Talia was bound, and weeping. If her clothing had been in disarray, if there had been a mark on her body, Bane would have killed everyone in the palace; instead, he cut her bindings and watched as she rubbed her wrists absently. A few years ago, she would have thrown herself into his arms, to hide her face until she had mustered the courage to go on with a steeled face. Now, she seemed miles away, and her eyes swollen with tears.
"Who bound you, Talia," demanded Bane, and he threw a glance to the gaping hidden door, from which a foul, cold draft issued. "Did they go—"
"It does not matter," barked Talia. "The plan is collapsing. My father will be here, at the symbol in the throne room, in perhaps a quarter of an hour, and I must— I must— be there."
Of course al-Ghul would not be bound by his own summons, not in the same way as his minions; Bane stood here still reeling with the need to help Talia, though she would not point out an enemy for him to destroy, and al-Ghul would be here in a quarter of an hour, long enough to finish a meal or change one's robes. Long enough, at any rate, with the powers that Bane knew he had at his disposal— whatever the excruciating expense of those powers might be.
But he followed her, because he must, still thrumming with the urge to fight her battles for her— and for once, he resented his protection of her, knowing that it was the dominance of her father's will over his own— and she led him to the throne room, to the great golden plaque of knotwork that had been her father's wedding-present, which had been set into the mosaic of the floor. It had been made for the occasion, crafted to complement the generations-old artwork to which it would be added; crafted according to al-Ghul's specifications, to create a design of his own personal usage.
Bane's derision of his master, however, seemed to be in vain; when they arrived, al-Ghul had already appeared, standing in the midst of slow-clearing smoke while Commander Gordon and a frail, older man with dark skin were ushered into the room by servants. Al-Ghul ignored them; Gordon, carrying Dent's filthy, gore-spattered helmet as if he had expected a royal occasion, stood at attention, while the older man made a deep and humble courtesy and remained there, head bowed and robes spread on the floor.
"Talia," said al-Ghul, and his leonine features might have been dusted with a faint smile; "I gather that your plan has not come to fruition?" Her plan, as if she herself had created it, instead of being bound to the schemings of her father and his advisors; as if they had not seized upon her vulnerability of spirit, seen her willingness to lie and her inability to foresee the moral price, and sent her to be despoiled by their enemy, impregnated and used up and at last cast aside when her heedless lies ruined her for al-Ghul's usage.
"I have been… obstructed," said Talia, kneeling deeply. "I have failed you, Father. I crave your guidance, and your power to throw down my enemies." Her voice shook with fear, and with her eyes downcast she could not see the smirk that spread over al-Ghul's face. The plan might be defeated— and Bane still had no idea what had finally closed the door on it— but al-Ghul was a man who loved to see his minions grovel, and the sight of his stubborn, independent daughter begging him for aid certainly seemed to please him.
Bane felt sick.
The castle steward, Alfred, opened one of the doors near the throne, as if to peek inside. But instead of turning and running as any sane man might, seeing Gordon in captivity and Talia quaking at her father's feet, he flung the door open and rushed— yes, rushed, in utter defiance of his age and dignity— to the side of the older man, white-faced with worry, not even sparing a glance for al-Ghul in his robes of state.
"Very well," said al-Ghul, "for such an obedient daughter a father may be excused indulgence," and with exceeding disdain he sat himself upon the empty throne where his daughter had begun to build her kingdom.
There were dungeons, and then there were oubliettes, and then there was this: almost seventy steps, winding through a tunnel whose air grew ever fouler, before the walls gave way to a water-chiseled cave with a cold wind blowing in it, featureless and dark as the grave. John held a candle, which had sputtered in their descent but now flared with the fresh shivering air; when they emerged into a dark and echoing space, Selina bade him stand still, and they listened carefully.
"I hear your steps," said a voice, faint and hollow, which John had never thought to hear again; "but you are no princess, no false wife—" There came a moan, a half-mad sob, and John threw himself toward the source of that sound with his heart torn in half, and found against the wall of the cavern his own beloved king, now gaunt and pale with a chain about his throat and his legs drawn up beneath him in the unrelenting chill.
Selina had her lockpicks with her, and John privately marveled that he had ever thought her a mere lady's-maid; and while she did her work John looked about, to see how Bruce had fared. There was a filthy mat of straw, and a pool of dripping water, and a bucket near overflowing with waste; and there was a pewter plate upon which lay a hollow crust of bread and several fowl-bones, a generosity in these circumstances that shocked John—the thought of feeding fowl to a prisoner was strange indeed.
Bruce saw him looking, and laughed bitterly: "Bought and paid for, Sir Robin, with the coin of shame; she would not touch my flesh, but she hoarded what I gave her of it." More laughter, growing ever unhinged; the lock fell free, and Bruce struggled to stand, and John and Selina caught him by the arms, and Bruce laughed and wept between them as they ascended, telling them in prison-mad ravings how he awoke in this tomb, how his blushing bride had come to him with food and water, how he had thought himself saved; how Talia had cajoled him, how he had refused her, how her voice had filled with relief and spite together, and how she had traded him small things—bedding, meat, a blanket against the chill—for the strangest of coin, for his seed in a cup.
They wept to hear it, John and Selina both: John, for the degradation and torment of Bruce's imprisonment, and for his own months of heartbreak; and Selina, for what she did not say, but there was hope on her face in the dim-flickering light, and she shuddered as Bruce described how he had expected Talia to bind him and force him, and how rather she had paid him in bread.
As, John knew, she had once heard of another man trading himself for his food; and he wondered if Bruce had spent these months in the dark coming to terms, as Bane had, with how he had whored himself for crusts.
It was in this fey mood that John led Selina and Bruce into the great hall; and it was with this in his mind that he saw al-Ghul seated upon the throne, and Talia bowing before him with her neck bent as if for the headsman's blade, and Bane's broad shoulders steady as ever where he knelt in fealty beside the woman who had tortured John's king.