Something for Talia: Al Gun Damien had a wet nurse or wet mother, and Talia has a passion and appreciation for her.
I really hope you like this and I'm so sorry it took me so long bestie! This is not proof read also :/
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The League of Assassins was built upon discipline. Every movement had purpose. Every title carried responsibility. Every life belonged to something greater than itself. So when the heir to Ra's al Ghul was born, no detail of his upbringing was left to chance. The finest physicians were summoned before Damian ever took his first breath. Scholars prepared lessons years in advance. Master swordsmen argued over which style the young heir should learn first. And among them all, Talia made one decision that surprised no one who truly knew her.
She refused to entrust her son's earliest care to just anyone. The woman she chose would need more than experience. She would need patience. Compassion. Steady hands. A calm heart. Someone who would nurture Damian not because he was the heir to an empire, but because he was a baby. That someone had been you.
The first time Talia placed Damian in your arms, he had been only a few days old. His tiny face was scrunched in displeasure, his cries echoing softly through the quiet chambers. You adjusted your hold carefully, speaking in little more than a whisper. "Hello there." His cries didn't stop immediately. You weren't expecting them to. Instead, you gently rocked him against your chest, humming a tune your own mother had once sung to you. Gradually...The crying softened. Then stopped altogether. Damian's little fingers curled around yours with surprising strength, as though he had decided you were acceptable.
Behind you, Talia watched in silence. Most people mistook her silence for coldness. You had learned it meant she was observing. Thinking. Measuring. Finally, she stepped closer. "He approves."
You looked up with a small smile. "I think we're simply getting acquainted."
Her eyes never left Damian. "He does not trust easily."
"He gets that from you?" The question slipped out before you could stop it. For a brief, terrifying second, you wondered if you had overstepped.
Then...The faintest smile appeared on Talia's lips. "So I've been told." It was so subtle that anyone else might have missed it. You smiled back. From then on, caring for Damian became part of your daily life. You fed him when he woke hungry in the middle of the night. You carried him through the gardens when he refused to settle indoors. You soothed him after frightening thunderstorms, humming until his tiny fists unclenched and his breathing evened out. Whenever Talia returned from League business, she always came to see him first. No matter how exhausted she looked. No matter how late the hour. She would quietly step into the nursery, remove her gloves, and stand beside his cradle. Sometimes Damian was asleep. Sometimes he reached for her the moment he saw her. Sometimes he remained tucked against your shoulder, already dreaming. Never once did Talia ask you to hand him over immediately. Instead, she would simply stand beside you. Watching. Listening to the soft rhythm of his breathing.
One evening, after a particularly long absence, Talia found you sitting beside the nursery window with Damian asleep against your chest. The moonlight spilled across the room, bathing everything in silver. You hadn't noticed she'd entered until she spoke. "He slept?"
You smiled down at the little boy. "He insisted on staying awake."
"I can't imagine where he inherited that."
Another nearly imperceptible smile. "You seem fond of teasing me."
She stepped closer, brushing one finger gently across Damian's dark hair. He didn't stir. "He is comfortable."
"He always sleeps best after being held." For several quiet moments, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't awkward. It rarely was. At last, Talia broke it. "You love him."
You blinked, surprised by the directness of the statement. "I do."
"As though he were your own."
You looked down at the sleeping child nestled against you. "I know he isn't."
"I know." There was no jealousy in Talia's voice. No possessiveness. Only quiet certainty. "You have never tried to replace me."
You shook your head. "He already has a mother."
Talia met your eyes. "And yet... every child deserves someone whose only concern is whether they've eaten enough, slept enough, or smiled today." Her gaze drifted back to Damian. "I can teach him how to survive." Her voice softened, just enough to notice. "You teach him how to simply be a child."
The words settled over the room like a blessing. You felt your throat tighten. "Talia..."
She interrupted with a gentle shake of her head. "When League business calls me away, I do not worry." Her emerald eyes met yours with unwavering sincerity. "Because I know my son is loved." For the daughter of Ra's al Ghul, a woman who trusted almost no one, that was perhaps the greatest gift she could ever give.
The years passed quietly. Not because the League was ever peaceful. But because children had a remarkable way of making even the harshest places feel softer. Damian grew quickly. One month he was taking his first unsteady steps through the palace corridors, stubbornly refusing to let anyone catch him when he stumbled. The next, he was running through the gardens with a wooden practice sword nearly as tall as he was.
You had learned there was little point in telling him no. Redirecting him, however... That usually worked. "Where are you going?" you asked one morning as Damian marched determinedly through the hall, his little boots tapping loudly against the stone.
"Training." He couldn't have been more than four.
"And have you eaten breakfast?"
"Then where are you going first?"
He frowned as though the answer offended him. "Breakfast."
He sighed dramatically. "You sound like Mother."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
You laughed, earning an unimpressed look from the little boy before he climbed into his chair at the breakfast table with as much dignity as a child his age could muster. Not even a minute later, he was swinging his feet beneath the chair. Patiently waiting. You placed a bowl in front of him. His favorite. He looked at it. Then at you. "I did not request this."
"...Thank you." The words were so quiet they almost disappeared beneath the clink of silverware.
You smiled as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "You're welcome."
Across the room, Talia had been reviewing reports brought by League scouts. Without looking up from the parchment in her hands, she spoke. "You thanked her."
Damian stiffened immediately. "I am capable of showing gratitude."
His cheeks colored ever so slightly. He muttered something under his breath before focusing all of his attention on breakfast. You caught Talia's eye. For just a moment, the two of you shared an amused smile.
That afternoon, Damian returned from training covered in dirt. His hair was windswept, one sleeve was torn, and there was a scrape across one knee. He looked entirely unbothered by any of it. "I won."
"I'm sure you did," you said, kneeling in front of him. "Come here."
You held out your hand anyway. "There is."
He hesitated. Then, with the reluctance of someone making an enormous sacrifice, he stepped closer. You gently cleaned the scrape while he sat perfectly still, refusing to flinch. "It stings," you observed.
You dabbed the last bit of salve over the scrape before smoothing the fabric of his trousers back into place. "There."
"I care." Before he could hop down from the bench, you reached up and brushed a streak of dirt from his cheek with your thumb. He froze. "You had something on your face."
"I am. I think it suits the moment." He huffed, trying very hard to look annoyed. Then he quietly leaned into your hand for the briefest second. So brief that anyone else might have missed it. But Talia, standing unnoticed in the doorway, saw it. She saw the instinctive way Damian sought comfort before remembering himself. She saw the trust in his posture. The ease with which he let you care for him. Most of all, she saw that her son had never needed to question whether he was loved. Talia turned to leave before either of you noticed her.
A young League member waiting in the corridor fell into step beside her. "The Young Master seems very attached to her."
"Does that not trouble you?"
Talia's answer came without hesitation. "No." The assassin looked surprised. Talia continued walking, her expression calm. "When Damian is older, the world will demand strength from him every day." Her voice was quiet but resolute. "If there remains one place where he may simply be cared for..." A small, genuine smile crossed her face. "...then I have succeeded as his mother."
The older Damian grew, the less he welcomed affection. Not because he disliked it. Because he believed he had outgrown it. He no longer reached for your hand in the corridors. He insisted on carrying his own books. He poured his own tea. Prepared his own training gear. If you reminded him to wear a cloak before winter patrols, he would sigh dramatically and insist he'd already thought of it. More often than not... He hadn't. "You'll catch cold."
"I was conducting an experiment."
"To determine whether I required one."
Damian looked toward the snow falling outside the palace windows. "...The experiment was inconclusive."
You smiled. "It seems we'll have to repeat it tomorrow."
"...Perhaps." He accepted the cloak from your hands with only the faintest hint of embarrassment.
Talia found the two of you in the library later that evening. Books covered nearly every surface. Damian sat at one end of a long table, brow furrowed as he copied Arabic calligraphy onto fresh parchment. You sat opposite him with a book in your lap. Neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the scratching of ink across paper and the crackling fireplace. It was... peaceful. A rare thing within League walls. Without looking up, Damian spoke. "My stroke is uneven."
You glanced at the page. "It is."
"You've improved since yesterday."
"I require evidence." You slid your own notebook across the table. Inside was one of Damian's practice sheets from nearly six months earlier. The difference was unmistakable. His characters had become steadier. More elegant. More deliberate. He stared at the pages longer than you expected. "...I had forgotten."
"That's why I kept them."
"So I could prove you've always been improving." A small silence followed. "...Thank you." His voice was quiet. Almost shy. Talia lingered unnoticed in the doorway. It struck her then that you had never praised Damian simply because he was exceptional. You praised him because he had worked. You celebrated effort. Not perfection. It was a lesson neither she nor her father had ever been taught. Perhaps... One Damian needed more than another lesson in swordsmanship.
The following morning, Damian returned from sparring with a split lip. "It is nothing," he announced before either of you could ask.
"It certainly looks like something."
"It bled for only a minute."
"It has stopped." You retrieved a clean cloth and motioned him closer. "I can manage."
He crossed his arms. "I have treated worse injuries."
"I am perfectly capable."
"...Then why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because you're still standing over there."
A long pause. Then Damian sighed the dramatic sigh of someone enduring great injustice. "...Very well." He walked over and sat beside you. You dabbed away the dried blood with practiced hands. He didn't complain. Didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. Instead, he quietly rested his elbows on his knees and let you work. "You worry too much."
You smiled softly. "Because caring about someone isn't something you stop doing just because they get older."
Damian didn't answer. He simply looked down at the floor. "...Mother says something similar."
"She says..." He hesitated, as though repeating the words felt strangely vulnerable. "'Love changes shape. It does not diminish.'"
You smiled. "She sounds very wise."
"...She usually is." Before either of you realized she had been standing just outside the room, Talia quietly continued down the corridor. She had no intention of interrupting. Instead, she carried with her the image of her son, older now, sharper around the edges, already becoming the formidable heir the League expected. Yet still willing, in moments no one else was meant to witness, to sit patiently while the woman who had first held him as an infant cleaned a split lip with the same gentle hands. For all the power Damian would one day possess, Talia hoped he would never mistake gentleness for weakness. If anything, she thought, it was one of the greatest strengths a person could carry.
By fifteen, Damian had become nearly impossible to read. His expression rarely betrayed his thoughts. His posture was immaculate. His words were measured, concise, and often intimidating enough to send League members scrambling to correct even the smallest mistake. To those who didn't know him, he seemed every bit the grandson of Ra's al Ghul. You knew better. "...You've skipped lunch."
Damian didn't look up from the reports spread across his desk. "I ate."
"No." You placed a covered plate beside the stack of papers.
He glanced at it. Then at you. "I am busy."
"You said that yesterday."
"...Possibly." You folded your arms. He mirrored the gesture. Neither of you spoke. Several long moments passed before Damian finally sighed. "...You intend to remain here."
"You are remarkably stubborn."
"Mostly by you." A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before disappearing almost immediately. Without another word, he picked up his fork. "There." You smiled. He took another bite. "You've won."
"I wasn't aware we were competing."
"I don't think that's true."
You laughed quietly. "You still sound like the little boy who argued that vegetables were a tactical disadvantage."
"They were poorly prepared."
Later that evening, Talia found Damian training alone. The rhythmic sound of steel striking steel echoed through the courtyard. He moved with precision. Every strike was deliberate. Every step perfectly placed. When he finished, he exhaled slowly before lowering his sword. "You've improved."
She approached, accepting the practice blade as he offered it. "You've trained for nearly five hours."
"I imagine someone else did." Damian's eyes drifted toward the palace. "...Perhaps."
Talia's lips curved ever so slightly. "You still listen."
Damian looked almost offended. "I choose to."
"It is not because she insists."
He looked away. "...Someone should reassure her."
Talia was quiet for a moment. Then she rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. "When you were born," she said softly, "I worried that duty would demand so much of you that there would be little room left for tenderness." Damian listened without interrupting. "I was wrong."
He frowned. "I don't understand."
"You have become strong." She met his eyes. "And because someone loved you without asking anything in return..." A rare, unmistakably warm smile crossed her face. "...you learned that strength and kindness were never opposites."
For perhaps the first time that day, Damian didn't have a clever response. He simply stood beside his mother in the quiet courtyard, considering her words. After a long silence, he asked, "...Do you think she knows?"
Talia already knew who he meant. "I believe she does."
Damian looked toward the palace windows, where a warm light still burned in the kitchen. "...Good." He said nothing more. He didn't need to. Talia smiled to herself. Some bonds were forged through blood. Others... Through years of scraped knees, forgotten meals, bedtime stories, and quiet acts of love that asked for nothing in return. And in her eyes, both were equally sacred.
Years later, the League looked at Damian and saw its future. A warrior. A commander. The heir to Ra's al Ghul. Very few remembered the little boy who once insisted carrots were a tactical disadvantage. Fewer still remembered the woman who had carried him through sleepless nights before he was ever capable of holding a sword. You never forgot. To you... He was simply Damian.
It was late when you heard the knock against your chamber door. Three measured taps. You smiled before opening it. "I wondered how long it would take."
Damian stood in the doorway, now nearly as tall as his father. "You were expecting someone else?"
"Then how did you know it was me?"
"You've knocked exactly like that since you were seven."
His brows knit together. "I have not."
"You have. I would remember." You stepped aside, allowing him inside. "What brings you here?"
"I wished to speak with you." His tone was as composed as ever, yet there was something unusually hesitant beneath it. You waited. He looked around your room instead of meeting your eyes. Nothing had changed much over the years. The same bookshelf. The same embroidered cushions. The same blanket folded neatly over the chair where he'd once fallen asleep countless times as a child. "You've kept everything."
"Because it feels like home."
His gaze lingered on the old rocking chair near the fireplace. "...I remember that chair."
"You used to refuse naps unless I sat there."
"...There may have been some screaming."
You laughed. "So there was."
For the first time that evening, a small smile escaped him. It disappeared almost as quickly as it came. "I found something today." From inside his coat, Damian withdrew a tiny wooden carving. Its edges were rough. Uneven. Clearly made by the hands of a child. You stared at it before softly taking it from him. "...The little bird. You kept it."
"Of course I did. When you made it, you believed it resembled a falcon."
"It resembles a potato with wings." He sounded almost offended by his younger self.
"I told you it was beautiful."
"I encouraged. There is a distinction." You turned the little carving over in your hands. The wood had worn smooth after years of being carefully preserved. "I remember helping you carve this."
"You mostly prevented me from removing my own thumb."
"I considered that a worthwhile goal."
"So did I." Silence settled comfortably between you. Not empty. Never empty. Damian watched as your thumb brushed across the tiny bird's wing. "I used to think..." He stopped himself.
"You used to think what?"
"...That I would eventually stop needing you." Your heart ached. Instead of speaking, you simply listened. "Mother always said that dependence was temporary." He folded his hands behind his back. "I assumed affection was as well." His voice was quiet. "So I spent years trying to prove I no longer required your guidance."
"I noticed. You insisted on sewing your own clothes."
"Barely." Another reluctant smile. "I also attempted cooking."
"You nearly set the kitchens on fire."
"...Twice." You both laughed. It faded into another peaceful silence. Then Damian looked at you fully. "I understand now."
You tilted your head. "Understand what?"
"That you never cared for me because I was incapable." His voice was steady, though softer than usual. "You cared for me because you loved me." He swallowed almost imperceptibly. "And... those are not the same thing."
The room became very still. You stepped closer until only a small space remained between you. Without thinking, you reached up and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder. The same absentminded gesture you'd made since he was small. Damian didn't pull away. He simply let you. "I'll let you in on a secret," you said.
"You never stopped needing me." His eyes widened just slightly. "Not because you couldn't survive without me." You smiled gently. "But because every person deserves someone who loves them without expecting anything in return."
For a long moment, Damian said nothing. Then, in a movement that was almost shy, he leaned forward just enough for his forehead to rest briefly against yours. It lasted only a heartbeat. A gesture no one else would ever see. "Thank you," he whispered. Not for tonight. Not for the bird. Not for the countless meals or stitched uniforms. For everything.
When he stepped away, there was no embarrassment on his face. Only quiet certainty. Outside the partially open door, Talia stood in the corridor. She hadn't intended to overhear them. She had come only to tell Damian that supper was ready. Instead, she found herself smiling. She slipped away before either of them noticed. There was no place for her in that moment. Nor did there need to be. Some conversations belonged only to a mother... And to the woman who had helped raise her son.
The League had changed. Not all at once. Not enough that anyone outside its walls would notice. But the sharpest edges had softened. Its halls no longer echoed only with the sounds of steel meeting steel. Sometimes... They echoed with laughter. Damian liked to think he had nothing to do with that. He was wrong.
The evening air was cool as he crossed the palace gardens, reports tucked beneath one arm. He slowed as familiar voices drifted through the jasmine bushes. "...You're avoiding the question."
"You've been considering it for ten minutes."
"I prefer thoroughness." Damian smiled despite himself. Some conversations never changed. He rounded the corner just enough to see the two women seated beneath the old cedar tree. Talia sat with perfect posture, a porcelain teacup balanced effortlessly in one hand. You sat beside her, one knee drawn up, looking entirely at home. Neither of you had noticed him. "You know," you said, "for someone feared across continents, you're remarkably stubborn."
Talia lifted an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that was one of my better qualities."
"Whether I'm trying to convince you to rest."
"You worked until midnight yesterday."
"You fell asleep over paperwork."
“Talia, you were snoring.”
“I do not snore.” Talia looked positively scandalized. Damian quietly stepped behind a nearby column. He had no intention of interrupting. Besides... This was entertaining. You laughed, the sound carrying through the garden. "I've heard it."
"I absolutely would." For perhaps the first time in years, Damian watched his mother laugh without restraint. Not a polite smile. Not the small curve of her lips reserved for private moments. A genuine laugh. Warm. Unburdened. It suited her. More than he realized. The laughter slowly faded into a comfortable silence. Talia looked toward the koi pond. "I owe you an apology."
"For many years..." She turned to face you. "I thanked you for loving my son."
"I did." Her voice remained steady. "I thanked you for every scraped knee you bandaged. Every nightmare you soothed. Every meal you insisted he finish." A faint breeze stirred the branches overhead. "But I never thanked you..." She hesitated. "...for staying."
You blinked. "I never wanted to leave."
Talia's expression softened. "Even so..." She reached across the small space between you. Her fingers rested lightly over yours. "When Damian was born, I believed I was asking you to help raise the heir to the League." Her thumb brushed gently across your knuckles. "I did not realize..." A small smile found her lips. "...that I was asking you to become part of my family."
Emotion welled in your chest. "Talia..."
"You gave my son a childhood where I could not always provide one."
Her green eyes never left yours. "And somewhere in those years..." A quiet chuckle escaped her. "I seem to have fallen in love with you."
You stared. Not because the words were unexpected. Perhaps, deep down, you had always known. But because hearing them spoken aloud by a woman who guarded every emotion as carefully as she guarded the League... Made them feel all the more precious. "You picked a strange time to tell me."
"You've only known me..." You pretended to count. "...Damian's entire life."
"I am occasionally slow."
You laughed through the tears gathering in your eyes. "So I've noticed."
Talia's hand remained over yours. "If my feelings are unwelcome..."
You stopped her with a gentle squeeze. "They're not." A hopeful look flickered across her face. "I think..." You smiled. "I fell in love with you somewhere between watching you pretend you weren't worried every time you left on a mission...and hearing you insist you didn't snore."
"I maintain my innocence."
"You've lost that argument."
You leaned closer, giving her every opportunity to pull away.She didn't. Instead, Talia met you halfway. The kiss was gentle. Unhurried. Not the beginning of a romance... But the quiet acknowledgment of one that had been growing for years. When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested together. "You know," you whispered.
"I think Damian has known before we did."
Talia sighed. "He has always been observant."
"You know," Damian said from behind the column, "your hiding place is terrible." You jumped. Talia closed her eyes briefly. Neither of you had realized he was there. Damian stepped into view with all the composure of someone discussing tomorrow's weather.
"I have been standing here for approximately twelve minutes."
"...How much did you hear?" you asked.
Talia pinched the bridge of her nose. "You could have announced yourself."
You couldn't help laughing. "So?"
Damian looked between the two of you. Then, with all the seriousness in the world, he nodded once. "I approve."
Talia blinked. "You... approve?"
"You have made one another happier for many years." He folded his hands behind his back. "It was statistically inevitable."
You laughed outright. "Was it?"
"Yes." He looked toward you. "You have cared for me since before I could remember."Then to Talia. "And Mother has looked at you the same way for nearly as long." His expression softened into the smallest smile. "I simply wondered how long it would take for the two of you to notice."
There was a long silence. Then all three of you laughed. For years, you had been bound together by duty. By trust. By the love shared for one extraordinary little boy. Now, at last, you were simply a family. And for Talia al Ghul, there was no greater victory than that.
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