Batman (Nolan) fic: Darkness Rising
Title: Darkness Rising
Fandom: Batman (Nolan) - The Dark Knight Rises
Pairing/characters: Talia Al Ghul/Bane
Rating: M
Words: 1,037
Summary: Talia has stayed true to her father's word and his work is done. With no one left in her world, she can die.
Warnings: Character death (it is a death fic), spoilers (obviously) for Nolan's The Dark Knight Rises, mentions of violence.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine
It ends how it began; in darkness. She closes her eyes, not to hide from the ones trying to stop her father’s work but rather to meet her end in the heart of the pit. That’s where she was born, spirit and body. She was born in the Hell on Earth that men can’t escape. She was born in darkness and so her greatest achievement, it must come in the darkness too.
He’s there, her protector, the gentle hands from the darkness that held her close but took nothing that she wouldn’t give. He was soft words and gentle promises, stories of safety in lands she had never seen. That solid shape, a wall to lean on with arms that shielded her from all the demons of Hell.
It was the most difficult thing she ever did, climb from the pit. The rock gave way under her, crumbling beneath her fingertips. Then her fingertips gave way and left blood streaked on the walls like ancient cave paintings. She leapt across the gap and her hands burned as she caught the ledge, her head ached as it slammed into the rock.
It was the most difficult thing she ever did, climb from the pit. Below her the mob screamed and yelled. A hundred voices filled the air as the men with tainted minds tried to get to her. They faded out after a while. They faded out until all she could hear were the wet sounds as her protector drowned.
When she reached the top there were tears in her eyes. Maybe they were from the pain in her fingers or maybe they were falling for what she was leaving behind. It didn’t matter, they were useless, just tears, just water.
The world before her was everything. It was golden and harsh, arid and desolate and the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. This was it, the lands beyond the pit where she could be safe like stories whispered in the darkness. Below her the mob screamed and her protector drowned. She pulled a hood over her head and turned away.
Lying in the truck with a bomb behind her, she knows her protector is dead. The ones who think they can stop her are here with their black masks and blood on their hands. He wouldn’t let them escape, not if he could still breathe.
They’ve killed him, these symbols of false hope like rope hanging from prison walls. Their masks told of incorruptible heroes and sly thieves whilst their faces told the truth of their lives. She can see right through them, can see through all these carefully ordered saints who’ve forgotten the perfection in chaos, have forgotten all her father tried to bring to the world.
They’ve killed everything she loved. The soft plush seat beneath her is filling with her blood. She can’t tell what’s going on around her, not anymore. All that pain has drifted away, carried away, held back by arms in the darkness.
The memories are still fresh in her mind of the day her father came back from that pit. There was a body in his arms, the cloth over his face sticky with congealing blood. They started to peel it back and then hands holding guns guided her away, turned her face away, so she couldn’t see what was underneath.
The next time she saw him his lips were gone, his mouth surrounded by that cool metal mask. She wasn’t sure if he smiled but she liked to think he did as she wrapped her arms around him. Her protector, faced filled in with metal because of what he lost to save her.
He wears a mask like these fake heroes of their lost city. He wears a mask but it hides nothing. Instead it’s there to tell the truth. His mask reminds the world of who he is, of what he gave, of the pit in the Earth where men die.
That mask is what drove him from the League of Shadows. The memories unfold across the starburst black of her eyelids. Death’s coming but first life must show her all she has won. It wasn’t hard to see the way her father’s eyes flicked away from the metal frame and ribbed tubing. It wasn’t hard to see how he tried to avoid the sight of what the pit allowed to survive. It wasn’t hard to see how her father saw only what the pit kept for its own.
There was no way to save her mother. He left one day with a bag slung over his shoulder. Well, they say he left but she knows the truth, was there to hear the words like knives and see the guns that turned on him. She was there to see her father shake his head. He left one day with a bag slung over his shoulder and she followed.
The darkness presses down and she can almost feel Death’s fingers squeezing her lungs until breath won’t fill her body. She welcomes it, welcomes the end. That wave of heat to herald the mushroom cloud is not for her to feel. She’s not one of Gotham’s children.
She was born in the pit, in the darkness and despair where hope was the frayed end of the noose you hung yourself with. She was born in the dark places where light was the sun for those hottest hours of the day or a fire if you were lucky.
She ends in darkness, brings it too her and lets it pull her from the mortal shell that has already died. There are arms in the darkness, a solid shape to stand beside her. She doesn’t need him to hold her up, not anymore. He’s more than a protector now.
Her fingers feel the metal frame; trace the outline of the mask he wears. It’s for her, this mask. He’s worn it since the day she climbed from the pit, be it red-stained bandages or mechanics to keep him alive. He lost a face and it’s all for her. He lost his face and so she gave him a new one and together they brought Hell to Gotham.
It ends in darkness.