Bruce: Chapter 3

"Do you know what that means?" Arthur said pointing to the glowing red streak slashed across the sky.

"No, what?"

Arthur smirked. "In old fishermens' tales it's a sign of bad fortune for that year. Poor fishing."

Bruce's brow piqued. "Why?"

The captain chuckled, "The seas will be filled not with fish, but with blood. It predicts that many a soul will die this year and that the depths shall claim their corpses."

"It's a comet," Bruce noted flatly as he continued with his morning pushups.

"Aye, and comets can't mean anything?"

"A comet is a comet. It is not some mystical force or foreteller of death or famine. It is a rock hurtling through the sky." Bruce had seen things that had forced him to question not only his beliefs but his morals, such as Clark's powers, but he firmly believed that placing such superstitious stock in commonplace events or objects was foolish. A comet was a rock, nothing more.

Arthur scoffed and shook his head. "Always the stoic warrior and never the faithful believer, eh? How dull your life must be without a faith in anything beyond belief or reason. You land dwellers and your thick heads."

Bruce chose not to reply as he silently continued his training. The captain decided to sit beside him, drinking rum for a time. As Bruce reached two hundred, he suddenly spoke, "Why do you do that?"

Standing, Bruce grunted, "What?"

As Bruce took a cloth to dab the sweat from his scalp, Arthur did a wobbly waving gesture to the deck where Bruce had just done his pushups. "The queer pushing off the floor ritual you just did. Does fighting gravity with such defiance mean something to your people?"

"They're called pushups, and they're a technique I learned in the East for conditioning my body. It makes it stronger, makes my lungs stronger."

Arthur broke out into roaring laughter. The captain was clearly drunk, "That makes you stronger? You're thick for a land dweller I'll give ya that, but you're still a twig in comparison."

Bruce's patience was wearing thin. "In comparison to you?"

Taking another swig of his rum, the captain eyed Bruce with a humored glare. "Perhaps, would you be willing to take on that wager?"

Bruce rolled his neck, feeling each bone crack, releasing pressure and calming his nerves. "And the stakes?"

Arthur stood, handing his bottle to one of his crew as he began stripping off his loose tunic. The crew had begun to take notice by now of what had begun to transpire. Surrounding them, and staring down from above from the masts and upper reaches of the ship, the crew looked on. Many had smirks and grins on their faces, others gazed in awe, excited to see their ruthless captain combat the famed Batman of Westoros.

"No stakes my lord, just the rights tuh boast and inflate one's ego wiff victory." The captain was smirking, but his eyes and blurred words exposed his drunkenness. Despite the man's size and strength, Bruce expected the rum would slow the man's movements if only just. That was all the advantage that Bruce needed.

Bruce lowered his stance, and raised his fists. As he began shifting closer to the captain, Arthur chuckled and reached his hand out, "I'd care for my rum first."

The crewman's eyed widened in uneasiness before slowly nodding and following his captain's order. Arthur took another swig as he stepped brazenly towards Bruce, without any care for striking a fighting stance.

"Too early in the day to put a land dweller on his ass without a bottle of rum in hand," he japed as he grew nearer.

Bruce threw his right fist for the captain's head, before loosening his fingers to swipe an open hand in front of his opponent's eyes. The move would block Arthur's vision, allowing his left fist to land solidly against his jaw.

As Bruce's hand slid in front of Arthur's face, he let his left fist fly. Before it could make contact with the pirate's jaw however, he felt a stinging sensation in his eyes as rum splashed across his face. Then, with unexpected strength the captain gripped Bruce's wrist, lifted him into the air with a single hand, and slammed him down into the deck. Bruce's back lit up in pain as it slammed against the hard wood. As Bruce's vision returned to him and he gazed up from his back at his opponent, he saw the blond pirate grinning, his rum still firmly in hand.

"Oh look at that, only needed the one hand," the captain remarked as his free hand reached down to help Bruce up.

No mortal man would be able to do that. It would seem there's even more to this man than it would appear.

As Bruce accepted the hand and was helped to his feet, the captain quickly leaned in and whispered something sternly in his ear. "As I said my lord, it's best to keep an open mind to the wonders of this world."

Bruce stepped back and nodded. Arthur gave a warm smile and slapped his defeated opponent's shoulder, "No hard feelings my lord, I'm sure that blinding technique would have worked on a normal opponent."

"It's a shame your blinding technique was dishonest in a fair fight between men," Bruce remarked with a forgiving smirk.

Chuckling, the captain slapped Bruce's back as his head tilted back for another swig of rum. "I'm a captain my lord, I never fight fair."

Bruce had trouble sleeping that night, and not from the shifting seas carrying the boat towards his home. Unlike most nights, where flashes of his past or terrifying visions of his future haunted him, these restless nights apparently remained causeless.

Two nights later, they saw the lights of Gotham harbor against the dark horizon. It was a late hour, meaning the seaside walls and port would be shut for the night. Luckily, Bruce knew of a secret entrance leading up from the rocky coast beneath the cliffs of Wayne Castle. Arthur decided to take Bruce himself, in a lone rowboat. The crew anchored down a ways from shore as to avoid suspicion. Further adding to their luck was the weather, with a thick fog coming off the seas and shrouding the shore, and their ship in a gray cloak.

Once they reached the shore, Bruce found the steep, well hidden trail and followed the rocky steps up to the rear end of the castle grounds. As they climbed up and over the cliff, Bruce could at last lay eyes on Wayne Castle.

Finally, I am home. There is so much left to do.

They snuck into the castle through the window to his father's study. The captain was surprisingly quiet for a man of his size.

"Why are we sneaking into your own castle?" Arthur questioned under hushed whispers.

"I have a beard, messied long hair, and am without cane or slumped posture. Any guardsmen would suspect me of being an intruder, not their lord."

Arthur shrugged his shoulders, "Fair point."

Suddenly, the secret entrance to the Batcave beside the hearth slid open. An unshaven, dreary looking Alfred walked through the doorway. His moustache had grown unruly, and his jaw was now coated in stubble. His eyes were sunken and puffy, and his garments looked the least tidy and clean they have ever appeared.

Eying his unexpected visitor however, Alfred's eyes lit up in amazement.

"Master Bruce!" He exclaimed as he rushed forward to embrace his long-absent lord.

Bruce returned the embrace, feeling safe for the first time in many months.

"I feared I had lost you both," Alfred exhaled with a quivering voice.

Bruce's eyes widened in fear as he pulled back to gaze into his loyal friend's reddened eyes. "Both?"

Alfred's eyes immediately sank to the floor. "I'm sorry, Master Bruce. Master Richard has gone missing. His last sighting was on the roof of Gordon's keep, with a man with orange and black armor."

Bruce's spine froze. No, please, not the boy…

Arya: Chapter 1

"You must go to the tower, and slay him with this sword," the queerly helmeted man with the golden armor had told her.

The sword appeared plain enough, the scabbard was plain black leather with a silver tip, but as she began to unsheathe it the helmeted stranger sternly said no, that she must wait. Then her eyes flashed again, and she was in a desolate desert. The sand burned blackish red under the blazing crimson sun, and all around her the skeletons of trees remained, blackened, crackling husks of sentries over this forsaken wasteland.

"Where are we?"

Her burning eyed savior in the golden armor and cape replied with his echoing, distant voice, "Something beyond your comprehension. This is the closest I can take you, follow the sun, and continue on until you arrive at the tower."

"When will I arrive? How long is the journey?"

The stranger turned, his brilliant golden cloak was now a dark goldenrod under the queer red light of this sun. "Only fate can decide."

In another flash of light, the stranger was gone, and Arya began her journey under the sun. Her Batwoman armor was a burden, but one she would not simply cast to the side. It was the armor her adopted father had bestowed upon her. It was more than armor, it was what her life had become. Like Bruce Wayne, she found reason in that cave beneath Wayne Castle. With her parents, brothers, and sister dead, everything she had loved in her world gone, she could only find solace in that darkness. The only sounds were of the water crackling over the rocks in the distant corner where an underground river streamed out onto the cave floor, and the beating of a thousand small wings, like thousands of breaths giving wind to the small embers of purpose burning in her soul.

After walking through the desert for what felt like days, she felt her mind began to blur. There was no heat in this desert, and she never saw any life. All she ever saw was the burned trees, caked sand, and the ever glowing but never setting sun kissing the horizon. Arya felt no hunger, no thirst, not even exhaustion nipping at her heels. It was as if time were frozen in this wasteland.

She heard something grunt to her left. It was a lion, bleeding, and with a gaping wound along its side. Beside it was a massive wolf missing an eye, its dark gray coat dappled in blood. Before them towered a dragon, nearly thrice as tall as the wolf. Its black scales shimmered crimson under the blood red sun above them. The dragon had three necks, but one of them had been severed near the base, so only two roaring heads remained. The wolf lunged for the dragon's leftmost neck, but had to shy back as the other head roared fire down towards it. The lion took this chance to strike that head's neck, tearing off a chunk before jumping back to dodge another downpour of flame and ash.

Suddenly the sky was blacked out above them. Arya turned her head up towards the sky to gaze at the cause. Above them a massive winged creature flew in circles. She assumed it to be a buzzard, but as it dove down closer, she saw its wings were not littered in feathers, and its body was coated in the dark black fur of a bat. She gazed back down to see the beasts that had been fighting before her, only to find that they were nowhere to be seen.

"Arya."

She turned, to see the figure of Lord Eddard Stark standing before her.

"You're a ghost, leave me alone," she threatened as she turned and continued onward.

"Arya, I'm your father," the vision tried to reason.

Turning on her unwelcomed guest, she seethed, "You're not my father. Eddard Stark, the true Eddard, was murdered at the Sept of Baelor before my eyes as a girl. My mother had her throat slit by a craven too cowardly to fight a man on the field. My brothers, killed in battle or worse. My sister was branded a traitor to the crown and was torn to pieces, with a piece sent to each corner of the kingdom. The one man I ever loved was killed saving thousands of lives. And my adopted father…Leave me apparition, for if I could, I would cut you down where you stand."

She walked for what seemed like another few hours before the ghost appeared directly before her. "I cannot imagine the pain you must have suffered, I'm sorry my child."

"You aren't my father," she continued through the ghost, making it disappear as if it were smoke.

"I am your father," Eddard argued back.

"Then give me advice that only my father could give," Arya hissed spinning on him.

He stuttered, "What can a man tell his daughter after so long away?"

"That she's no longer his."

Eddard went wide eyed. "What has he done to you?"

Arya's hand flew for the hilt of her blade. "He made me stronger. I was a hateful, vengeful, murdering ruin when he found me. I was a pawn of the League of Shadows, I was a rogue Faceless Man, and none of you were there. Robb, Jon, Bran, mother, you, all dead. He found me, raised me, trained me to be more than a ruthless killer."

"And what are you doing now child? You're about to kill a man simply because another ghost told you to do so."

Scoffing, she turned her back to him, "If I can save the world as he did, as Bruce did, then any life would be worth the risk."

Eddard made a sound as if he were choking back a century's worth of sorrow and tears, "But my sweet girl, look at yourself and what you are, what you're about to do. Perhaps the life that you believe needs to be sacrificed…you've already forfeited yourself…"

When Arya turned to face the ghost, he was gone. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she collapsed on her knees to the sand. "Is this what you wanted?! For me to question myself, what I have done to survive, what you have asked me to do?" She roared up to the sky. She brought her hands up to her eyes to wipe away her tears after pounding them into the sand a few times in vain.

I have not cried since Bruce died…

When her eyes opened, the desert and the orange sky above her were gone. Stone was beneath her feet, as she stood on a small stone entranceway to a long, spire-like tower above her. The platform she stood upon was ten bricks long, and twenty wide, beyond that was eternal darkness, in all directions. The bricks of the tower appeared old, but no vines or growths littered them. The door was ajar.

Upon entrance, she found the inside of the tower to be more akin to a library than a tower. Books littered both walls, and the floor in stacks. A violet carpet led her down the corridor, and to a long spiraling staircase. It went so high that she could not see the top, as it was guarded by shadows. She sighed, and began her long ascent.

Within a minute, she had reached the top. She looked down over the railing, but could not see the bottom as it too was covered in darkness.

What forces have I been ordered to cross…

"Ones that you cannot understand, Arya Stark," a voice spoke from behind the open door to her right. Gripping the hilt of her sword, she stepped through.

This room was much like the corridor below, with books and shelves coating the walls. A table was against the far wall with what appeared to be different glowing potions and elixirs in bottles and flasks on it. Beside the table stood a hearth, with a fire crackling within. In front of it, were two chairs with their backs to her and facing towards the flames, one was empty, the other…

"Come, sit," the voice said, and turned the chair with a wave of his wrist.

Slowly she grew closer, until she stood beside him. Her eyes widened in confusion. There in the chair sat the same stranger that had saved her, had spoken of timelines and fates, and left her in the desert with this special sword. He turned his flat, golden helmet to stare at her with his burning white eyes.

"Greetings, Arya Stark," the voice said calmly, but distantly with a long echo. As if between his lips, and the flat surface of his helm, stood leagues of empty space.

Arya refused to sit, or drop her hand from the handle of her sword.

"You will not need that, yet, in the least. Come, sit."

Sighing in confusion, she sat. "But you…you were the one…"

"That ordered you to kill me. Correct?"

Arya nodded.

"I was afraid so. It seems the time has come…"

"The time for what?" She questioned.

The voice remained just as calm as he replied, "The final days of man is approaching."

"The White Walkers?" Arya responded in confused fear.

The man nodded slowly, "In a way, yes. What words did I say to you when I brought you here from your timeline?"

Arya scrunched her eyes as she strained to remember, a trait she had retained from her innocent youth. "You told me that I was aware of the fate that this world was blind to. And that I would have to save the world, as Bruce Wayne had done."

"Ah, Bruce Wayne. He found you in King's Landing, where you were attempting to assassinate the king, he then returned you to Gotham, and trained you to take on the mantle of Batwoman. He fell, to the White Walkers. A loss you have never recovered from…"

"Do you…hear what I'm thinking? Do you have some form of dark magic that allows you to see my thoughts?" Arya posed.

"No. I am Nabu, the Watcher of Fate. I sit here, in my home, the Tower of Fate, watching over every timeline, every event of every history, in unison. I do not need magic to know what you are thinking, Arya Stark, or what you have done, or will do. For I have seen it before. You have been sent here to kill me. Even my death, is something I have seen. I know how I die, as I have done before," the watcher replied, his voice retaining the same, cool, monotone inflection.

"So it was not you that sent me here? A man wearing your armor instead?"

"Yes. One who serves him. And one who I cannot defeat, not now. That is how you will truly save the world, Arya Stark. My imposter may have taunted you with words of heroism and purpose merely to make you achieve his ends, but he has not seen what bringing you here has done."

Arya blinked, "What has it done…? It feels like I'm nothing but a tool for forces I do not understand."

The voice let a small amount of emotion seep into its tone as he chuckled, "As we all are, Arya Stark. Fate is not a steady flowing stream. It is a tsunami, with water pouring in every direction at all moments, but every once in a rare millennia, an event occurs that shakes the fabric of time and fate. Something that even I am not involved in. Your coming here is what has caused this event. Your presence in this timeline is a ripple, that will grow to calm the storm, if but for a moment. Your presence is what will give humanity its last chance at survival. Without you, this world, and all worlds, would be snuffed out."

She could hardly believe what she was hearing. "Then if I do not need to kill you, if I was tricked, I won't. I'll just leave, and you can continue living! There is no need for you to die. I will find the one who wore your face, who tricked me, and will take his life instead."

Nabu chuckled again. "It cannot be unwritten. This is always how I would have died, by your hand, Arya Stark. But do not fear or embrace regret, for this single action, will light a spark that will give humanity its one chance at defeating the darkness that calls. And do not fret for my imposter, Arya Stark, for his time will come. What are the words that you were taught so many years ago?"

"Valar Morghulis," Arya replied calmly.

"Yes. Nabu?" He spoke, questioningly.

Arya sat confused in her chair as she watched the man seemingly talk to himself.

"Nabu, I have served you for many years. But now, at the twilight of my life, I wish to pass on with my own face," the watcher sat speaking to no one.

"Very well, you may remove the helmet," he replied to himself.

"Thank you, old friend. May the next who serves you do so better than I…" Nabu spoke as he raised his hands to clasp the helmet. At that moment, the eyes burned with a blinding light, forcing Arya to shield her eyes. When she returned her gaze to the figure, the helmet was off, sitting in his lap. The face beneath the helmet was not one she would have anticipated.

The man's face was old, his hair was light grey with bright white streaks on the side. His eyes were sunken back into his skull more, and his brow was wrinkled with age. His eyes were piercing light blue and his mouth was sternly shut.

"You're, old?" Arya said shocked.

"Well of course my dear, being the watcher of fate is not a young man's game," he replied chuckling.

"I don't understand…"

The man smiled, "My name is Kent Nelson. I have served Nabu for decades."

"So you are not Nabu?" Deserts without time or heat, multiple men in golden armor with burning eyes, and now an old man beneath that helmet, Arya wondered if Bruce ever felt so small in comparison to such fantastical forces.

"No, I was merely his vessel. Nabu is an entity, a ghost, and he needed a body to play host. Nabu resides in this helmet, and when it is put upon the head of my successor, they will become Nabu's next host. When you send me on my way to the afterlife, you must take it with you," the man replied.

Arya stood staring down at the now sweet old man. "I won't kill you. I can't. You're innocent."

Kent chuckled, "Sweetling, I've lived longer than even my grandchildren. It's alright. I go to join my wife, my love. She has been waiting so patiently for me all these years, I would hate to keep the woman waiting any longer."

She sighed, accepting that this was her fate, as well as his. She unsheathed the sword. The blade was flawless silver, with a greenish tinge. "I've never done this where the target accepted their fate without struggle."

"Ha, well my dear, I've seen so many things, it'd be hard for me not to simply accept my fate. So c'mon hun, let's get this grand night started!" He jested with a smile.

"Why is this sword so special?" She asked as she lined it up with his neck.

"Just stab forward, and it'll be over. The sword gives no pain, and makes it quick."

Arya hesitated, "Well…any last words?"

Kent chuckled, "Yes, catch!"

He tossed the helmet at her other hand, making her head quickly jerk to the side to make sure she caught it. She felt her other hand pull forward. As she looked back, she saw the sword pushed into his neck. The old man had pulled the blade into his own neck, to end his life on his own terms.

Arya gave a light smile, "I guess you chose your own fate after all."

Then her eyes burned bright white, and the world around her blurred. Her body twirled and twisted, until it landed on her back against solid earth with a painful thud. When she opened her eyes, the world around her raced. Five trees slowly turned to three, which eventually settled to one. Then a man leaned over her in a rushed pace.

Arya blinked, thinking her mind was still blurred, but after a few more blinks, she knew her eyes did not lie to her. A man stared back at her, but he lacked a face. He wore a flat brimmed hat with a pointed front, and matching blue overcoat with a yellow tunic underneath.

"So you're the one," he spoke flatly.

"Yes, I-I…have a lot of questions," she sighed as she strained to sit up.

The stranger stepped back before helping her up. "Then you've arrived to the right place."

I know it's been a while since I debuted the new Arya in the prologue but hopefully this upload was worth the wait! I'd love to hear any opinions on how any of you think I did writing her! Now the question is, who will take over as Nabu's host?