Barbara: Chapter 1

"Yes, yes father I'll be alright," Barbara assured her worried father.

"Well, with the Batman gone…just straight to the market. Get what you need and straight back here. Don't look anyone in the eye-"

She cut him off, "Don't say hello, don't stand still for a moment, make sure no one follows me. I remember father."

The stern, tired face of her loving father cracked as he gave a loving smile and ruffled her hair. "My smart little girl."

With that he was off, to his long night as commander of the City Watch. He spent most nights, and days, out defending Gotham. With Batman gone, someone had to.

She smirked. I suppose I should get to it as well.

Barb ran to her room, and pulled up the loose floorboard beneath her bed. She pulled her armor and garments from the revealed hole. She sewed them together herself. The black boiled leather, the more slender, bright yellow bat symbol across its chest, and the boots that reached to the knees. Her cape she had sewn together from some old drapes. The helmet was light. Mostly boiled leather with a round metal plate protecting most of her skull. It was tight to her head, so she had to let her hair free behind her. There were at least two dozen girls her age with hair kissed by fire like hers, and she had yet to actually be seen by much more than some criminals or scared smallfolk in the night.

The garb wasn't as armored as Batman's or as colorful as Robin's, but it did allow for her to move freely and fluidly. She had practiced with some thieves for nearly two years. It was where she went when her father was gone during the day. She only had to wear some torn dressings and rub dirt on her face. They ran across rooftops, evaded guards and learned to steal without being seen. Barb of course gave what she took to the poor souls in the lowest part of the city. Their only homes were the burned remnants of buildings on the far side of the city. She would still be branded a criminal of course, if anyone ever caught her.

She flipped up onto the roof of a three story shack as she arrived in the Narrows. The thugs and lesser criminals of this black spot of the city had remained rather quiet since Batman had gone missing. Rumors of his death were spreading like Wildfire. There were whispers of a war brooding between the different crime clans of Gotham. The remaining families, the Penguin, and who knew what other scum would rise up from the dark corners of Gotham.

"I thought you would have given up by now." She heard smugly sniggered from behind her.

"The Boy Wonder returns," she fired back as she turned to face Robin.

The boy let his thick black hair free as well. The cloth he wrapped around his face as a mask only covered his eyes, brow, and nose. It wasn't much cover, but it was enough. Gotham had thousands of young, raven haired boys. Picking out who he truly was would be like finding a needle in a haystack, or several.

"Yes, well, some of us have a job to do."

Barb laughed, "Who elected you to be the city's savior?"

Robin's taunting expression and tone faded. "I wasn't elected, I was chosen."

Great Barb, why don't you just kick him in the groin too.

She rubbed the back of her neck. "S-sorry…" she awkwardly apologized.

Robin said nothing, only continued staring out at the city with his back turned to her. They had fought together a few times, begrudgingly of course. He was better trained than her, but she felt she could take him. Standing here, seeing him against the dim light raising from a thousand fires below, she could fully take in just how small he was. He was a young boy, probably not even twelve or thirteen, trying to take on the mantle that his hero, his mentor had. A young boy, trying to take on the responsibilities of Batman. For the first time since she had donned her own armor and guise, she could see plainly just how much pressure was weighing down on his small shoulders.

She walked over to stand beside him. "Is he dead?"

Robin took a minute before responding. "The city, I've never just stopped and looked at it, you know? I've never stopped to look at what I was trying to protect. With him, I was always just anxious to get out of the cave, fight on the streets, save the people. It's easy to lose sight of where these people live."

"So you live in a cave?" She replied with a jesting smirk.

Robin returned her smirk. "Shut up. How old are you anyway?"

Barb looked at him with a calm, straight face. "Twenty."

"My ass," Robin snorted.

"Where did a little boy learn how to swear like that?" She feigned surprise.

Robin broke out chuckling, "Spend a day training with Batman and fighting dumb thugs and you pick up some interesting new words along the way."

Suddenly there was a cry from below. Two thugs are chasing a woman, intent on raping her to be sure.

"Got it," both of them said at once.

When she returned home she stripped off her garb, and slunk into bed. She was awoken some time later by her father, softly running his fingers through her long orange hair.

"Father, what's wrong?"

James Gordon only did this when he was deeply upset, or stressed. His eyes had remained kind, but his face had grown paler and more sunken these last few months.

He sighed, "Long night."

She sat up, looking concerned. "Father, is Batman…dead?"

He rubbed his brow, then kissed her on the forehead and stood. "I don't know sweetling, I just don't know."

Before he left the room and closed the door, he turned back. "Curiously, there was no bread or eggs when I arrived home. What were you doing if you weren't out at the market?"

The Forgotten Son:

"You're…my father?"

The figure nodded. "Yes. My name is Jor, of the House El. You are Kal. That is the name your mother, Lara, and I gave you."

"My name is Clark, Clark Kent. My parents found me nude as a young boy on a river bank. They raised me, helped me wield…my powers…if you are my father…where are my powers from? What does that symbol mean!" Clark shouted as he pointed to the giant S chiseled into the wall.

"That is the symbol of House El. It translates to "hope" in the common tongue. Your powers…I do not know. And you should have come to me far sooner than this. It has been centuries since I died. How is it possible you are still alive?" Jor-El questioned as he paced about the room.

"Kryptonian? What is that?"

"Did he explain nothing to you? Do you not know where you are from, my son? You were found on a river you say…no I told him to take you to the castle, raise you as his own…" Jor-El's expression twisted in confusion.

"What castle? And who is he?"

Jor-El's head rose as he returned his gaze to his son. "You don't know…do you…"

Clark shook his head in irritated confusion. "No, what should I know?"

"Son, you are not from Westoros. You were meant to be a champion to its people. A hero, a savior. You were to rule over Westoros as a shining example of all that could be accomplished when a child of both tragedy and fortune put his heart and mind to task. He swore to me he would…"

"Who is HE!?" Clark shouted.

Jor-El's expression was calm, but pained. "Aenar Targaryen."

"Aenar Targaryen? I don't know of the first name, but no Targaryen in Westoros has ever held it," Clark spoke with a thin line of disbelief in his voice. Aenar Targaryen? How can he believe that to be so? I would have to be centuries old.

"Yes, Aenar Targaryen. He was to bring you to Westoros and raise you to be the king. It was what we agreed to. He had never broken his word with me before…it's why I trusted him when…" Jor-El's voice trailed off as he grew quiet and solemn.

"When what? You promised to aid me, answer my questions, but all you have me doing is asking more!" Clark argued.

Jor-El stared into the eyes of his son. "Yes, yes, apologies. Perhaps it would be easiest if I simply showed you."

He raised a hand, and a large fire burst into life in the center of the chamber. It was no plain fire however, as its branches danced crimson, green, white, blue, gold, silver, too many shades for Clark to count. At its center, images flashed, but they moved. He saw workers toiling at the ground planting seeds, children playing between parents' legs, so many visions.

"What is this?"

"Magic," Jor-El replied. "I am showing you the fall of our people."

"This is Valyria. It was composed of many different peoples, nobles, merchants, slaves. We were the highest group in the social order. The Kryptonians. We were the greatest warriors, the smartest scholars, the most dedicated leaders. But we were fools."

The images turned to depictions of villages being slaughtered, men in strange pointed armor battling armies of shaded figures.

Jor-El paced about the fire, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke, "We built our empire on blood and fire." Then, images of dragons burning armies to the ground, and flying high in the skies flashed. "Dragons were our greatest weapon. When the Kryptonians landed in Valyria we had no semblance of an idea of what we had just discovered. Training dragons however, proved to be a very difficult matter. So we enslaved Valeria's people and made them train the dragons for us. These slaves, were the Targaryens."

Clark's eyes widened. "The Targaryens? The family that ruled Westoros for centuries were slaves to you? In the stories it is said that they were one of the wealthiest, most powerful families to rule Valyria."

"Stories are simply that, my son. I imagine the Targaryens changed how inspiring their history was for their new world, since none from their old would be alive to argue. You must know I did not approve of these measures, but I was one of Valeria's ruling elite. I was its head scholar, akin to a Grand Maester in Westoros. I followed what was dictated of me, so I kept a family of Targaryen slaves. We never treated them ill however, I made sure of it. We fed them, clothed them, treated them with far more care than any other houses. Aenar, his wife Saranya, their son Gaemon, and their daughter Daenys. His daughter, was a special child."

A young girl with silver white hair showed in the fire. "I would spend many afternoons teaching her to read, write, draw. She was a brilliant child, with a very interesting gift. Her dreams told the future. I, of course, didn't believe them at first. I was a man of science, of what could be measured and seen. But when I saw what she could do, even I believed."

Clark watched as the image turned to Jor-El and the girl, now a young maiden, sitting beside a lake. "One night, she dreamed a dragon would drown, and I would bleed for the dragon. Well, a week past, and we were sitting at a lake just as you see. A dragon fell from the sky, a young one, no longer than I am tall, with an injured wing. As it thrashed about in the water, I dove in to save it. As I brought it to shore, one of its talons cut my arm." Jor-El reached for the sleeve of his right arm, and pulled it back, revealing a long scar from his wrist to the elbow.

"From that day forward I learned not to rule out that which I did not believe so blindly. Two years past then, she had a vision the likes of which even I, with my devoted trust, could not believe. She predicted the end of Valyria. She saw the landscape burning, its people dying, and the Kryptonians turning to ash upon the thrones of bones and blood they had forged. I took this to the High Council, but they laughed, and mocked me. They thought my trusting in the mad visions of a slave girl was bordering on treason. Three weeks after, she had the vision again, then again two weeks later. The visions grew more frequent and violent. I decided if the Council would not believe me, then I must take action into my own hands."

Clark stood staring into the fire as he saw Jor-El fashioning the small crystal tomb Clark was carried within in his dream. No, this can't be true. That was but a dream, it is not possible that I could have remembered that, or that this is truly what happened…

"Your mother and I decided, rather than make you suffer and burn with the rest of us who had committed such grievous sins, we would let you start anew. I freed Aenar and his family, told them to fly from Valyria and save themselves, but only if they brought you. I knew the chance would be slight, that Aenar, a slave, would truly hold up his master's son and proclaim him a king, but I had hope and faith. I gave him you, in that small chamber, to fly you to Westoros where you would be free from the sins of your parents. That is why we could not follow. We were results of Krypton and its ways. You could not start anew, and be a pure source of good, if you were burdened by the guilt and the wrongdoings your mother and I had shared. Less than a year after they departed, Valeria was destroyed," Jor-El finished as the fire diminished.

Clark stood frozen, staring at the floor where the fire had died out. He was wordless, knowing not what to say or even ask.

"You must have a lot of questions…" Jor-El spoke softly after an eternity of silence.

"Only one. If what you say is true, and you are my true father. How could you leave your only son?" Clark looked up into his father's eyes with burning anger and confusion. "I wouldn't care what sins or guilt you had. I would have traded bearing a thousand times that pain if it meant being with you. But you sent me away and left yourselves to share in the destruction of your corrupt people. You were not corrupt, unless you were lying, but from what you said, you were good people. You need not have let me go."

Jor-El's face sank as guilt and sadness washed over him. He reached a hand out to touch Clark's cheek, but when the fingers should have touched his son's skin, Clark felt nothing. "Words do not appropriately define the grief and pain your mother and I suffered for the months after you had left. When the destruction came, while the rest of my people were running and screaming in terror, your mother and I embraced each other, welcoming the end."

Clark reached his hand up to touch his father's but it passed right through it. Jor-El's hand fluttered as if it were a flame. "How are you here now if you should have died all those years ago?"

"Being the scholar that I was, I was very adept at magic. I cast a spell that was forbidden by our people, on you. It was a spell that took a part of my soul, and attached it to yours, through this." Jor-El touched a finger to the small S crest in the pedestal. "I enchanted the item so that when the day came, I would be able to share my knowledge with you. My soul would continue to be shared with this emblem until the day I died, no matter how many leagues away you were. And on the day when you finally needed me most, it would bring you home. And here I would be able to share my conscience with you, for you see that is all I am. I am the collected memories of the true Jor-El, put into that pedestal that you have unlocked."

"Home?" Clark restated. "Where is home?"

"This is Valyria my son, your birthplace."

"I'm in Valyria? How? I was in Westoros just a moment ago," he questioned. He looked around, but the chamber was closed, with no way to see past its dark stone walls.

"This is the vault of the House of El. So deep beneath the surface that no amount of fire or destruction could reach it," Jor-El continued as he stepped over to the far left wall.

"How did you bring me here? More magic?"

"Yes, you will find that magic is at its strongest when forged through the bond of love, Kal-El," he replied as he pressed his palm against the wall. The wall shuddered, as it began to break away starting at the spot where Jor-El's palm had touched. As the wall splintered and broke, Clark could see something behind the slowly growing hole. He moved to stand beside his father, as they stared at the revealed chamber.

"So, my son, are you prepared to take your destiny in hand?" Jor-El questioned as they stared at the armor staring back at them.

As Clark looked over the sleek, smooth armor forged of dark blue steel, the long red cape tied to its shoulders, and the glowing crimson S on its chest, for the first time in his life he felt a sense of clarity, and determination that he had never grasped before. "More than anything."

So I sort of dug deep into the lore for this last chapter. Aenar being the Targaryen to leave is actually canon, as is his daughter predicting the future with her dreams. I just used that for my own purposes. I know this upload didn't actually have any GoT characters but I hope the in depth backstory raised some questions about just what happened. All reviews and thoughts welcome!