Oh, my! Thank you to those who have followed, favorited, and left feedback! My heart is resounding with love for you fine souls! Certainly motivation to continue on, and as quickly as possible. Please, continue to pass along input and love. It is greatly appreciated and adored. :)
Anyways, I must tell you... I have taken on the difficult feat of writing more from Bane's point of view. Despite the fact that it will always be written in third person, I intend to focus more on what goes on in the gorgeous beast's mind, rather than Talia's. So enjoy!
Once again, all character's belong to the glorious DC Comics, not me.
~ From the Ashes ~
Bane had waited patiently all year, watching the sky for signs of freedom. Watched as the seasons rolled relentlessly in, and quietly out, leaving behind knots of anxiety in his chest. He had waited all year for the opportune moment to climb.
It was far more difficult now that he had a second soul bound to his. Yet never in his entire life that had played out in the recesses of The Pit had he been so entirely determined to taste the world up above. It was a painful anxiety as he watched the men clamber up the stone walls, examining each failure with thoughtful eyes. He took mental notes, perfecting his technique within his mind, all the while waiting for his moment to rise.
Autumn. That's what he was waiting for. For the ice of winter to pass, the precipitation of spring to pass, the dryness of summer to pass. In the winter, the stones of the wall were iced and slippery, providing little support while climbing. In the spring, the Maker turned on the pipes from heaven, and it poured cruelly for weeks on end, allowing no one to climb. And when the rain had ceased, it left the stones drenched without any grip for the desperate men that crawled towards the light. In the summer, dust coated the walls and the heat was unbearable. Men found no grasp, their fingers slipping from the dust and plummeting to their death.
Yet in the fall, the weather straddled between hot and cold, yet the air was moist with the approaching winter. By then the dust would have passed and the rains wouldn't descend for another two months. It was the ideal time to rise.
"Shall we pack for the trip?" Talia questioned, standing beside the brass door of their shared cell.
He looked up at the meager creature from where he crouched, tearing a square of a rag into long strips. She waited quietly, her animal-like fingers prying absentmindedly at the lock of the door. She stared at him expectantly, excitement underlining her outrageously deep blue eyes.
Standing up, he shook his head. "No. I fear that I will not be able to carry it up," he answered, scooping her up into his arms, like he often did. "When we rise, you shall catch our food, my little huntress. And we shall dine like royalty, in the radiant sunlight of the world above," he smiled, lifting her slightly so she could crawl over his shoulder.
She laced her arms around his neck and her legs locked around his wide ribcage, clinging tightly like a leech. "What is royalty?" she questioned as they left the cell.
"The people who placed us here, my darling," he answered.
"Shall I hunt them? When we rise?" she asked, and though he couldn't see her face, he could hear a smile form in her words, feel it against his neck where she had pressed her narrow cheek. "I may kill them, and then they shall be sorry that they placed us here. They'll be sorry then."
He laughed lightly, the sound rumbling against her chest, as he eyed the prisoners that watched them with hooded eyes. "Instead, why don't we place them here and overthrow their thrones? Make them long for their own demise while we enjoy the luxuries that they once occupied. Then they shall be sorry."
They rounded the corner of a cell, the platform to the ropes coming into view. There was a small gathering of men at the base, heads turned up towards the heavens, watching as a lean prisoner scrambled up the wall. He felt Talia stiffen against his back slightly, perking up at the sight of the man climbing towards the light. And his walking ceased so they could watch, both of their heads turned up to look at the sullen creature crawling upwards in desperation.
The men on the platform chanted loudly, their voices rising as the man rose, echoing loudly through out the Pit. He was drawing closer to the lip of the pit with every passing second, his pace quickening as the excitement filled his fragile frame.
"What does demise mean?" she whispered, intently focused on the climbing creature.
Bane held his breath, watching as the man reached for a stone, lost his grip, and plummeted back to the earth. His figure descended quickly, his arms and legs flailing desperately while he let out a shrill scream of terror. Bane knew what the man's fate was, judging by his small build and lack of bodily padding, and inevitably, when he reached the bottom, a loud crack snapped through the air. And then man's cries ceased, and he hung limply, his bones loose within his sorry body.
"End," Bane answered softly, reaching up to grasp her hands, locked around his neck tightly, within his palm. "It means end."
He had told everyone he wasn't coming back to the force, said he couldn't handle it. He had turned in his uniform, received his last few checks, and personally informed Commissioner Gordon that he was done.
Gordon was understanding, nodding and humming in agreement when he had given him his reasons for leaving. He had apologized when for his judgement when Gordon was publicly humiliated for the Harvey Dent story.
"You were right, Commissioner," he had said, handing him his badge. "Society needs a hero that will take our shit... But I need one that will push me to do the right thing, to point out my flaws. To tell me to take up his mantle."
Gordon had frowned in confusion, yet had pocketed the badge and shook his hand.
"And you're certain about this, John?" he had asked, pausing on his way out of the room.
John Blake had nodded, smiled and said, "Entirely."
And in that moment, he was entirely sure of himself. In that moment, he didn't know where he was bound to end up, but he was taking a leap of faith. And he had been prepared for what fate was to bring him.
John Blake climbed the stairs of the MCU, pressing in to the building. Entering the lobby, he glanced around at the reconstruction of the area. New drywall had been pinned up, currently being textured and painted, while destroyed electricity lines were being rewired.
Gotham was reverting back to it's glory, rebuilding itself at a pleasant velocity. Roads were patched up, buildings rebuilt, new trees planted. And many, many memorials now decorated the city, paying respect to the fallen.
But despite the beauty of the city, Blake knew better. It was a graveyard, a cemetery, harboring past stories of horrors and destruction. Of madmen running rampant, of terrorists and of criminals, fears and losses. Also of courage and triumph, victories and freedom. Gotham city still stood, still thrived. It limped along, baring wounds of honor. It had earned it's stripse, yet at the cost of many lives.
Blake was done with it.
He had decided to leave, to find his own rebirth. The notion of starting fresh was too desirable, and he had opted to take that route. He had returned to the MCU to pick up a handful of his last belongings before heading out of the city.
"Detective Blake," Gordon greeted when Blake entered into his office.
"Oh," John said with a startle. "I didn't know you were still here. I just came by to pick up the last of my belongings," he explained, shutting the office door behind him. "Do you mind?"
"No, no," Gordon said with a smile, gesturing for him to enter. "Please, come in."
John thanked him and proceeded to dig through his vacant desk, placing his items within the walls of a cardboard box.
"Leaving Gotham, hmm?" the Commissioner hummed, flipping through a few criminal files, signing things off.
Blake paused, placing the box on his previous desk. "Um, yea," he muttered, rubbing out his creased forehead. "Going to start new, I suppose... I tend to believe that we have all been given a second chance. I'm just taking up this opportunity before it's gone... Gotham isn't meant to be my dwelling place..."
Gordon nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Where are you headed?"
"I'm not sure yet," Blake answered, brushing back his thick, black hair. "But I'll find out when I get there."
Silence fell over them as Gordon continued to work at his desk, occasionally sipping at a mug of coffee idling on his desk. Blake tugged open drawers, dumping his belongings into his filling cardboard box. Old photos, stacks of ink pens bound in rubber bands, the occasional cigarette from before he broke the damned habit.
He stared down at the few cigarettes tossed within the box, instantly yearning for one. The stress had been killing him, and time after time had he desired to take up the addiction once more, if only for a moment of peace. Reaching down, he plucked one from the bottom of the box and pulled it up to examine it.
A vessel of relaxation, or a damning fate. Some days he was unsure, yet his aspirations had remained the same for years... That he would overcome his personal demons, and that he would live as selfless as humanly possible. He hadn't earned the life he had obtained, instead he was given it. He was given the hope to drive to something better, given the opportunity to rebuild his life in a way that matters.
This was his second chance.
He gathered the remaining cigarettes and tossed them into the rubbish bin residing beside his desk. He froze, the cigarettes rolling past a rolled newspaper within the bin. Pulling the newspaper free, he unrolled it to stare at the bold headline.
THE DEMON FROM THE SEWER'S BODY NEVER FOUND
Beneath the title was printed a blurry shot of the beast named Bane, his arms outstretched while in the midst of giving a corrupted speech.
Blake's face dropped as he read the article, tension forming in his chest and anger rising in his skull. His upper lip twitched with rage, his hands crumpling the paper as his body began to shake.
Sometimes fate pushed and pulled, taking you one place only to drag you to the next. In this case, fate had pushed Blake forward, only to pull him back. It had been made clear to him, finally. A hero once requested that he might take up his mantle, to pull on the cowl and play his part in protecting his sacred city.
And that meant finishing a job that was left untied.
They had slipped out, shrouded in darkness, crossing through the sewers that tunneled deep within the earth. They had surfaced near the shore of the island, rising from the ground, entering darkness from darkness.
Bane had grasped her hand and they ran through the tunnel that burrowed beneath the ocean, reaching the other end, greeted by the faint light of the infant hours of the morning. They quietly crossed the threshold of the city, departing from the foul air of Gotham and back into a simple world.
It was a simple task, hijacking a small plane and flying back to Indonesia, to where the League of Shadows had once resided.
"We will start again," Talia called through the blistering wind that beat furiously against their weakened frames. Bane trudged a few steps ahead of her, his boots forming deep prints in the snow for her to gracefully step into.
The landscape was a sea of white, surrounding them further than the human eye could see. The usual line of where the horizon met the surface of the earth was nonexistent, and their destination was a grueling two days climb.
They were returning to the League's fortress, perched upon the peak of destitute mountains. Talia had said that the remainder of her father's troops awaited them there, prepared for orders. Despite his argument of their abandonment, she had persisted, insisting that they still lingered. And reluctantly, he had agreed to return with her.
"From the ashes, we will rise and form a new alliance, and regain power. And my father's work will be completed, as we desire," she continued, her voice raised to meet his ears.
He pulled his coat tighter around his thick shoulders, trudging forward without response to her enthused notions. The wind bit into the exposed skin of his face, forming ice against his eyelashes as he attempted to view his approaching landscape.
"As we desire..." he repeated silently, mulling over the words. Subtle resentment sprung forth in his thoughts, yet he held silent, despite the need to lash out at her.
He was a selfish being, and never considered himself otherwise. He strove to better himself, to please himself, to find the contentment that was always just a finger's length away from his outstretched arms. What he did, he did for his own pride, his own honor, his own emotional well-being. And that was how it had always been...
When he realized that she was the other half to his whole.
He was a selfish being, because he strove to please her, to hand her the contentment that she desired to flourish in. It was her honor, her emotional well-being, and the smile of pride that crossed her face when she looked upon him was what reassured the notion that he was hers, and she was his.
Yet the man named Ra's Al Ghul was just as much apart of him as a stranger was to Talia. He had no connections, no feelings to the beast that had cast him out. Ra's had clothed him, fed him, provided him release from the pain that he had lingered in for years after Talia had risen from hell. Yet the man's drive was his young daughter's request.
The idea of fulfilling her father's objectives was a revolting conception, causing his stomach to churn in hatred. He had despised the man, even before his dismissal, snarling behind his mask when the man would whisk Talia away from him.
And when he had passed, Bane had allowed his utter hatred for the man to pass as well, burying it beside the corpse. Yet Talia had dug them both up, and she was apart of him as he was apart of her, and her desires became his, and he met her requests.
But not again.
"I will not succumb to your father's desires yet again, Talia," he said, turning to face her, narrowing his eyes to view her through the furious wind.
She stopped in her tracks, pulling the cloth wrapped securely around her face down a fraction to better see him. Her cheeks were raw from the iced wind, her lips a faint shade of blue, and her large eyes widened at his words. "What ever do you mean, my dear friend?"
The wind whistled loudly through the mountains, a haunting song of the souls that had once ruled the rocks. The earth groaned in protest as the weather grew harsh and the south spat daggers of ice. Bane was a creature of deep heat, flourishing in the brutal temperature, while Talia was a fragile being, bundled in enormous coats.
Yet despite the many layers of clothing that smothered her lean frame, she was a goddess of beauty, and he despised her for that.
"You are an imprudent child, folly and caught up in the sick games of false realities. Acceptance of defeat is not honorable, but a battle for foolish ideas is just as damning," he spoke, his voice rattling behind the cage of metal around his mouth. "Your nobility is admirable, my dear child. But your stupidity overpowers it."
Through the thick wind, he could see her jaw tighten and her hands clench around the fabric around her neck that she held. "Are you leaving me?" she asked quietly, and he was barely able to make out her voice over the roar of flowing ice.
He chuckled, it bellowing deep in his chest. "Are you so naive to think I would stay with you and chase after your father's conceptions once again? I am a man of selfish desires, and no longer wish to be caught up with your ideas of misplaced destruction. Carry out your father's wishes else where. Have you not toyed with fate enough?"
"No," she snapped, fury visibly rising in her features. "I have a duty. Leave me if you wish."
Bane held still, staring at the women standing proudly before him. She was his accomplishment, his making. She was the creature he had spent half of his life protecting. Her body was the one that he had fed when his stomach groaned with hunger, her clothes that he had cleaned while rotting in his own filth. She was the one that he had given up the little comfort he had for, the one that he had lifted to the skies to rise. The one that was the reason why he wore a cage of metal around his face, keeping his agony at bay.
She was the one he willingly laid down his life for, every day.
Bane swallowed hard, watching from a distance as the men untied the deceased prisoner from the rope, his body distorted and bent in inhuman ways. The men stripped the corpse of his clothing and tossed him into a corner that was filled with the stench of death, a place dedicated to the deceased beings.
"Are you afraid?" she whispered into his back, also watching as the men threw the corpse away.
"No, my child," he answered, crouching down onto his knee so that she could climb off of his back. "I know what he did wrong," he said with a smile, pulling her around to face him. "He climbed too fast, too eager to escape. You must give it time, allow fate to decide to take place in your favor. If you rush it, God becomes anger. He simply wants us to know whom is in control," he brushed out her clothing, using his thumb to remove a smudge of dirt from her cheek.
"Do you believe in God?" she asked, shoving his hand away.
"Certainly," he said, holding her at her tiny shoulders. "He is a cruel God, but He is there none-the-less. And never say otherwise, or He might damn you to hell. And angels do not belong in hell... That is why you will rise."
She smiled brightly, stretching out her arms in an open invitation to him. And with a chuckle, he complied, entering her arms to accept her weak hug. "That is why you will rise as well," she mumbled into his neck, placing a chaste kiss there and pulling back.
He held her gaze for a long while, sitting in awe of the creature before him. Despite her small stature and meager looks, she was a symbol of beauty and courage in his eyes. She was his source of reasoning, the holder of his heart. Her maintained innocence in the hell they lived in was what gave him pride in life. His heart lifted with meaning when he presented protection to the small person within his arms. Never before had anything depended on him, and the feeling that consumed him the first time she had cried for him when in fear was a rapterous moment of emotions.
Yet when she entered his life, fear accompanied her. He had never feared for his life, and never would. Yet apprehension filled his chest each time they left their cell. He knew his power, what he was capable of. He knew that with ease, he could snap a man's neck, or take on a small mob of men. Knew that men looked upon him with fear, stepping out of his way in haste when he approached.
They allowed him first pickings at the small amounts of food lowered down into the pit, aware that even a side glance could get them killed. They feared his power, his ability, his hidden rage.
Yet when he had the child, they knew he was vulnerable. And they saw the caution that fogged his eyes. Yet rage accompanied his fear, and they stepped away and let him be.
Bane gathered her into his arms, pressing her close to him as he slowly approached the ropes. The men had departed, none attempting to climb after the death of the prisoner. They had lingered in the shadows until the platform had cleared entirely, and had moved forward with haste.
He pulled her from himself, lifting her small frame onto the ledge. She clutched a piece of his clothing, waiting patiently for him to climb up onto the ledge as well.
"Do not be afraid, my child," he said as he pulled himself up beside her. "We will make it out today. This day was meant for you and I. This day was meant for us to rise," he said quietly, producing strips of fabric from inside his robes.
"I have no fear, brother," she said cheerfully, waiting for him to bind her to his frame, so they could climb together. "Because God is a god of rage, but we are angels, and we are meant to rise."
I know Bane is a little... Well, I don't know how to put it. He's a difficult character to write, but I am trying to portray him as an intelligent man raised in hell. He will be selfish, he will be evil. But I believe that's how he should be. He loves Talia entirely, but I believe sometimes he needs to have his own opinion, to defy her as much as he loves her.
And no... They have never had sex...