"By'r larkin, I can go no further, sir."

The ragged train of nobility followed their king on stage. Gonzalo collapsed and dragged himself into a roughly upright position using his cane and an audience member's knee.

"Sit down, and rest."

King Alonso gave a weak wave to call the halt. He had the look of a leader at a loss for what to do. Where to go. That was never a good sign.

"Even here I will put off my hope."

Bane had an epiphany. That was it. Alonso spoke of his son, but somehow that phrase clicked everything into place. The play, the actors, the insanity of the whole situation.

They had no hope.

"I am right glad, that he's so out of hope."

They knew they would never across that bridge. Never leave Gotham again. They would die here. That made them brave.

And a little stupid. But the two went hand in hand.

"What harmony is this? My good friends, hark."

"Marvelous sweet music."

Two actors poked their heads out of the curtains. Their faces were covered, but he was fairly certain they were the same ones playing Miranda and Ferdinand. They floated more than walked as they spread a blanket and piled it high with cans and cardboard boxes of food. Empty, no doubt. There was so little in the city.

The sprites were dressed in layers of bright orange rags thrown on over their original costumes. The letters "Blackgate Penitentiary" were stamped in several places. Bane chuckled. Spirits of the isle indeed. And "Prospero's" minions. These kids had guts, he'd give them that.

As the shades distracted the nobility, Prospero entered. The wizard rested on his haunches in the downstage corner, elbows on his knees and fingers lightly intertwined. The same position Bane was seated in. The mercenary shifted quickly and glared at his double. Prospero ignored him.

"Give us kind keepers, heavens: what were these?"

Wonder spread across Gonzalo's face. Bane understood completely. The memory of Ra's descending from the disc of sunlight that passed for heavens was forever etched in his mind. It was how he defined the word "miracle."

"If in Naples I should report this now, would they believe me?"

Probably not. Who would believe him? If he left and told everyone he knew that eleven hopeless people had created from nothing a play that dragged up dust-covered memories and threw them in his face. A play about revenge on an island. About lies, and love, and banishment, and a play that sounded true, who would believe him?

No one.

He'd have to be out of his mind.

"Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of our human generation..."

Careful. Kindness rarely came without a price. That was the memory that discolored the word "miracle."

"Honest lord, thou hast said well: for some of you there present; are worse than devils."

Prospero shared his bitter joke with the man behind him. The actress placed a hand on her knee and turned her head just enough to look out the corner of her eye. Bane shifted uncomfortably again. The woman moved almost exactly like him. Was she stalking him? Was she crazy?

That was a stupid question. Of course, she was crazy.

"I will stand to, and feed, although my last, no matter, since I feel the best is past."

They were all crazy. They were face to face with death and reveling in it. They were laughing at their last meal, and skipping to the gallows. The whole spectacle was a long suicide note. Addressed to him.

But, if this was the end, why not? His death was just as certain, and he was sitting watching a play.

"You are three men of sin, whom destiny the never surfeited sea hath caused to belch up you, and on this island."

The Blackgate sprites whisked away the food as the center curtains opened. Ariel swept on. He too had added a layer to his costume: a tattered judge's robe. A hangman's noose dangled from his neck. Bane laughed out loud, as did several of the audience. Truly these actors knew no bounds.

He liked the line, too. So appropriate to Gotham. The isle of sin they had all been cast upon.

"I have made you mad."

Ariel tossed dust into the faces of the cowering nobility. Most likely it was flour thrown dramatically, but it made convincing fear toxin.

"And even with such like valor men hang, and drown their proper selves."

Bane's brow furrowed. The play needled his conscience again. There were some—few and far between though they were—who entered the courtroom, stood before the bench, and when asked to choose stared silently and walked out. They walked behind the piled wreckage that served as a bench and out onto the ice. Uncaring.

It was a different kind of hopelessness.

"But remember—for that's my business to you—that you three from Milan did supplant good Prospero."

He shook off his thoughts. He had to remember the mission. Remember what they did and why it was necessary. Gotham killed Ra's, nearly destroyed The League. It was a city filled with lies and corruption. It deserved everything that had happened.

"The powers, delaying, not forgetting,"

Nothing was forgotten. That was Selina Kyle's complaint against the world.

How true it was.

Revenge required a long memory. It was a natural force that drove the world onward in cycle after cycle. The rise, fall, and rise again that was humanity's pulse. It was slow.

Bruce waited years before returning to Gotham and punishing those that had destroyed his family. The hero claimed he worked for justice, but the first man he targeted was Carmine Falcone. His parent's murderer's boss.

Talia waited years before enacting the business they were now about. She orchestrated everything to hurt Wayne the most. Her father's murderer. It was a cycle.

And he waited years in exile before finally hearing the news of Ra's' death. And when he heard he smiled.

"Have incensed the seas, and shores; yea, all the creatures against your peace."

His eyes wandered to Prospero again and found him mouthing Ariel's words in unison with his servant. The actress held his gaze. She did not smile this time. This time her face was set in a fury and a pain so intense that Bane was the first to look away.

It was a challenge. A challenge to him to do something. Threaten her, stop her, hurt her, kill her, anything. A challenge he knew he couldn't meet.

Sure, he could hurt her. Could kill her. But nothing he did would matter. There was nothing to lose. Without hope, and without fear, she did not care.

"Pronounce by me lingering perdition, worse than any death can be at once."

Then they had Prospero's permission to die.

"Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls upon your heads, is nothing but hearts-sorrow, and a clear life ensuing."

All of it was for balance. It was for balance. Not revenge. Revenge was a side note. Who was he kidding? It was all about revenge.

No.

Either way it didn't matter. Talia had built in the ending. In three months' time the cycle would stop. The wheel would grind to a halt. Every single member of The League of Shadows was in Gotham. Along with an unstable nuclear device. It would all be over.

Talia loved her father. But not enough to ensure his eternal legacy.

"Bravely the figure of this harpy, hast thou performed, my Ariel."

Prospero rose in one fluid movement. He threaded his way through the paralyzed nobles and clapped his servant on the shoulder, dismissing him through the curtains.

"My high charms work, and these, mine enemies, are all knit up in their distractions. They now are in my power."

The wizard swept his eyes over the stage and then the crowd before pausing once more on Bane. The fury was gone. Replaced with sadness. And apology. And maybe pity.

And a question. "Are you happy?" "Is this what you wanted?"

"And in these fits, I leave them, while I visit young Ferdinand"

Prospero turned to go. His steps faltered. Then he straightened and strode out.

Bane remembered. When he left Bruce Wayne in his cell he had not thought about the suffering in store for his enemy. He had thought on Talia, and looked forward to seeing her face once again.

"I'th name of something holy, sir, why stand you in this strange stare?"

The King and his company stirred. Gonzalo was the first to speak. He had not been showered in flour and, unlike his compatriots, was in full possession of his wits. The old lord looked first to his king.

"O, it is monstrous! Monstrous!"

Who grabbed him and forced him to the ground, ranting of wind and thunder and Prospero.

Bane tensed, preparing to rush to Gonzalo's aid. He stopped himself. It was fake. Those were actors and they were pretending.

Still, he didn't fully relax until Alonso, Sebastian, and Antonio had rushed off stage screaming.

"All three of them are desperate: their great guilt—like poison given to work a great time after—now 'gins to bite the spirits."

They deserved it. They were guilty and now they paid for their treachery. Justice and revenge were one and the same.

"I do beseech you—that are of suppler joints—follow them swiftly, and hinder them from what this ecstasy may now provoke them to."

Gonzalo pleaded with a woman in the front row for help. She sat still for a moment then extended a hand to the lord, still sprawled where his king had left him. He took it gratefully and labored to stand. When he was finally upright he started for the exit still holding the woman's hand. She pulled back. He dropped her hand dismayed.

Then turned and hurried to care for the villains.

Of all the play's surprises this was the greatest. And the greatest falsehood. Such compassion—unwavering and unquestioning – was a fairytale.

The characters appearing in this story belong to Christopher Nolan, D.C. Comics, and Warner Brothers Pictures. No profit is made of their use herein.

All quotes from The Tempest are taken from First Folio Facsimiles on Internet Shakespeare Editions ( . ). The author has modernized the spelling, grammar, and formatting.