Cinematic Adventures: Batman Begins

by extremeenigma02


Training and Memories

Bright lavender eyes slowly opened, as Twilight Sparkle realized she was once more back in Bruce’s past. The last time she’d seen such a vision, Bruce was chasing a friend of his and fell into an old well connected to a cave. The moment he landed, he and Twilight were swarmed by bats so greatly that by that point the vision ended. Now she found herself back again, wondering why exactly she was seeing all of this in the first place. The moment she looked back down into the well, she noticed Bruce curled up in a ball, whimpering as the last of the bats flew away.

Suddenly, footsteps caught her attention, and she quickly leapt for cover. She had no idea if anyone could actually see her, but she was not taking any chances. The moment she looked back out, she noticed a man lowering himself down into the well.

“Bruce?”

Down in the well, Bruce looked up toward the face of his father, Thomas, the man lowering himself toward his son. Soon as he reached the bottom of the well, he took his son’s hand.

“It’s okay,” He spoke with assurance. “It’s okay.”

When he lifted his son out of the well, Thomas carried him back to the house and Twilight followed closely behind. At the entrance of the house, the Wayne family butler, Alfred Pennyworth, helped Thomas bring Bruce into the house, climbing the stairs toward the back of the manor.

“Will we be needing an ambulance, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked.

“I’ll set the bone,” Thomas told him. “Then take him for x-rays later.”

“Very good, sir,” Alfred nodded.

As they walked, they passed Mrs. Dawes, who apologized for letting the accident happen. As he passed by Rachel, Bruce gave her the arrowhead back.

“Took quite a fall, didn’t we Master Bruce?” Alfred asked.

“And why do we fall, Bruce?” Thomas asked his son. “So that we might better learn to pick ourselves up.”

They entered the house and Alfred left to discard the rope and harness. Thomas headed up the stairs and Martha Wayne, Bruce’s mother, appeared distraught.

“He’ll be fine,” Thomas assured her. “It’s just a small fracture.”

Both worried parents proceeded to carry their injured son up the stairs and out of sight, as Twilight Sparkle looked on with great concern.

“Twilight… Twilight…”

<>

“TWILIGHT!!!”

Twilight’s eyes instantly snapped open when she found herself shaken awake and her name called out loudly. When she awoke, she looked up toward all her friends, all of whom looking down at her with worry in their eyes.

“Y’all alright there Twi?” Applejack asked.

“Uh—yeah, I’m good,” Twilight nodded.

“Are you certain darling?” Rarity asked. “You were just shaking uncontrollably when we woke up.”

“I was?” Twilight asked confused.

“You sure were,” Spike nodded. “It was like you were having a seizure or something. What happened?”

Twilight shook her head in confusion as she sat up in bed. If what they said was true, that meant something was happening to her that wasn’t good at all. The problem was that she had no idea as to what it was or even how it was happening. All she knew was that she was having visions of Bruce’s past. Apparently, something was happening to her while these visions were happening.

“I don’t know what happened,” Twilight said uncertain.

“Well, whatever it is, we need to figure it out and soon before it does something worse to you,” Fluttershy said worriedly.

Suddenly, the doors to their chambers burst open causing every pony to quickly turn. Two assassins entered the room, following closely behind was Duscan Al Ghul, all dressed in his ceremonial armor.

“Ready to begin?” He asked them all.

“Huh… and here I was thinking he was the strong silent type,” Pinkie observed.

Twilight quickly got out of bed and stood alongside her friends as they all looked toward the heir to the League of Shadows.

“We’re ready, Mr. Duscan,” Twilight nodded.

“Follow me,” Duscan instructed.

Duscan turned heel and made his way out of the chamber with the two assassins following closely behind. The Mane Six and Spike looked amongst each other nervously for a moment before slowly following behind. None of them knew what awaited them, but they knew for certain that it wasn’t going to be easy for them.

<>

Few weeks later…

Bruce’s broken arm was fully healed following his fall down the well. Bruce woke from a nightmare, breathing heavily when his father entered his son’s bedroom.

“The bats again?” Thomas asked gently.

Bruce nodded as Thomas walked toward the bed and sat beside his son.

“You know why they attacked you?” He asked, to which Bruce shook his head. “They were afraid of you.”

“Afraid of me?” Bruce asked surprised.

“You’re a lot bigger than a bat, aren’t you?” Thomas smiled. “All creatures feel fear.”

“Even the scary ones?” Bruce smiled.

“Especially the scary ones,” Thomas agreed. “Here, let me show you something – but you can’t tell anyone, right?”

Bruce nodded eagerly and Thomas pulled a black box out of his pocket. He opened the case and revealed a beautiful pearl necklace, which was very old yet very well cared for all the same.

“For your mother,” Thomas smiled toward Bruce. “Do you think she’ll like them?”

“Yeah,” Bruce nodded.

Both father and son sat there laughing for what felt like the longest time, just enjoying being together.

<>

Twilight’s eyes slowly opened once again, as she felt pain radiating through her back from the impact she took along the stone ground. All day so far, Princess Twilight and the remainder of the Mane Six trained alongside Duscan and the league. Thus far, it had been anything but smooth sailing.

“Again!” Duscan ordered.

Twilight slowly got back to her feet and picked up the practice stick she’d been using in this fight training. She readied her stance, preparing for another onslaught of assault. The assassins she was training with instantly went on another flurry of stricks with their own sticks. Twilight was able to dodge a few but was struck much more. Eventually, the assassins swept her legs from under her, and she landed on the ground again.

“Another!” Duscan demanded.

Twilight groaned as she got back to her feet. Only this time, she didn’t pick up the stick.

“What’s the point of all this?” She asked weakly.

“To master the ways of the League of Shadows, you must hone the ability to handle a weapon as though it is part of your body,” Duscan explained.

“Yes, you said that when we started today,” Twilight groaned. “Yet all that’s happened is that I’ve been thrown down and probably have bruises all over my entire body. Why can’t you just tell me what to do? I’ll do it if you just—”

“I’m teaching you as my father taught me,” Duscan responded. “You must learn to master this yourself. It’s the only way you’ll ever learn to fend for yourself in times of dire need.”

“This is a waste of time!” Twilight groaned, shaking her head.

“Just what I expect from Celestia’s failure,” Duscan grinned.

This caused every pony in the room to freeze in place, their eyes slowly facing Twilight. Twilight, in turn, slowly turned back toward Duscan, this time with fire in her eyes.

“What did you just say?” She asked angrily.

“You, Princess Twilight Sparkle, are nothing but a fraud,” Duscan mocked. “Failure as a student, a mockery of all things magical. When things get tough, you just quit. You don’t even believe in yourself, let alone your destiny. Why Celestia ever wasted her time with a waste of power like yourself is beyond me.”

From the sidelines, the remainder of the Mane Six (Along with Spike) could already see what was coming. The very sight of which actually scared them.

“Girls… this is not going to end well,” Spike gulped nervously.

“Couldn’t agree more, little dude,” Rainbow agreed.

“Them’s fightin’ words alright,” Applejack said.

Twilight scowled as she raced over and picked up the stick in her mad dash toward Duscan. The Heir of the Demon quickly grabbed himself a stick and the two engaged in fierce battle. Twilight sent a flurry of attacks, which Duscan expertly dodged.

“You hold back your fighting, and that makes you weak,” Duscan mocked.

The heir soon began his own attacks. Twilight dodged as best she could, but quickly found herself losing momentum.

“You refuse to do whatever it takes to defeat your enemies and save your citizens,” Duscan continued. “That’s why you always fail.”

Reaching deep within herself, Twilight reached up and raked Duscan in the eyes, causing him to lose his momentum and fall back. Twilight resumed her flurry of attacks with her stick. She eventually knocked the stick out of Duscan’s hands and pinned him against the wall. When this happened, she eventually regained her composure and calmed down. As she backed away, a smile actually made its way along Duscan’s face.

“Well done,” He congratulated. “You are finally learning to tape into your emotions and do whatever it takes to succeed. But there’s still much work to do before you are ready. Again.”

Duscan reached down, grabbed his stick, and began to take over the training himself. He and Twilight assumed their fighting stance, and soon everything began all over again.

<>

The Wayne’s rode a brand-new monorail through the shiny buildings of Gotham. Bruce watched through a window, wearing a tux; his parents sat across from him, also dressed up. Martha wore the pearls around her neck, which she stroked with a smile.

“Did you build this train, Dad?” Bruce asked eagerly.

Thomas chuckled over his son’s interest in the family business.

“Your great-grandfather built the first trains in Gotham,” He explained. “The city’s been good to our family – but now the city’s suffering. People less fortunate than us are enduring very hard times. So we built a new public transportation system for the whole city. And at the center… Wayne Tower.”

Thomas pointed out the window of the train and Bruce looked toward a giant skyscraper Thomas was pointing to. Wayne Tower, the center of Gotham, built in 1888 by the Wayne family when they founded Gotham City. Bruce watched as the train turned a corner and headed for the central station located at the base of the tower.

“Is that where you work?” He asked, as the building grew nearer.

“No, I work at the hospital,” Thomas answered. “I leave the running of the business to much better men.”

“Better?” Bruce repeated confused.

“Well, more interested men,” Thomas amended, as they arrived at the station.

“Is it true what they say?” Bruce asked again.

“Is what true?” Thomas asked interested.

“No one talks about them, not a whisper word is said,” Bruce said. “For if you try to crush them, then they send the Talon for your head?”

This caused both Martha and Thomas to chuckle.

“The Court of Owls?” Thomas laughed. “I remember your mother and I telling you that nursery rhyme when you were little. Mostly to make sure you were a good boy.”

“So… it isn’t true?” Bruce asked.

“Of a secret society of Gotham’s wealthiest secretly controlling the city from the shadows?” Thomas smirked. “Highly doubtful. After all, what could Gotham really offer them right now?”

<>

Later that night, at the Gotham Opera house, the Wayne’s sat on one of the balconies so they could have a good view of the stage. Bruce sat between his parents, feeling nervous being the only kid there. Onstage, the performers wore dark costumes, sung in Italian, danced across the stage, and ten others climbed ropes, swung, spun, and rolled about in their black bat/bird costumes.

Bruce shivered at the sight of the outfits, uneasy by their violent movements, and the memory of the bats in the well slowly rose up. Even though he tried pushing it down and burying it, he started to panic and look around. But they are in the middle of the row. Still, he turned to his father for help.

“Can we go?” He whispered to his father. “Please?”

Though he gave a curious look, Thomas realized how scared his son was. He instantly recognized the signs of an impending panic attack and nodded. He glanced toward Martha, who looked worriedly toward Bruce and nodded. She understood and they quietly left, excusing themselves to the other people in the row, who allowed them to pass. No one took notice of an individual in the shadows that followed behind the Wayne’s as they exited the theatre.

The Waynes departed through the side door and into a side alley, one that was dark, dirty, and filled with trash. Martha adjusted her coat and looked toward Bruce, who looked ashamed for ruining their evening.

“Bruce, what’s wrong?” She asked kindly.

“He’s fine,” Thomas assured, winking at their son. “I just needed a bit of air. Bit of opera goes a long way, right, Bruce?”

With his coat over his arm, Thomas guided them toward the front of the alley where the lights of the city could be seen. Suddenly, a man with a gun emerged from the shadows blocking their way. He was run-down, with desperate-matted hair, and clearly a druggie from the way he shook. Not from the cold, but from the need of another fix.

“Wallet, jewelry! Fast!” He ordered, waving the gun.

“That’s fine,” Thomas spoke calmly.

He handed his coat to his son, and slowly reached for his wallet while the man moved the gun between him and Martha.

“Just take it easy,” Thomas spoke calmly. “Here you go.”

He handed his wallet to the man, who fumbled for it, and the wallet landed on the damp ground. This made both Bruce and Martha cringe a tad, as the man crouched to collect the wallet.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Mr. Wayne repeated. “Just take it and go.”

Eventually, the man grabbed the wallet and straightened up. But his eyes were fixed upon the pearls around Martha’s neck.

“I said jewelry!” He snapped.

The man reached for the necklace. Thomas quickly moved between the man and his wife, not wanting to lose the pearls since they are a family heirloom. *BAM!* The gun went off, making everyone jump. To Bruce’s horror, Thomas crumbled to the ground, blood oozing from the hole in his chest. Martha screamed and knelt beside her dying husband.

The man panicked, reached for the pearls… *BAM!* The gun went off again, cutting off her screams. Martha slumped to the ground, the necklace broke, and the pearls scattered across the ground. The man stared in shock over what he done, as his eyes locked with Bruce, who stared back with shock. Without another word, the man made a run for it as the boy looked on.

Bruce dropped to his knees, grasping his father’s hand with his own, and started to shiver. The boy looked toward his father, as they squeezed their hands for one last time.

“Bruce, Bruce,” Thomas whispered. “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid.

And then… his eyes slid shut and he stopped breathing. Bruce clung to his father’s hand, crying as he sat all alone in the alleyway, alongside the remains of his now dead parents. He was so distraught that he never even noticed a figure in a mask watching from behind a corner as an owl flew overhead.

<>

The Mane Six and Spike continued training with Duscan and the League of Assassins over a period of a few weeks. They trained in combat, endurance, resilience, and just about everything else in between. The next form of training they were about to take part in had the most dangerous and terrifying thing they probably ever done.

Currently, Duscan and a group of assassins accompanied the Equestrian heroes through the mountain until they stood upon a gorge on the other side of the mountain that faced the house. Looking down, it was a terrifying drop from where they stood and the bottom of the valley. The only thing separating them and falling to the ground below was a rope stretched from the platform they stood upon to the house.

“In order to master fear, you must show that you are able to become one with fear,” Duscan explained. “Your trial today is to cross this valley on this rope. No amount of magic can save you.”

“Are you insane?!” Rarity exclaimed loudly. “We could all die doing this!”

“If you wish to learn the ways of the League of Assassins, you must first accomplish every task the League must go through,” Duscan responded.

“You’re saying every new member of this League has done this?” Rainbow asked.

Duscan merely nodded and stood back to observe their progress. The Mane Six and Spike turned back to look down toward the mountain valley below.

“So… who’s first?” Spike asked timidly.

<>

Bruce was uncertain how much time had passed. All he knew was that he sat alone in an office of the police station, clutching his father’s coat while the cops, led by Police Captain Loeb, were out in the hallway with the reporters, who wanted a piece of what they call the ‘crime of the decade’.. With absolutely no consideration for the boy’s privacy, men armed with cameras tried taking a picture of Bruce through the glass.

He looked up toward a young cop, Jim Gordon, who approached him and knelt in front of him.

“Is that your father’s?” Gordon asked.

He reached for the coat and paused when the boy cringed away.

“It’s okay,” Bruce spoke reassuringly.

The smile from the young cop made Bruce relax, in addition to the familiar and comforting words. He took the coat, draped it around the boy’s shoulders, and gently stroked his tear-stained face. Just then, a balding African American man, Gillian B. Loeb, entered the room and scowled when he saw Gordon.

“Gordon!” He snapped, scaring Bruce. “You gotta stick your nose into everything!”

He frowned when Gordon shot him a look and nodded to the door.

“Out of my sight.”

Reluctantly, Gordon stood and left the room, despite Bruce’s pleading expression for him to stay. Once the young cop left, Loeb smiled toward the young boy.

“Good news,” He informed the boy. “We got him, son.”

Bruce looked toward the man in a dazed state of mind. So much had happened to him in such a short amount of time, he didn’t know exactly how to feel right now. Sad, angry, depressed… all these emotions were going through his head. However, one word was the perfect way to describe the state of young Bruce Wayne right now.

Broken…

<>

One week later…

Thomas and Martha Wayne were buried in the family plot at Wayne manor. Following the funeral services, the mourners were led back to the mansion. Alfred and Bruce stood in front of the manor. The old butler held the umbrella over the boy’s head as the mourners entered the various black cars and limos.

William Earle, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, approached the duo and lowered his own umbrella as he spoke to Bruce and nodded to Alfred.

“You’re in excellent hands, Bruce,” Earle told him. “And we’re minding the empire. When you’re all grown up, it’ll be waitin’.”

He shook the boy’s hand and walked away. Then a man, with silvering black hair and green eyes, knelt down and placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce recognized the man as Jonathan Wycliffe, one of his parents’ closest friends.

“Bruce, I want you to know that if you and Alfred ever need anything, let me know and I will help,” He smiled gently.

Bruce smiled weakly in response while Alfred nodded.

“Thank you, sir.”

Bruce went inside the mansion and watched the last of the mourners driving away through the front gates. He saw Rachel and her mom approach one of the remaining black cars. She looked up in time to see him watched and waved to him. Bruce waved back and watched as they drove away, with the gates closing behind them.

Alfred entered the bedroom and looked toward the boy, who still stared out the window.

“I thought I’d prepare a little supper,” He offered.

The butler waited a moment before he turned to leave when he didn’t receive an answer.

“Very well…”

“Alfred,” Bruce spoke.

The boy turned from the window with tears running down his cheeks, as the butler faced him.

“Yes, Master Bruce?”

“It was my fault, Alfred,” Bruce cried. “I made them leave the theater.”

“Oh, no, no, no…” Alfred protested.

He walked forward and took the boy into his arms as he continued to blame himself.

“If I hadn’t got scared—”

“No, no, Master Bruce,” Alfred interrupted. “It was nothing you did. It was him, and him alone. Do you understand?”

Bruce nodded and buried his face into the old man’s shoulder, continuing to cry.

“I miss them, Alfred,” He wept. “I miss them so much.”

“So do I, Master Bruce,” Alfred whispered, hugging him close. “So do I.”

<>

“And do you still feel responsible?”

Henri Ducard, now wearing a black snow coat over black clothes, asked that very question toward Bruce. The latter was now clean-shaven with his hair cut to a manageable length, his hands and feet bandaged after being treated with medication to counteract the frostbite, and was wrapped up in a blanket, as he led him through the exterior halls of the monastery. Bruce’s eyes glanced at the view of the impressive snow-covered mountains, as the Equestrians stood beside the man watching him with concern.

“My anger outweighs my guilt,” Bruce responded.

Henri raised his eyebrows over this, as he led the younger man into the main chamber, where the league sparred in various groupings around the different levels, and some ninjas hung upside down on some pillars. The older man went to one of the ninjas, took the gloved hand and showed Bruce that there were spikes built into the glove.

“The Ninja is thought invisible,” He explained. “But invisibility is largely a matter of patience.”

Ducard lead Bruce and the Equestrians onto a mezzanine level, which was stacked with boxes, bags, and bottles. Several ninjas were busily pouring various powders into packets and mixing up compounds. Bruce was certain he could smell gunpowder, a smell that had haunted his nightmares for years.

“What is that putrid smell?” Rarity cringed, plugging her nose.

Ducard carefully scooped some dark powder from an open bag in one scoop, took a pinch and threw it at Bruce’s feet, making him jump when it exploded with a *BANG!* and smiled.

“Advanced techniques of Ninjitsu employ explosive powders,” He explained.

“As weapons?” Bruce asked.

“Or distractions,” Ducard said. “Theatricality and deception are powerful agents.”

“Reminds me of a certain show-pony back home,” Spike remarked.

Ducard then offered the scoop to Bruce, who carefully took a pinch of the dark powder.

“To be a great warrior is not enough,” He added. “Flesh and blood, however skilled, can be destroyed… you must be more than just a man in the minds of your opponents.”

Bruce considered all this as he threw the powder onto the floor with another *BANG!*.

<>

For a whole year, while the Equestrians resumed their own training, Henri Ducard personally trained Bruce and taught him many things. One day, the older man led him onto the surface of a frozen lake. There they practiced sword fighting, using black gauntlets that had three hook-like blades called scallops to block the blades. The surface groaned and creaked beneath their feet, forcing them to mind their footing at the same time.

“Mind your surroundings,” Henri advised, as the younger man skid across the ice. “Always.”

They resumed fighting for several minutes before breaking apart, and he walked away leaving Bruce confused.

“Your parents’ death was not your fault,” He said.

The mentor spun back around and launched an attack the young man barely deflected with his gauntlets. Henri caught the blade of Bruce’s sword with his own gauntlet and pinned it.

“It was your father’s,” He hissed.

He twisted his arm so the sword went flying across the ice; Bruce yelled angrily and launched himself toward the older man. He punched, kicked, and slashed the freezing air with his gauntlets, yet Henri avoided them all, knocking him down again. He pinned Bruce against the ice, twisting his arm behind his back.

“Anger does not change the fact that your father failed to act,” He added.

“The man had a gun!” Bruce grunted.

The young man tried freeing himself from Henri’s grip on his arm, which started to throb. Henri scoffed, released his grip, and turned away.

“Would that stop you?”

“I’ve had training,” Bruce pointed out.

He returned to his feet again, struggling with his anger over what was said about his father. In his own mind, his father was still a hero.

“The training is nothing!” Henri shouted, attacking Bruce with his sword. “The will is everything. Your father trusted his city, its logic… he thought he understood the attack and couple simply give him what he wanted.”

He knocked the younger man down the ice once again, and his tone became gentle as Bruce struggled to his feet once again.

“Your father did not understand the forces of decay,” He explained. “Cities like Gotham are in their death throws – chaotic, grotesque. Beyond saving.”

“Beyond saving?” He repeated, shocked. “You believe that?”

Henri didn’t answer right away; instead, he gestured to the harshly beautiful landscape currently surrounding them.

“It is not right that one must come so far, to see the world as it is meant to be,” He explained. “Purity. Serenity… solitude. These are the qualities we hold dear. But the important thing is whether you believe it.

“Can Gotham be saved, or is she an ailing ancestor whose time has run?”

Before Bruce could answer, Henri swung his sword at the younger man once again. This time, however, he blocked the strike with his forearms crossed, and then slid between the older man’s legs, across the ice and toward his sword. Grasping his sword, he spun, and swept Henri’s legs from underneath him, causing him to all onto the ice. Bruce jumped up, thrust his sword at Henri’s throat and stopped, merely inches away, and grinned.

“Yield.”

Henri heard the ice starting to crack and shook his head, smiling at his student’s mistake.

“You haven’t beaten me,” He countered. “You’ve sacrificed sure footing for a killing stroke.”

He tapped the ice with his blade – the ice shattered, and Bruce plunged into the icy cold water below with an expression of alarm on his face.

<>

It was evening by the time Henri pulled Bruce from the water and onto the shore, where the young man was now bundled up in a blanket. He shivered violently against the developing hypothermia while rubbing his arms; Henri sat across from him, feeding sticks into a small fire.

“Don’t rub your arms, rub your chest,” He advised. “Your arms will take care of themselves.”

He watched as Bruce followed his instructions while still feeding the fire.

“You’re stronger than your father.”

“You didn’t know my father,” Bruce snorted, still upset with the jabs.

“But I know the rage that drives you… that impossible anger strangling the grief until your loved one’s memory is just poison in your veins,” Henri countered, his expression distant. “And one day you catch yourself wishing the person you loved had never existed, so you’d be spared your pain…”

He then became aware that Bruce was looking at him with surprise on his young face.

“I wasn’t always here in the mountains,” He explained witfully. “Once I had a wife. My great love. She was taken from me. Like you, I was forced to learn that there are those without decency. Who must be fought without hesitation or pity.

“Your anger gives you great power,” He explained to the young man. “But if you let it, it will destroy. As it almost did me.”

Bruce nodded, knowing the feeling very well.

“What stopped it?” He asked.

“Vengeance.”

“That’s no help to me,” Bruce sighed.

“Why, Wayne?” Henri asked quietly. “Why could you not avenge your parents?”

Bruce turned away, unbidden as the memories surfaced. Memories of the day he made a choice that changed his life in a completely different way.