Many people seem to ask "what would the Dark Knight Rises have been like had Heath Ledger been alive?" so I, being me, thought, may as well write a fanfiction about it. I own none of the characters officiated with DC comics and I don't own the rights to Christopher Nolans films either. So now I've said that no one can sue me which is always nice. Well anyway, hope you enjoy. Please review and follow. Thank you.

1

There is cascading darkness. Through this darkness light once broke, cracking the dark into a symbol… The symbol of a bat. But long ago that light had faded in to nothing, replaced by an artificial, shapeless glow of false hope. The fools of Gotham saw it. It was on this day that they celebrated it… Harvey Dent day.

It had been one year since the disappearance of the Dark Knight and since Harvey Dent had plunged to his death, taking his secret to the grave with him. Gordon watched the crowd who, in turn, watched him. All of them were ignorant as to the truth of who the man they loved so much was. Not one of them knew the monster he had ended his life as. He shook his head. It was for the best. He unscrewed a page he had written. He had no intention to make speech long. He wasn't going to spend a moment more th an he needed to praising the man who had tried to murder his son. He cleared his throat.

"Harvey Dent," he spoke, " was a symbol of hope, a martyr, who was taken from us by a fiend whose name we may never know…" He paused, looking at the crowd who stared so adoringly at each word he spoke. "…and today, on Harvey Dent day, a year after the tragic circumstances of his death, we gather to celebrate the life of Gothams white knight: the man who is responsible for the Harvey Dent act which has led to the arrests of the majority of Gothams scum and lowlife. So I will say now the only thing which I need to say." He raised the glass in his hand high above his head. "To Harvey Dent."

This finale was met by cheers of approval from the crowd before him, children chanting the name of their white knight. Gordon didn't say another word until he was off the stage.

A woman with a pretty, young face, blonde pigtails hanging down watched as Gordon left the stage. Striding forward she made certain to catch him before got the chance to talk with anyone else.

"Commissioner Gordon," she said, " that was truly a beautiful speech. Agreed with every word. I would like to speak to you if I may…"

But she was cut off midsentence. "I'm not speaking to the press," Gordon informed her with a kind firmness. "Not today."

"It's not Harvey Dent I was going to ask you about," she said reassuringly before adding, "and I'm not a journalist."

Gordon stared suspiciously. "What exactly are you then?" he questioned.

"I… er… I work as a Psychiatric nurse in Arkham Asylum," she responded.

But before she could continue a police officer jumped in, patting Gordon on the back.

"That was a brilliant speech Commish," he said before leaning in, unaware the woman could hear him still. "I'd make sure Barabra doesn't see you chatting to her. She looks the sort wives like their husbands to avoid." The officer laughed. Gordon didn't but the officer didn't seem to notice. He wondered away with a stupid grin.

"Sorry, that was Harvey Bullock," Gordon apologized.

"Don't worry about it," the woman responded. "I'm more or less used to being treated like that. Anyway, you see I work at Arkham and… I am to start working with a patient soon."

Gordon looked at his watch. He was supposed to pick up his daughter from the train station in half an hour. He really needed to get away somehow.

"We could talk another time," Gordon said; "I'm sorry but I need to get going."

"The last person to work with my new patient says he has a particular interest in the Batman," the woman continued, "and I figured that you knew him well enough to tell me a few things about the Dark Knight…"

"Listen, I will gladly stop off at the Asylum to speak with you," Gordon said, "but another time… I will ask for you."

"My name's Harleen Quinzel," the woman told him. "Ask for Harley. That's what everyone calls me…"

"Well it was good to meet you Harley," Gordon said. "I will catch you tomorrow…"

Harley nodded. "See you Commish," she said.

That was one of the most successes she had had with speaking to someone else in a long time but it wasn't going to help her with her patient. The last psychiatrist to tackle this patient had thrown themselves into the depths of Gothams river after just five months of being the patients psychiatrist. Hopefully she was stronger in tackling The Joker than that person had been.

Bruce Wayne had been asleep on a sofa in Wayne manor, a glass of whiskey in his grip for quite a while now. Suddenly a glass of water appeared to spill itself over him. His eyes shot open to see Alfred.

" Morning Alfred," he murmered.

" Good afternoon Mr Wayne," the valet responded.

"Oh, really?" a surprised but indifferent Brce Wayne asked. "Well either way," he went on, raising his glass, "happy Harvey Dent day."

" To you too Sir," Alfred replied.

Bruce slumped back. "Take the day off if you like."

"I shall do no such thing Master Wayne." Then, for a brief moment, Alfred paused. "Sir, I'm rather worried about your alcohol consumption of late."

"Alfred, I'm not a boy any more. You don't need to care for me anymore."

"I rather think I need to care for you more than ever. I have buried enough members of the Wayne family. I'm not burying you too." Again Alfred paused, thinking about his next line of enquiry. "Sir, this Golden age cannot last forever," he stated in a matter of fact tone.

"You make it sound as if I am waiting for it to end Alfred," Bruce laughed.

"That Sir," Alfred sighed, "was my intention."