Chapter Text

Chapter 1

The first thing Talia noticed was that her son was distracted.

It was a small thing, barely noticeable to anyone who did not know him as well as she did.

Damian stood in the center of the training courtyard, a wooden sword held firmly in both hands. His feet were positioned correctly, his back straight, and his expression carried the fierce concentration that had become so familiar to her.

He was doing everything his instructor had taught him.

And yet, his eyes kept drifting toward the garden.

More specifically, toward the small bird perched on the edge of the fountain.

"Damian."

Her son immediately straightened.

"Mother."

"Your attention is wandering."

"Yes, Mother."

"Then correct it."

"Yes, Mother."

Damian returned his attention to the exercise.

Talia watched as he completed the sequence, each movement careful and precise. He was only five, but his instructors rarely had reason to complain about his discipline.

Several minutes passed before she spoke again.

"That will be enough for today."

Damian lowered his sword.

"But I have not completed the final sequence."

"You may complete it tomorrow."

"Grandfather says that abandoning one's training is a sign of shame and failure."

"Your grandfather is not here."

Damian considered this.

Then, very carefully, he placed his sword upon its stand.

"May I go to the garden?"

There it was.

All he wanted was to go outside and look at a bird.

Had she been much the same as a child? Curious about the world beyond her lessons, fascinated by the smallest discoveries?

She wasn't sure anymore.

And she had no way of knowing how much longer Damian would be allowed to enjoy his childhood.

"Yes, habibi. You may."

His face brightened.

"Thank you, Mother!"

He bowed to his instructor and hurried toward the garden.

Not quite running.

Damian knew better than to run through the training courtyard.

But his little legs moved as quickly as dignity permitted.

Talia watched him disappear beneath the archway.

For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine that this was all her life required.

A peaceful morning.

Her son watching birds in the garden.

The distant sound of water.

No politics. No bloodshed. No expectations resting upon the shoulders of a child who had barely learned to tie his own shoes.

Then the doors behind her opened.

"My lady."

Talia did not turn immediately.

She recognized the voice.

"What is it?"

"We have received word from the western compound."

Her expression hardened.

"And?"

"We have lost communication with three commanders."

Talia closed her eyes.

Three.

Yesterday, there had been one.

The day before that, rumors.

Slade Wilson was moving faster than she had anticipated.

"And my father?"

"He is making preparations for the coming conflict."

"Leave us."

"My lady—"

"Now."

The man bowed and withdrew.

Talia remained where she stood.

Beyond the courtyard, she could hear Damian's voice.

He had apparently found his bird.

She heard him ask a question, followed by a brief silence.

Then another.

Talia smiled despite herself.

Her son could spend an entire lesson without speaking unless addressed, but give him something that captured his interest, and his curiosity became almost impossible to contain.

Particularly when he believed no one was listening.

For the moment, he was happy.

For the moment, he was safe.

But Talia knew how quickly that could change.

Her father received her in his private chambers.

Ra's al Ghul stood before a large table covered in maps, reports, and correspondence. He did not look up when she entered.

"You have heard."

"Three commanders, Father."

"Three fools."

"Three commanders with men, weapons, and access to our supply routes."

Ra's finally raised his eyes.

"Do you believe I am unaware of their capabilities?"

"I believe you are underestimating Wilson."

A cold silence followed.

"Deathstroke is a mercenary," Ra's said. "An ambitious one, certainly, but a mercenary nonetheless."

"An ambitious mercenary who understands our organization well enough to turn our own people against us."

"He will fail."

"And what if we die before he does?"

Her father's expression darkened.

"Mind your tone, daughter."

Talia held his gaze.

She had spent her entire life learning when to challenge him and when to remain silent.

There had been a time when she would have lowered her eyes.

That time had passed.

"What of Damian?"

Ra's looked almost offended.

"What of him?"

"He is a target."

"His presence will remind those who waver that the al Ghul bloodline remains strong. The League has an heir, and its future is secure."

"He is five years old."

"He is an al Ghul."

"He is my son."

"And he is my grandson."

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Ra's returned his attention to the maps.

"Increase his training. He must be prepared for whatever comes."

Talia stared at him.

She thought of Damian's small hands gripping a wooden sword.

Of the bird at the fountain.

Of the way his face had lit up when she gave him permission to go into the garden.

And suddenly, she understood something she had spent years refusing to acknowledge.

There was no possibility of a real childhood for Damian within the League.

Her father would never see him as merely a child.

Not while he remained the heir.

Perhaps not ever.

"Of course, Father," she said quietly.

Ra's nodded, satisfied.

He did not notice that she had made her decision.

Damian was sitting on the floor of his chambers when she found him.

Several books lay open around him, along with a collection of colored pencils and a sheet of paper.

He looked up immediately.

"Mother!"

Talia approached.

"What are you doing, habibi?"

"Drawing."

Damian returned his attention to the paper.

Talia knelt beside him.

It was a drawing of a bird.

Or rather, what she assumed was a bird.

"It is lovely," she said.

Damian looked offended.

"It is not finished."

"My apologies."

"The wings are incorrect."

"Are they?"

"Yes."

He studied the drawing.

"I have not yet determined how to make them look realistic."

Talia tilted her head.

"It seems you really enjoy your art lessons, my son."

He reached for another pencil.

Talia brushed a dark curl away from his forehead.

"Damian, I need to speak with you."

He immediately put down his pencil.

His expression became serious.

"Have I done something wrong?"

The question struck harder than she expected.

"No, my love."

"Then why do you look upset?"

Talia hesitated.

How much could she tell him?

He was intelligent, certainly. Far more observant than most adults realized.

"There are some difficulties within the League," she said carefully.

Damian nodded.

"I know."

Talia went still.

"You know?"

"Grandfather was angry yesterday. And Master Kirigi dismissed our afternoon lesson because he had to prepare the men."

Of course he had noticed.

"These difficulties may require my attention for some time."

Damian's brows drew together.

"Will you be leaving?"

"Not exactly."

"Will I?"

Talia looked at him.

His green eyes were wide and searching.

She reached for his hand.

"Damian, do you remember what I told you about your father?"

The change was immediate.

He jumped up from the floor, throwing his arms into the air.

"The Dark Knight!"

"Yes."

"He is the greatest detective in the world."

"So I have heard."

"And an exceptional combatant. He has earned Grandfather's approval and respect."

"Indeed."

"And he protects a city called Gotham."

Talia smiled.

"You remember everything."

"Of course."

He hesitated.

Then, in a smaller voice, he asked, "Why?"

Talia squeezed his hand.

"Because I believe it is time for you to meet him."

For a moment, Damian did not move.

He simply stared.

Then his mouth fell open.

"Truly?"

"Truly."

"But I haven't defeated you in combat yet!"

Talia's heart ached at the reminder of the conditions her father had placed upon their son's future.

"That no longer matters, beloved."

Damian blinked.

"It does not?"

"No."

"Then when may I meet him?"

"Very soon."

"Tomorrow?"

"Perhaps."

Damian scrambled toward his mother.

"Mother!"

He threw his arms around her neck.

Talia caught him, startled by the force of his excitement.

"Thank you!"

She held him tightly.

For a moment, she could not speak.

He was so small.

His arms barely reached around her shoulders, and his cheek pressed warmly against hers.

Then he pulled away just enough to look at her.

"Will he teach me?"

"I imagine he will teach you many things."

"Will I see the Batmobile?"

"Possibly."

"Does he truly have a cave?"

Talia laughed.

"Yes, beloved."

"With bats?"

"Yes."

"Real bats?"

"Very real."

Damian's eyes widened.

"How many?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"Does Father count them?"

"I doubt it."

Damian frowned.

"Why not?"

Talia laughed again.

"Perhaps you should ask him yourself."

Damian considered this.

Then he nodded solemnly.

"I shall."

He grew quiet for a moment.

"Is he very tall?"

Talia raised an eyebrow.

"Quite tall."

"Taller than Grandfather?"

"Yes."

Damian looked impressed.

"How much taller?"

"Damian."

"What?"

"You will see for yourself."

He sighed.

"Very well."

Talia smiled.

She wondered what Bruce would make of this little boy.

This strange, brilliant, stubborn child who had inherited his mother's eyes and his father's determination.

Would Bruce recognize himself in Damian?

Would he understand why she had kept their son a secret for five years?

Would he ever forgive her?

She had never told Bruce she was pregnant.

Originally, she had planned to give their child to Bruce when he was still a baby. She had known she could never abandon her father or the League, but she had believed Bruce could give their son a different life.

That had been the plan.

Then Damian was born.

He had been so small. So fragile.

And when she held him for the first time, she simply couldn't let him go.

She told herself she would keep him for just one year.

Only one.

But one year became two.

And two became five in the blink of an eye.

It hadn't been enough.

It would never be enough.

Now, looking at Damian, she could no longer pretend that keeping him had been entirely about protecting him.

She had been selfish.

She knew that.

But knowing it did not make the thought of leaving him any easier.

Richard had been a rather impulsive child, from what she remembered. Perhaps Bruce had learned a thing or two about raising children.

She could only hope so.

"Mother?"

"Yes, beloved?"

"When will we return?"

Talia's smile faltered.

"You will be staying there, my love. There are matters I must attend to."

Damian considered this.

"Then I shall wait for you."

Something inside her broke.

She drew him close again.

"Of course, my darling."

She pressed a kiss to his hair.

"Of course."

"I have to pack, then. Bucephalus must come with me."

Damian immediately began gathering his belongings.

Talia watched as he carefully arranged a few books and his favorite drawing pencils inside his small travel case.

Then he picked up Bucephalus, the little wooden horse he had owned since infancy.

He examined it for a moment before placing it gently beside his books.

"Mother?"

"Yes?"

Damian looked down at the wooden horse in his hands.

"Do you think Father will like me?"

Talia felt her breath catch.

He did not look frightened.

Not exactly.

But there was uncertainty in his voice.

The kind that no child should have to carry when thinking about meeting a parent.

She knelt before him.

"Damian."

He raised his eyes.

"Your father is a complicated man."

Damian nodded solemnly.

"Like Grandfather?"

Talia almost laughed.

"Not quite."

"Is he strict?"

"Sometimes."

"Does he value discipline?"

"Very much."

Damian seemed reassured.

"And I have been practicing."

"I know."

"I can demonstrate the first twelve forms without making a mistake."

"Damian—"

"And Master Kirigi says my swordsmanship is exceptional for my age."

"My love."

He fell silent.

Talia took both his hands.

"You do not need to do anything to impress your father."

Damian frowned.

"Then what should I do?"

Talia looked at her son.

At his small, earnest face.

At the little boy who had been taught so many things and yet knew so little about what it meant to be loved without conditions.

"Just be yourself," she whispered.

Damian considered that for a long moment.

Then he nodded.

"I can do that."

Talia smiled.

"I know you can."

He returned to his packing, apparently satisfied.

And Talia remained beside him, silently praying that Bruce Wayne would understand the precious gift she was placing in his hands.

Because the League could have its wars.

Her father could have his legacy.

Slade Wilson could fight for whatever power he desired.

But they would not have her son.

Not if she could help it.