Bane had no part in the negotiations. Shifting his grip on the pommel of his greatsword, he reflected that this was perhaps for the best; he would have murdered everyone at the table, Lord al-Ghul included, the moment this possibility was mentioned.

Gods be damned, he was still very close to it; even now, as an honor-guard on the dais, his fingers kept wandering from the pommel of his sword (held upright, point down, a show of strength) to its grip (to raise that length of steel and bring it down)...

One step above him and to his right, the Lady Talia stood like a goddess, a beacon in a white silken mist; her golden skin and quick dark eyes burned into him even though he kept his eyes deliberately on the crowd. Above her, holding her hand, Lord al-Ghul gazed out at his subjects, no smile on his leonine face but satisfaction wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

Lord al-Ghul had but one goal in this, as far as Bane could see: peace with King Bruce, peace for his people and his lands. At any cost, even the most terrible cost.

Beyond Lady Talia stood Bruce himself, the usurper king of Gotham, joy blazing on his face as he accepted Talia's hand from her father. Some vows were said, meaningless; Bruce, whose kingdom turned a blind eye to its suffering peons, whose soldiers took no prisoners when they came across the youthful militia, Bane's men, who were all that defended al-Ghul's borders- Bruce had taken the greatest prize in al-Ghul's coffers, and he would walk away with Talia on his arm while Bane stood sweating and sick with rage on the dais, still burning for the woman who would be Bruce's wife.

Bruce's honor guard was larger than Bane felt propriety allowed. There was Commander Gordon, symbolically holding the helmet of General Dent- still crusty with dried gore, and how was that appropriate for a wedding- and four or five soldiers in their spotless blue armor, and Gordon's man Sir Blake, who Bane loathed.

Gordon's men had murdered the sons and husbands of many women in this crowd. And if Sir Blake, born John of the Robin and only recently raised from squire to knight, had not killed many of Bane's men... he had thwarted so many of Bane's efforts, broken so many of Lord al-Ghul's elegant plans, that at last their hope of peace had diminished to this: Talia's dark curls tugging in the wind as her new husband lifted her veil and laid a kiss, the first of many kisses, upon her perfect mouth.

Bane would have let every peasant in both kingdoms die before he watched this.

Only Talia's words held him back: trust me, my noble knight, my sweet protector; I must do this, it is my duty. Some wars cannot be won with swords.

They said he was a monster, under that mask; but then they also said he was a brute with a slow mind, and John knew better than that. Certainly he was strong, and John dreaded the day he would face the man in combat, but even if he followed the sorcerous Lord al-Ghul's orders with slavish dedication, Bane was no fool.

John watched him throughout the ceremony, glad for once that his face was concealed behind sun-heated blue-cast steel. Bane was a broad man, well-muscled, his body speaking of a will that defied noble luxury. John would have admired him, were he not the king's most formidable enemy.

Bitter nausea churned in John's stomach as he pulled his gaze from Bane to watch his king accept the Lady al-Ghul's hand. He looked happy; he looked like he could love her. John wanted her to die, and all her kin with her.

As the king unveiled his lady wife and tilted her head back with one strong sure hand to kiss her, John tore his eyes away for the sake of his own sanity, only to lock eyes with the masked man across the dais instead. Bane stared at him as though he could see, through the grille of his helmet, that John watched him; and in those blue and piercing eyes there hid something so betrayed and grieving that John felt a spark of kinship.

Bane's mask, the thing that gave him his terrible powers, was a work of al-Ghul's sorcery, and John had always assumed that this was the root of Bane's loyalty. Now, though, with his own heart torn (to his undying shame) and his beautiful, beloved king turning to lead his bride away, John wondered if it was truly ever al-Ghul who held Bane's loyalty at all.

And that night, as he stood guard outside the King's door, listening to the Lady al-Ghul moan and laugh and cry out, hearing the soft murmur of secrets shared between newlyweds, he steeled himself against hot tears of shame and envy by remembering the look in Bane's clear, clever eyes.

Talia had asked him to stay behind, to let her go to her nuptial bedchamber alone; but Bane humbled himself and begged her, swore to do whatever she asked of him, as long as she let him be near. For her safety, he said, for her protection. In his mind he imagined her screaming for him, imagined himself bursting into the room to find the treacherous king in the act of beating her, and pictured himself tearing the king limb from limb, justified in his rage.

And for all his begging he was not given the door of the chamber to guard; that honor went to the slim boy-knight, Sir Blake, scarcely twenty and a thorn in Bane's side and still chosen above him to stand at the door while the marriage was consummated. Bane waited in the adjoining maids'-chambers, looking at his sword where it rested on some servant's cot, and caught the faintest sounds of pleasure through the wall.

It was not until nearly dawn that his reverie shattered with Talia's screams. He was on his feet in a moment, rushing into the hall; the chamber door already stood open, and Sir Blake's voice came from within.

"My lord! My lord, your grace, wake up-"

Then Bane was at the bedside, where Talia sat bleary-eyed and wrapped in sheets, stricken with horror. Beside her, the king sprawled unconscious, still as a corpse, unbreathing and cool to the touch. Sir Blake knelt over him, half-fallen on the marriage bed itself, cradling his liege and weeping.

King Bruce's body was borne away by Lord al-Ghul's men, to be washed and wrapped; Talia remained, still naked except for her bedclothing, staring blank-eyed after her husband's corpse as her maidservants clustered around her to cling to her sides and stroke her hair.

Sir Blake staggered away, grieving like a widow, and Bane passed him in the hall where he had slumped into an alcove to shudder and weep. For his part, Bane felt none of the grief that seized the palace.

Talia was free.

Lady Talia played her role so well that it took Bane nearly a week to realize that it was a role. There was a funeral; King Bruce's swathed and fragranced body now rested in an ancestral tomb. The councils of both Gotham and al-Ghul's fiefdom met daily, and rules and laws for trade were set down. Care of Gotham fell to Commander Gordon, who took vows as regent the same day that Bruce breathed his last, and nothing greater seemed to come of it for al-Ghul than that Gordon agreed to send men to help him hold his borders.

It seemed that peace had at last been achieved.

Lady Talia was demure and sorrowful in public, hinting that she might possibly bear Bruce's child, but withdrawing swiftly from any public scrutiny. If anyone remembered that theirs had been a match bitterly negotiated by old men, it was politely forgotten; the whole kingdom relayed tragic ballads of the king and his wife, their long-anticipated marriage, and his terrible death after only a single night of bliss.

Six days after the death of King Bruce, Bane found Lady Talia seated calmly in his billet, hair modestly wimpled (as befit a married woman) and her maidservant Selina at her side.

"My gentle knight," said Talia, without even a hint of the trembling voice she had affected all week. "My champion, our victory is assured."

"As my lady says," responded Bane, taking a knee and bowing his head. What was she doing here? Even with a maidservant as chaperon- it was well known that Selina was Talia's confidant as well as maidservant, and tongues might well wag.

And more: his bed, where she sat as easily as on her father's throne, would carry her scent for days, and it would drive him mad.

"Bane, my old friend," said Talia, impatient and teasing, so he rose to face her. "My noble husband the king is dead-" the mockery in her voice astounded him, and he chastised himself for having believed that she went to his bed willingly- "and while I cannot yet announce myself the mother of his child, within a month I will have the Regent either kneeling at my feet or impaled on a spike."

"And do you bear his child?"

"One child is as good as another," she replied flippantly. "Even if it's a bit late, I can have it said that I'm ill, and display the child when it eventually appears. I may, however, need a father for this bastard of mine, and if my courses run this month I will have great need of a true and great-hearted friend."

She smiled at him, and he felt his heart bursting.

"When we make our move on Gordon," she went on, "I will need you at my side. He will almost certainly resist, and it is my hope that he will shy from provoking a man of your... stature." She colored a little, and he felt his throat dry up. "I will reward you, Bane, as I always have."

He scarcely heard her. Blood roared in his ears and his body tingled. In all their years together, she had never even hinted... never something like this...

"I have one reward for you now," she said, smiling; her maidservant, encouraged by her excitement, took her hand and squeezed it furtively. "I have requested a bodyguard for you, and in his wisdom the Regent has granted my petition. You will have a man to stand watch while you sleep, and to act as your valet and manservant while you wake. I asked for only the best, Bane."

"A manservant," repeated Bane, still struggling to gather her words into meaningful sentences.

"He will be yours to do with as you wish," said Talia, a curious emphasis in her voice. "And I suspect, my friend, that you will find yourself brimming with creativity."

"Who," said Bane, though suspicion had begun to dawn on him.

"Your noble enemy," laughed Talia, rising to leave. "Sir John-of-the-Robin, of course. Sir Blake."