A/N: All copyrights go to those who rightfully own them.
So I decided to reboot "According to My Bond" for the simple reason that it wasn't working out anymore. Lydia was flat as a pancake and there wasn't much tension going on.
Daughter of the Batman
Chapter One: Out of the Mountains
My name is Lydia Ducard-Wayne. I'm nine years old and live with my father, Henri Ducard and his pupil Bruce Wayne at the League of Shadows training compound somewhere in the Himalayans.
Or rather…I did.
Two days ago, when I was out gathering water, there was a big explosion. It was so loud my ears rang and so strong that it pushed me down into the snow. I looked up at the wooden structure that had been my home for as long I could remember. Yellow, orange, blue and white flames shot out of the windows and surrounded the structure like the ugly scratchy blanket Father used to cover me with when he thought I was asleep. It was so hot that the snow on the gray-black mountain cliffs melted and I lowered my fur lined hood.
Of course, I wondered what happened…but at the time, I knew Bruce was completing his trials inside. I thought there was an accident.
I wasn't heroic like the heroes in the books Father would read to me. I didn't rush inside to find my gentle father and my best friend Bruce.
I wanted to be though.
All I could do was stand there and stare, my mouth open like a fish's.
I wanted to run inside and find Father and Bruce.
But the flames were eating everything like the starved dogs Ra's would bring to the compound to fatten up and train as guard dogs. Shapes inside ran and screamed, leaping out of windows and falling to the snow and rocks.
I didn't look at them. I didn't want to know what they were.
A hand rested on my shoulder and I looked up.
It was Bruce carrying an unconscious Father on his shoulders. Bruce's brown eyes flickered with the same worry he had when I played too hard and would be wheezing for air.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
I hugged him, happy he wasn't hurt and that Father was with him.
After a minute, Bruce rested his hand on top of my head.
"It's okay." He whispered. "We're here. Come on…let's go."
"Where are we going?" I asked as he walked to the mountain pass.
"Home." He said before stopping and turning around to face me, holding out his hand.
Bruce did that for me all the time, always slower than the rest of the men so I could keep up. Always with an outstretched hand for me to hold.
Always there.
I'd follow him anywhere he went and not because Father told me to in case something happened to him.
"Where's home?" I asked as I took his warm and callused hand.
"Gotham." He said as ashes mixed with snow fell on us.
After leaving Ducard with the herder on the trail, Bruce continued down the trail, holding Lydia's tiny hand in his.
The little girl was keeping up, "a little shadow" as Ducard described to Bruce once.
But something wasn't right.
She wasn't as playful as a child should be. Nor would Ducard allow her to play childhood games like tag, hide and seek or ball. Sometimes, during the long walks the three would take, Lydia would be further back, trying to catch her breath and her lips blue.
Even when it would make her collapse on the snow, she'd push herself harder to keep up with Ducard and himself. Her blue eyes furrowed and staring ahead at the distance between them like it was an enemy to destroy.
Bruce always made sure he was slower, ready to pick up Lydia if she needed it.
Ducard would notice, his stoic demeanor cracked like an eggshell. But he'd be quick to hide it when Bruce caught up with a wheezing Lydia.
Bruce remembered a rhyme his late father told him years ago.
"Call for help if someone or you have lips that are blue."
Now that he was going back, he would call a doctor to check it out.
Maybe Dr. Thompkins. He remembered her coming to his fourth grade class to give a lecture on the heart and lungs.
If she was still in Gotham.
He was going to suggest her once he had passed his training and knew he had gained Ducard's trust. If there was anyone Ducard loved more than his late wife and the League of Shadows, it was the little girl who would keep up despite not having enough air.
That was until he learned of Ra's plans for Gotham.
Bruce stopped walking when he heard Lydia's sharp wheezing. He looked down and saw the girl's pale skin, wide blue eyes and ice blue lips.
He kicked himself. Why didn't he slow down?
"Are you okay?" He asked, the words dumb as they felt.
Of course she wasn't okay.
"…I'll…be…fine…" Lydia said, gasping. Her blue eyes were stern and cold, just like her father's. Normally, he'd laugh at the miniature version…but now a shiver of fear fluttered up and down his spine like a bat looking for a hiding spot.
"Let's stop and rest." Bruce said, sitting down on a nearby bolder. Lydia sat down next to him, leaning into his arm.
After a few minutes, Bruce wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into his black coat and he rested his fingers on her neck.
Lydia's heart hummed beneath his fingers. He lost count after four. Each beat bled into the next.
"What…are you…doing?" Lydia asked between wheezes. Her breathing seemed better.
"Trying to count your heartbeat." Bruce said, his muscles tense at the sudden question.
"It feels like…my heart…is about to jump…out of my chest…" Lydia wheezed out the words, her lips turning a darker blue. Her tiny body trembled between breaths.
"Don't push yourself." Bruce said, trying to remember the tone of voice his father would use. Gentle for sure. Maybe a little firm. "Take a deep breath." He said as he demonstrated. Lydia did as he said. "Hold for a count of four. One. Two. Three. Four. Now exhale slow." He showed again. Lydia obeyed. "Let's do that a couple more times, okay?"
As Bruce and Lydia breathed deeply, he kept his fingers on her pulse. Sure enough, the beats slowed so he could tell each beat apart. But it was still too fast to count.
They kept going until Bruce noticed Lydia's lips brightening into a soft pink.
Her heartbeat was still faster than he'd like.
"How're you feeling, Lydia?" Bruce asked, moving his fingers away from her neck.
"Better. Thank you." She said before she looked away, her dark blue eyes furrowing.
Bruce looked at her. "Something wrong?" He asked, hoping he sounded like his father.
He could always tell anything to his father.
"I was scared, Bruce." She said.
"Scared because of your heart beating fast?" He asked.
"No…because of the fire."
"Well, that would be scary for anyone. I was scared when the explosion ripped through the building." He said, banishing the memories to the back of his mind. That's where he kept the Joe Chill, the courtroom and the bats. "Being scared of something like that isn't something to be ashamed of."
Unlike him.
If it weren't for the bats…
"No. It's not that." Lydia said, her voice low.
"What is it then?" Bruce asked. Lydia paused, looking at a nearby field. He waited for Lydia to answer.
"I wanted to go inside and find you and Father." Lydia said, wiping at her face before Bruce could see the tears. "I wanted to be brave. But I just stared."
Bruce paused, trying to think of what his father would say.
Of course falling into a well and being frightened by the bats was different than watching a fire destroy one's home.
Was it the only home she had ever known?
Lydia looked at him, waiting for an answer.
"I'm glad you didn't go running into that fire. Once I got your father out, the first thing I thought was to find you." Bruce said.
It wasn't a lie.
Ducard asked him something last night after putting Lydia to bed
"Should something happen to me…will you take care of Lydia as if she were your own?"
Bruce accepted, even though he wasn't sure if he could care for a child.
But now, even when there was no choice in the matter, Bruce would try his best.
Not for Ducard…the man's ideology had gone too far…
For Lydia.
She was looking at him with something else on her face. It took Bruce a moment to understand it was guilt.
Did Alfred see the same thing in his face the day of the funeral? When the retainer reassured him that it was Joe Chill's fault and Joe Chill's fault alone?
Like the shooting in Park Row, it was his fault the fire started.
Not Lydia's.
He had to reassure her or at least try to.
The memory of his father carrying him back into Wayne Manor after falling into that well came to him.
"My father told me something once when I was your age. 'Why do we fall, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves back up.'" Bruce said.
"He sounds like a…smart man." Lydia said, the wheezing almost stopped. Bruce decided to check her pulse.
"One of the smartest men I've ever known." Bruce said, counting the beats. "He was a doctor. At his funeral, a lot of people I didn't know came up to tell me how he had treated them even though they couldn't afford to pay him. Father just told them to pay the good deed forward to someone else." He smiled.
That was pretty much the one hopeful memory of that week for Bruce. That other people saw Dr. Thomas Wayne as big as a hero as Bruce did.
Her heartbeat was much slower. "You sound really proud of him." Lydia said, looking at Bruce.
Pride stirred in Bruce's heart. "I am."
Her heartbeat was still a little fast but one look at the midday skies convinced Bruce that it would be dark soon.
They had to find someplace safe to stay before nightfall.
If anyone from the League of Shadows had survived, they'd be coming after Bruce.
And she wasn't strong enough to keep up.
"Can you wrap your arms around my neck?" Bruce asked. "We've got a long walk ahead and it'll be easier for us both if I carry you for part of it."
Lydia wrapped her arms around his neck, not looking at him. Bruce put his arms underneath her legs and shifted her weight so his hip was carrying most of the weight. Now that Lydia was situated and he didn't have to worry about her passing out on him, he studied his surroundings to get an idea of where they were.
Bruce saw the flags snapping in the breeze and the blue poppies blooming beneath them.
He knew where they were now. One hour southward, they'd find the road where he was dumped. If they followed it westward for another two hours, they'd be in the nearest city.
If they hitchhiked, they might get farther faster.
Once they were safe, he'd get in contact with Alfred.
He hoped Alfred hadn't give up on him.
Safe in Bruce's arms, fear and anger burned away, I dozed off.
His heartbeat, strong and sure, was a calm lullaby.
As I fell asleep, a faint memory returned to me. A woman hugging me and singing in a soft voice.
"Au Clair de la Lune, Mon ami Perriot, Prête-moi ta plume…"