarmed around the prisoners.
"You must have something," he said, the facade of anger beginning to crack. "To bring the fever down or stop her from shaking."
The doctor shrugged. "Keep her cool. Let her rest."
"Do you think I have not done that already?" Bane shouted, desperation finally breaking over him. "She shivers, she begs for warmth, she sleeps but does not get up to eat or drink-"
"I tell you, I have nothing," the doctor snapped, sitting back on his bed. His eyes passed over the little girl indifferently. "There is nothing here to treat her with." It seemed that Talia had grown very cold and still in Bane's arms.
The doctor continued to murmur, "Once, I might have… but it was a long time ago, when I still lived outside. You cannot find it here."
Outside… against his will, his eyes climbed the ascent up the walls of the pit. He had watched man after man attempt the climb and fail, and he had sneered at the thought of ever escaping the prison. Why try, when so many others had failed?
Now, for the first time, as he held a feverish little girl in his arms and could find no way to protect her, he was considering climbing out.
"So you leave her to die," he snarled, throwing his anger at the nearest target.
The doctor turned away. "Feed her, give her water. Pray that she's strong enough to last through it."
TBC...
A/N: This and the upcoming chapter was originally one part, but during editing it just got longer and longer because I apparently can't shut up, so I split it up. It does explain the slightly abrupt ending here.
Also, apparently FanFiction deleted all my italics and lines. I've restored them as best as I could, but I'm pretty sure there are a bunch more missing that I couldn't be bothered to look for. Ah well.