Bruce: Chapter 3

His hair felt odd being so short, well short in relation to what Bruce had grown accustomed to. For the past three years his hair had not been shorter than his shoulders, and now it was no longer than his thumb. Alfred said a lord must at least look the part, but allowed him to keep his beard for now, granted that was trimmed shorter too. Bruce would shave it off soon, but he needed it for what he was doing tonight, he was no lord this night.

He walked down the abandoned, darkened alleyway in the dead of night with nothing but the sound of his footprints upon the stone to accompany him. The windows were all closed along the streets as he passed, the doors closed and barred too most likely. Torches spotted the path, casting a dim orange light on the dark stone. This was the worst part of the city, the alleys where the whores decorated the street, and the thieves and criminals of an even worse breed waited in the shadows. It had come to be known as the Narrows.

He had forgone the cane and limp, instead choosing an eye patch, trousers, and torn, loose, white shirt with a worn black leather vest over it. The eye patch would deflect any possible likeness to Bruce as it would stick in witnesses' minds. Not that Bruce had given the people a good enough look when he limped from his carriage to his castle two nights ago anyways. Time to see how the enemy lives and operates.

This was simply a scouting mission, to see how prevalent the city streets were with crime at night, and how bad the worst area of the city truly was. He was in the enemy camp now, up to the neck in rapists, killers, and other unfavorable company. He was outside some whorehouse named The Lion's Den, when a young girl approached him.

"Good evening sir, how much for a fun time and some warmth in your bed?" the young girl asked. She had dirty, curly blonde hair that reached down past her shoulders. She wore a loose violet blouse with black, dirty boots. She looked no older then twelve.

"How old are you my lady?" Bruce asked kneeling down beside her.

"How young do you want me to be ser? I assure you I know well what I'm doing in bed," she said looking nervous.

"I'm sure, but sadly I am not looking for compa…" Bruce was cut off as a man came from behind the girl shouting. He had a thick mustache and dirty, greased back hair. He was a stout man but not overly short, and had a compounded, grubby face. He was wearing a black overcoat with a nice looking white tunic underneath, he had a few gold necklaces under his chin as well.

"No you stupid whore you're doing it wrong! You have to know which ones got the gold and which ones are interested. And this fool is not interested!" The man shouted at the young girl.

"I do not recall saying whether I was interested or not ser," Bruce said calmly but authoritatively.

The man waved a hand and shouted at him without turning his gaze from the young girl, "You're still here you load of horse shit? Get lost and be quick about it. Now we'll talk about this later you dumb little bitch."

Bruce was irritated now, "No, I think you are finished with her right now." No turning back now, time to see what my years of training are truly worth.

The man looked quickly to the girl, before his eyes darted to the sheathed dagger at his belt, and then back to Bruce. Could he be more obvious? Bruce easily sidestepped the man when he grabbed his knife and jabbed forward for Bruce's stomach. He is quick for a snake, I wouldn't say he stands a chance, but he's quick, Bruce thought to himself as he broke the scum's arm, effectively disarming him. Other whores had come out of hiding to watch their employer get taught a lesson. Should not have stayed so long, caused such a scene, need to get out of her before-. The young girl Bruce had just saved stabbed a knife into the back of his calf and shouted, "Grab him! I got him!"

Bruce kicked the nearest whore running at him in the gut, should keep her out of this. He punched another across the chin, and tossed another into the nearest pile of hay. Great Bruce, first night on duty and you are beating street whores. That will strike fear in the criminals of Gotham.

Bruce heard the sound of feet landing hard behind him, and turned in time to dodge a kick fly past his chin. "No one hurts Holly!" the woman shouted before quickly landing two blows to Bruce's stomach. Bruce had time to dodge another kick before punching her across the face. The girl jumped back to her feet smirking.

She had brown hair as straight as a sword's edge that stretched down to between her shoulders. Beautiful red lips, and light blue eyes that men would kill to stare into. The woman had an odd, graceful beauty to her, something Bruce had never seen in a whore. She was thin and clearly feminine, but her blows had a deceptive strength to them.

"I had this Selina! Why did you have to get involved?" the young girl shouted at the woman Bruce was currently fighting. Bruce went to land another punch, but this Selina blocked the punch efficiently and tactically. So she knows how to fight better than the average drunkard, cute. Bruce doubled around and landed an even harder punch to her right cheek. That should keep her down. She went crashing into a stack of crates behind her, and as she propped herself up on her elbow rubbing the blood from her chin they heard an unwelcomed sound in the distance.

"Hault! No one move!" Bruce heard some members of the city guard shout from down the street. I cannot afford to get caught, if I get caught it's all over, everything wasted for nothing. As Bruce turned to run, a crossbow bolt shot into his upper back. Pain screamed through Bruce's muscles as he pushed himself to sprint as best he could down the nearest alleyway and out of sight. He ran to where he had tied his horse and rode off towards Wayne Castle.

Bruce took the longer route through the forest to avoid being seen. He tied his horse off again to a tree, and crept up to the castle walls. It was one of the weaker defensive points that only Bruce had known about, a spot in the wall where a few of the stone bricks stuck out enough to climb. Bruce waited until the guards had left the area before climbing up and over. His shoulder and leg burned the entire time, but he grinded his teeth and bared the pain.

He reached the back of the castle, and broke through a window into one of the guest rooms. All of the servants would be asleep at this time of night, so he did not fear being seen. Not that it mattered, with so much blood leaking from his leg and back he could very well die if Alfred did not find him in time. He limped his way to his father's study down the hall. He sat in his father's old, red satin chair before his father's bust. Blood pooled on the ground under him and dampened the chair. He reached for the bell on the table beside him, knowing that ringing it would summon Alfred who slept just a bit further down the hall.

Father…I am afraid I may have to die tonight. I have tried to be patient, but I don't know how, how do I do it father? What do I use…to make them afraid? Bruce stared into the white eyes of his father, wishing that his marble lips would part and tell him the answer. If I ring the bell, Alfred will come to stop the bleeding. Another of your precious gifts to me, father. I have wealth, a maze of caves below me to serve as my keep…even a servant skilled in healing and the gods know what else. Yes father…I have everything but patience; I would rather die…than wait another…hour. I have waited so many years…it has been fifteen long years, since all sense left my life.

At that instant, a bat crashed through the window, wings pushing it onward. Bruce's face reflected off the shards of flying glass falling through the air to the floor. It landed atop his father's bust, screeched once, but then fell silent. It turned itself to face Bruce in his chair, slowly bleeding to death as he sat and looked back at it. They locked eyes, the small black beads in its skull showing no emotion. I remember this, I have seen it somewhere, yes…our family's sigil. The bloodied bat on your tunic the night you were taken from me father. It frightened me…it…frightened me…Yes. Father. I shall become a bat. Bruce's hand slipped around the handle of the bell, gripping it tightly and with a strength of will to live that even the Seven would fear to cross.

Alfred: Chapter 3

The ringing woke him almost immediately; it was coming from down the hall somewhere. Alfred knew what the ringing meant at this time of night though, trouble. The old Dornishman flung himself from his bed with the agility of a man half his years, and sped down the hall. As soon as he saw the trail of blood leading into the main study with the door left ajar he knew it was more dire of a situation than he had feared.

Alfred burst into the room expecting to see Bruce on the floor in a pool of his own blood, dying and gasping for air. Instead, Bruce sat calmly in his father's chair clutching the bell in his hand, and then he saw it. Sitting atop Thomas Wayne's pale white head was a bat, with black little eyes and a dark coat of fur. It turned to lock eyes with the astounded servant. Alfred stared into those dark, consuming pits. He had never cared for the little beasts despite it being the sigil of the family he served, but looking at this creature now…it filled Alfred with a sense of dread.

Before he could say anything, the bat screeched at him, followed by something Alfred could have sworn was a trick his eyes had played on him. The bat gave a slight nod of its head to him. Before Alfred could realize what had just happened, the bat leapt from the marble head and flew out the window from whence it came. Alfred snapped out of his confused rationalizing of what he had just witnessed when he heard Bruce grunt with pain.

"Master Bruce!" He ran to the young man's side to see what wounds he had sustained. Heavy bleeding from his calf and the arrowhead from the bolt is still lodged in his back, Alfred concluded after examining him closely. He helped his injured master to his feet, and slowly brought him to the guest dining hall where he laid him out on the large, oak table. He fetched Lucius to assist him, grabbed the proper supplies he needed, and set to work.

First he gave Bruce a drink of a special mixture to put him to sleep quickly. Alfred preferred it to the milk of the poppy that the maesters of Westoros had grown so fond of. Using that made the drinker groggy and dizzy upon waking, while this mixture Alfred learned from some healers from Myr only gave the drinker a splitting headache afterwards. Somehow he figured that Master Bruce would prefer that pain over not being able to move for a few hours, despite Bruce needing the rest.

He treated and wrapped the stab wound in Bruce's leg first, then doubled the bandages after blood began leaking through the first set. Then he removed the arrowhead from Bruce's back as Lucius sprinkled a powder Alfred had made over the wound. His master's eye-lids fluttered, and he groaned in pain as Alfred had sewn the wounds back up. Once they were sewn together, and Alfred began wrapping, his master stopped his soft groaning and writhing.

Once Bruce finally lay still, sleep overtook him. It was more sleep than Alfred imagined he had had in quite some time. Alfred however was not so lucky, the image of the bat haunted the Dornishman's mind all night. Why did the bloody creature nod at me…beasts do not nod whether it's a mouse or a mammoth.

The one dream Alfred did manage to have in his brief half hour of sleep was just as haunting. He was tied to the chair he had discovered Bruce in in his father's study, mouth covered with a tightly wrapped cloth. It was blindingly dark, save for a bright light shining down on him like a close moon. The light was interrupted however, by a nightmarish outline. A giant bat was beating its wings over him, each of its eyes as big as Alfred's head. The creature just suspended itself there, flapping its wings to tread the air, as Alfred helplessly stared into the dark, soul stealing eyes. Then the bat did something even more unexpected than nodding to him, it spoke.

"Alfred, my beloved old friend, I have need of you. Your time of serving me has come to an end, but now you must serve my son. Help him Alfred, guide him, lend a hand to pull him out when he gets too shrouded in his darkness, but above all my dear friend, love him," the chilling creature said with the loving voice of Thomas Wayne.

"But, but Ser…how? I know not of what young Bruce intends to do, or how to help him in the slightest. I fear…I have lost your son to the demons in his heart…" Alfred said solemnly, the cloth that was gagging him suddenly gone. He broke his gaze with the beast, and looked down to the ground in defeated shame.

The large monster gave a frightening, but sincere smile, "He is not lost dear Alfred, but merely shrouded, confused by the darkness inside him. Be his light my friend, be the light that guides him…"

Alfred's eye-lids parted, realizing he was back in his bed, and that Master Bruce had great need of him. The nod was a sign…the spirit of the father, protecting the son. He left his bed, dressed in his usual servant dressings, and went to see how Bruce had faired his night. As Alfred opened the door to the guest dining hall where he had left him, he saw no sign the room had even been touched save for some dried blood on the table. He searched Bruce's room, the feasting hall, even Lucius' chambers but the Summer Islander had not seen him either. When he finally found him in Thomas Wayne's study after half an hour of searching, the young Wayne was doing pushups.