The rooms were simple and sumptuous at once; everything was of the finest quality, the draped colors muted to browns and yellows and deep greens. High pile carpet allowed bare feet to sink into it as if into fresh loam. It was a comforting place with a comforting smell, incense clinging to the curtains. At this hour, moonlight drenched the room with white-blue light. Here was Ra's al Ghul's public study, where his finest pupils were allowed to approach him.
Bruce leaned against the door, feeling unstrung. He was too tired to mind his posture. All he remembered to do was lower his eyes.
"Ustadh," he said, voice crackling like his throat was raw. It was. He had been weeping.
From a sunken section of the floor, Ra's observed his guest. His eyes, a clear glass-green, were questioning at first, then softened.
"Mahzun," he said, sadly, leaning back in the divan he was sitting in. "Come to me."
Shoving himself off the doorframe, Bruce slunk forward like a wounded dog. He collapsed on his knees in front of Ra's, his forehead bowed deeply, almost touching Ra's knees.
A ringed hand rested on Bruce's head, then pushed through his hair, a soothing motion.
"Habibi," said Ra's, with a gentle voice. "I am sorry. I had to be sure."
Bruce flinched. It hurt to know this man, that he trusted, that he believed in, would inflict harm on him like this.