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The name of "al Ghul" is synonymous with sin itself for the young man, and comparison with the infamous bearer of that name is the highest of insults. He could never imagine being such a coldhearted, cruel, and emotionless man. He always used the leader of the League of Assassins as the prime example of all he hoped to never become.

Currently, he is trying to convince himself that he hasn't heard what the man has just said to him. He's determined to chalk it up to the sedative, or to the stress of the past few weeks, or even just to the injuries he received from the assassins that came to collect him. It would be difficult enough if he wasn't fully awake, fully aware. But now…now, it is just undeniable.

Ra's al Ghul is Timothy Drake's father.

Well, he supposes he should start calling himself by his real name at some point. After all, he doesn't deserve the stolen name of a dead boy. He wonders…he wonders how many people actually knew about that stillborn baby. Surely, somebody had to. And, even if his parents didn't often spend much time around him, why didn't they think it important to show him the adoption certificate—if there was one at all?

Adrian wants, more than anything, to leave. He wants to go, to return to his normal life and have nothing more to do with the house of his enemy. It isn't as if he's being held prisoner here; the men that guard his quarters and even the White Ghost himself have all made it extremely clear that he is permitted to leave at any time he wishes without so much as a word of protest from Ra's. Despite this, though, Adrian has felt oddly compelled to stay. The six days that have passed here in Ra's' mountain stronghold have done nothing to make him change his mind. He's been cared for, well fed and clothed richly, and he gets the sense that there is real reverence for him here, solely on the basis of his heritage. It isn't as though he's remaining here for the attention…not really, anyway. It is a nice change of pace from being all but ignored by his brothers and adoptive father back home in Gotham City. But he doesn't think he could live with himself for long, standing by as the pseudo-soldiers here go and carry out assassinations, murders, crimes in his name.

Before he can stop himself, Adrian is pulling on soft, comfortable leather boots and a red shirt, doing up the buttons as he walks the somehow-familiar path to Ra's' study. He still finds himself wondering at the ease with which he can traverse the halls of the stronghold, having grown unsettlingly used to being roughly escorted by ninja everywhere he goes. Now, they simply watch and occasionally give a polite, respectful nod as he passes.

It's so strange that he has to force himself onward, instead of stopping to stare back.

The door of the study opens before he can raise his fist to knock, and the White Ghost looms over him, growling, "Do you wish to speak with your father, little one?"

Adrian's resolve dissipates in an instant, and he finds himself struggling to form words before the burly beast of a man. As if on cue, Ra's' voice calls out from someplace behind the man, "Let him in, dear friend. The boy may go where he wishes."

White Ghost steps aside with a grunt and a scowl, glaring at Adrian as he creeps past. (The young man isn't so certain that "glowering" isn't the only expression the White Ghost has.) Even though Ra's knows it was him at the door, he places the elegant golden chalice full of red wine down on the desk and gives a slightly surprised smile. Adrian glances at the drink and can't help but focus in on the deep crimson color. Red like rubies, red like blood…he shudders, even as Ra's greets him, "Hello, my son. Is something troubling you?"

He speaks as if the young man has grown up with him, as though eighteen years of separation mean absolutely nothing. And this cannot be possible. Ra's al Ghul is a cold, cunning, and calculating man, giving little—if any—thought to how his actions might harm another.

Perhaps they really are related…

Adrian shakes off the reverie and responds, "I wanted to talk to you—privately."

The emphasis he puts on the final word makes it absolutely clear that the White Ghost's presence isn't wanted. Ra's gives a nod, signaling that the man has permission to go, and leave he does, albeit with a growl of indignation. Adrian chooses to disregard it, especially as Ra's turns back to him that same, damned smile and asks, pleasantly as can be, "What did you wish to speak with me about?"

A quick, hard swallow enables the words to flow out more quickly than he'd been able to think them up in the first place. "I want to know why. Why'd you leave me in Gotham, if I mean so much to you? And why try to be my father now, eighteen years later?"

Ra's' expression falls, and he heaves a sigh. "My Adrian," he murmurs, "dear, sweet child. I had known this conversation would occur." He motions for the young man to sit, so Adrian takes a chair in front of the desk, unsure of where this will go. "Your mother and I, we were the perfect fit for each other. She was a strong woman, confident and courageous and sure. She gave you much of what you have."

"So I'm told," Adrian all but spits, even though both parties are well aware of the lie on his lips, considering he had been told nothing of his mother beyond her name.

Ra's does not ignore the boy's less-than-subtle blow to his parents, and his face takes on an expression akin to anger. "I would suggest you hold your mother in higher respect than that," he says, almost darkly. "She was willing to die that you might have a chance to live."

Adrian bites his lip and redirects his gaze to his lap, his defiance dissolving at the new information. It takes a while before either the father or the son can find their voices. "I'm sorry."

"Think nothing of it." But Ra's' tone conveys the hurt he feels at the insult to his late wife. "Isabella, though she lived a short time with me, was every bit the strategist I was. She felt that it would be…necessary…to raise you outside of the League, outside of my house, in order to test your skill. After all, every ruler must prove that he is worthy to reign."

Stunned silence stops the conversation cold for another moment. "You wanted me to be your heir," Adrian says, the jigsaw puzzle his mind has stealthily hidden away since it put the pieces together finally resonating with him.

"You will be a king the likes of which the world has never seen, Adrian," Ra's assures him, nodding decisively. "Your rule will last however long you wish to reign. You will have all the power, all the riches you wish. Everything you dream of could be yours."

"What if I dream of being normal again?"

The cold words bite through the air in the room, and Adrian can hardly breathe anymore. He knows he's crossed some unseen line, some unspoken boundary, but he can't help it. This information is just too much to take in all at once, too much to process. His mouth opens and closes repeatedly as he struggles to find something to say. "I…I just meant…I—"

"No explanation is necessary, Adrian." Ra's' voice, if he isn't mistaken, sounds hurt and sad, but only fractionally so.

"I don't want to rule anybody." The admission makes the air between them heavier with the fog of sorrow and regret. "I don't want to be a part of that."

Ra's begins to speak with a degree of real sympathy then. "What do you want, then?"

Adrian's voice is barely a whisper, barely existent. "I just want to go home."

He senses the massive presence behind his chair before he even sees the near-imperceptible nod of Ra's' head. Even as he throws up a hand to block, the White Ghost's meaty fingers find and exploit a pressure point on the young man's throat, sending him deep into unconsciousness before he can make out Ra's' last words to him.