Discoveries and Confrontations
"Revelations help us accept the things we need the most, expose the secrets we so desperately tried to hide and illuminate the dangers all around us. But more than anything, revelations are windows into our true selves... of the good and evil and those wavering somewhere in between. But they have the ultimate power to destroy all that we cherish most."
Emily Thorne
Dragons.
That was all Rhaegar was dreaming about recently unless the dreams were nightmares. He would much rather have dreamt about Alarissa- like he usually did, especially when they were children. Or something about their child. But lately, if it wasn't nightmares or bad memories, he dreamt about dragons.
And Merlin.
He saw a king with a sword made of moonlight, a red dragon emblazoned on his metal cuirass. He saw knights sitting on a large, round table. He saw flames, rising higher and higher, and a sorcerer stretching out his arms, to release a powerful burst of magic.
And then he woke up.
In all honesty, it was better than nightmares. If it weren't so confusing he might have tolerated them.
He knew the story. They all did. It was the reason why his family- or his 'father's' family if what Grindelwald said was true- never left Britain. They were currently the only Atlanteans left. Everyone else had gone.
But why?
Rhaegar looked over at his peacefully sleeping wife, and touched her arm gently. She stirred slightly in her sleep but didn't wake. He sighed.
If the amount of love he had for his wife and unborn child were of any indication, he knew, he just knew, he had to get to the bottom of this before they were endangered.
We don't live in a community, he thought. At least not in Britain. They spent half the year there.
If we are attacked we are on our own. And the defences for those cities and towns were just as strong, if not stronger. We are in danger.
They would be in danger.
And if this was how wizards reacted to other human beings, how would they react to a fey and her half-human child?
Rhaegar got up out of bed. He had to do something fast.
He was having these dreams for a reason. Rhaegar wasn't a seer, but even he knew that such things meant something. He couldn't ignore them. Not unless he wanted them to get into serious trouble.
And he had everything to lose.
King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, the Knights of the Round Table…
Merlin….
What did they have to do with him?
He didn't know.
He couldn't ignore this any longer. The dreams, the attacks on Atlanteans, his family and whatever secrets they kept…
No, he couldn't.
He needed to see the Vǫlva. Now.
The house was a clean place, made of wood with a slight musky scent, mingling with dominating honey. It was clean and organized, but with a great deal of things lying around. There were some talismans and amulets hung around, small statuettes and figurines of powerful magical uses, symbols painted on the walls, or done in mosaics. Herbs also added to the scent, neatly cut, dried and stored in sealed jars.
The old woman was sitting on the freshly-scrubbed table with a handful of glittering, coloured pebbles in one hand, over a board that looked like a map.
"Finally," she said. "I wondered when you would be coming."
Rhaegar stepped inside the room. "My lady," he said. The woman looked up and smiled.
She is ancient. He had absolutely no idea just how old she is but she had lived for centuries now. No human ever knew what it was truly like to be immortal, unless they were in her shoes.
Underneath her hood, the woman's hooded eyes glowed like pale amber. She appeared made of the finest, thinnest paper with a hint of honey and fine, delicate lines were etched emphasizing the delicacy of her features.
"Rhaegar Artrigos," she smiled warmly. "I was waiting for quite some time."
He smiled a small smile.
"I wonder what question you will ask," the Vǫlva said smoothly. "Something about your wife? Something about your now-unborn child and its future? Something about your dreams? Or something about your own suddenly-doubtful paternity?"
Rhaegar froze.
"It's no use denying anything to you, is it?"
She gave a tiger's laugh. "No, Rhaegar. It is no use."
"Then you know what I'm here for." He moved further into the room and sat down in the chair that the Vǫlva had gestured, right in front of her.
"Actually," she said. "You only get one question."
"I want to keep them safe." Rhaegar said. "There is nothing I want more than that."
She looked up. "Very well. To know the future, one must listen to the past. Pay attention to detail. Your child will be very special, Rhaegar. Just as your nephew. She will play a great role."
Rhaegar froze. Alarissa had not told him about the baby's sex. "She?"
The awe, amazement and utter joy at realising he had a daughter- which made him secretly wish to jump, leap and scream with laughter or dance like he was insane, or run back home and hide his wife with her little growing belly- settled in him powerfully. He had never felt so elated, so overjoyed, apart from the time he and his wife were engaged and married, and she told him she was pregnant.
"A daughter." The Vǫlva smiled. "A great and powerful being who will fulfil the role of setting things right in this world. A creature who will set the balance between Dark and Light and restore justice in this world."
The smile vanished from his face. And although the joy didn't dissipate, he felt shock and fear.
And an increasing, icy amount of horror.
"What?"
The Vǫlva looked up. Suddenly she seemed more ancient than before.
"Rhaegar," she said gently. "We cannot change what is fate. I have choices. As do you. But you and your child both have a destiny that is impossible to deny. You survived and escaped from the Children of the Endless Night, Rhaegar, along with your wife. But other trials are yet to come."
"No." He said. He was amazed that his voice didn't shake and he startled himself at the sheer intensity and strength in his voice. "Not my child. Never my child!"
The Vǫlva gave him a pitying gaze.
"What will happen will happen," she said softly. "But first, clear your thoughts and search deep into the past. The events of the past are clues as to what will happen in the future. The reason why our people are being targeted, your daughter's role- is all connected."
Rhaegar felt as if a black, bottomless void had opened up in the pit of his stomach with no escape.
"You can save her," she said softly. "But you must be wary. And do not give up so easily. Trust your instincts."
And Rhaegar had every intention to do just that.
The library was dusky. Why in the world did he choose Hogwarts' library?
He had no reason to do so. It was impressive, yes, but Rhaegar had seen even larger collections of arcane volumes. He wasn't a student researching on his next essay.
Memories rushed back. Of sunny days, spent indoors, because the heat outdoors was just too unbearable, pouring over dusty volumes of parchment, the smell of ink in the air, the peaceful calm presences of Willamar and Athelinda, for once, calm, the sunlight streaming in through the windows.
He shook his head.
Dumbledore had given him permission. Unlocking the restricted section area, he scanned the shelves.
What was he looking for? He scowled. He wasn't eager to pour over an over-sized volume of something he already knew, something Cuthbert Binns had droned emotionlessly and non-stop about during History of Magic lessons when he was still a student. Ugh. That was the last thing he wanted.
But he needed to learn the past.
Camelot. Arthur. Merlin. The Knights of the Round Table.
He needed to go beyond the myths- the stories and legends which he had already known as a child. He needed more.
Of course, he could have easily consulted a chocolate frog card, he thought irritably. Really, everyone knew about King Arthur and Merlin.
But he pulled out a volume anyway.
What exactly, was he searching for? He didn't even know where to begin.
The Prophecies of Merlin, the book was titled.
Well, look at that, Rhaegar thought. He actually developed an interest in this sort of thing. But this was for his daughter. He could never be swayed from that.
He unsteadily took several shaking deep breaths, trying to calm the panicked thundering of his heart.
He flipped the pages.
He went through several 'prophecies.' Honestly. Was Merlin actually a seer? He never really knew. Not every mage could see the future without faulty tarot cards, crystal balls, star-charts and tea leaves.
But these prophecies came in riddles. And more frustrating riddles there could never have been.
There was something about a tree. Or two trees. Something about spinning. Something about an eagle and its nest. And something about dragons.
He froze when he read the dragons bit.
And the Hatchlings of the nests of broken eggs and slain dragons will awake. They will roar long and loud in their rage. And leaving their sanctuaries which they have safely hidden for so many a year, they will rise upwards and forwards and seek vengeance for their kin and the house of their fathers.
What in the world?
Dragons…. Roaring…Vengeance?
This prophecy sounded similar to the one Merlin spoke about the lion cubs, only this time it was dragon hatchlings. Rhaegar wasn't an inexperienced teenager. He knew prophecies from someone such as Merlin came in riddles. The dragons symbolised something. And he had a feeling he knew.
The dragons were the symbol of Clan Volsung. The Atlantean clan he belonged to. They were descendants of a seeress, not unlike the Vǫlva, who foretold the Doom of Atlantis. As well as some of her most ardent followers. The difference between the clans was that some headed for the continent of Europe. Some went to Africa. Others to Asia. And yet the Volsung- which was what they called their ship went to Western Europe. There, they wandered and hid foraging and scavenging for food, going here and there, desperately searching for a place to stay, to live permanently in safety. Instead they were often hunted and found, tortured and killed, while the remnants fled and ran, hiding far, far away. They did not build any permanent settlements. They practiced their unique magic in secret from other wizards and Muggles, they hid from them. Until a boy named Merlin and his sister Igraine, were left orphaned when a mob of angry wizards or Muggles killed their parents out of fear and rage.
They had gone to Britain, hearing about the island off the continent, desperately searching for a place to stay, and some food, for they were close to starvation. The Volsungar had long since discovered, before Gamp, that food could not be conjured out of thin air. They were starving, cold, homeless and desperate. They were outcasts. Like the seeress predicted. But Merlin and his sister were found, pitied upon and taken in by the Founders of Hogwarts and they were taught and raised by them, and soon bridged a gap between the Atlantean Volsung and the ordinary wizards and witches of Britain due to their greatness of their power and justice. And then they bridged the gap between magical and Muggle, and Igraine had married the Muggle king Uther Pendragon. She gave birth to a son, named Arthur, who would be the High King of Britain. Igraine also had a daughter named Morgana le Fay. With the shining golden age of Camelot, where no one knew hunger, or terror, poverty or homelessness, where everyone- wizards and Muggles and magical creatures lived happily side by side- where the Atlanteans finally gained the admiration, respect and even awe by everyone, even outside Britain, and started to build permanent settlements in the manner of their forebears and practiced and added to their arts. They grew in greatness. But Camelot fell, and although the Atlanteans still had the greatest awe, admiration, fear and prestige, slowly the covetous dark wizards and witches proved to be a danger to them, and slowly they all started to leave Britain. Save for one family.
Merlin and King Arthur, Queen Guinevere and Morgan le Fay left Britain. Just before they set sail for the island of Avalon, Merlin predicted that Arthur and the rest of them would come again, when Britain needed them most, and that the age of Camelot would return once again, permanently and no one would go through such dark times again. Arthur's descendants, apparently would provide the role.
The dragons. Were they perhaps… Arthur's descendants? The symbol of Clan Volsung was the dragon. Arthur's dynasty was named the Pendragons. That meant Head or Chief Dragon. From the Welsh Pen meaning 'Head' and Draig meaning 'Dragon'.
Did Arthur's descendants leave Britain or….
Rhaegar's heart pounded. But there was only one family left. Why did one family stay?
The Artrigos. They were presently the only Atlantean family remaining in Britain. All the rest had left, for Germany, Scandinavia- like the famous dragon-slayer Sigurd (not his nephew), Spain, France, Austria, and even to Eastern Europe. Only the Artrigos remained in Arthur's kingdom. It was interesting that they should have that name.
Rhaegar knew Latin, Greek, Ancient Atlantean and a number of other languages. He knew the origin of the name Arthur. It came from Celtic- the people that Arthur's Muggle father descended from, when they were still divided. The Artos part meant 'bear', and Rigos meant 'king'.
Artrigos.
No, no, it wasn't possible, surely….
Was it?
Rhaegar's heart pounded harder than ever. Then why were they being hunted?
Atlanteans were constantly targeted. Grindelwald, for one, but that many had always assumed, was because they were the only ones that had military might. Ordinary wizards had no armies. No navies, no warships. No magical weapons apart from a wand.
But some knew that throughout the time Grindelwald persecuted the Atlanteans, and other dark witches and wizards before him, they seemed to be looking for something. Or someone.
Or some people.
Surely not. Everyone wanted a Golden Age, however. To usher one in. Grindelwald's idea of a Golden Age, however, was wizards to be served by Muggles.
And he continuously searched for the key.
He seemed, to Rhaegar, to have searched out every prominent Atlantean family before torturing and killing them.
And this person, these people, whoever they were behind the attacks.
Rhaegar's face went white. Now he knew.
They were after King Arthur's descendants.
And there was a great chance his family might be among them.
His child. His unborn hybrid child, sitting in her mother's womb.
He had to find them. Fast.
Rhaegar went out of the library. Now he knew what they sought for.
As for who the enemies were…. He had a very good idea.
As to his paternity….
He had to put that aside for now. Whether or not he was a descendant of King Arthur, or not, they would come soon enough. They would come for his family.
All of them.
And the fact that they were still in Britain… But was there a safe place to hide? In Germany? In France? In Spain or Austria?
They would find them. They would find them wherever they were…
He would find them.
And now, the iciest feeling Rhaegar had ever had grew deep inside him as he thought about the ones he loved and cared for the most.
And then he froze.
The Headmaster's Office. The Gargoyle lowered.
There stood a figure, utterly unrecognizable to Rhaegar. The man's- if it was indeed a man- skin and features were like half-melted wax, just as sickeningly pale. His features were distorted. And his eyes appeared bloodshot, and his hair was thinning in an alarming rate.
But he knew the walk. Somehow he just knew it. And the way the person carried himself. The way his shoulders were set in their poise. The calm, confident and casual attitude, not entirely unfamiliar to Rhaegar.
But it wasn't possible. Was it?
The last time he had seen this person was when he was young, handsome- one of the most handsome men Rhaegar had admittedly ever seen. Pale-skinned, with gleaming jet-black hair and onyx eyes. Very chiselled features, fine and handsome.
He knew the brooding look, however. And he saw it with the person he had once known and loathed. The person who destroyed his family.
The most dangerous person in the world.
Tom Riddle.
Rhaegar froze.
He did not know where Riddle went. But he needed to follow. And he needed to warn Alarissa. Warn them all, his entire family.
No matter what his feelings were to them, they were still his family.
He couldn't use the Floo Network. He did not trust the Ministry. They seemed corrupt enough to sell them off to the worst persons imaginable.
He pulled out his mirror.
"Alarissa." He whispered.
Alarissa's face appeared.
"Rhaegar," she began. He hushed her.
"We don't have much time," he whispered. Alarissa's beautiful face went pale. "What's wrong?"
"We need to hide. Contact my family through the mirrors. Then pack any essential things, no more than that, and leave. Meet me in Kataris City."
She paled further. "Rhaegar-"
"Trust me," he insisted. Her image vanished.
He didn't have much time.
Taking a deep breath, Rhaegar knew. If he wasn't completely right, he certainly was close.
Riddle left the Headmaster's office. Armando Dippet had rejected his application. Again. Well, he would need a series of good Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers before long.
Riddle walked through the silent hallways, remembering all those times. Peaceful times, when he did not have to return to that blasted orphanage for the summer holidays.
And then there were the group of followers, who were growing even now. And her.
Athelinda. Her name left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. Honestly, he wished nothing more than to merely wish he could slaughter her, but he realised, that apart from him, she was the one person he never could raise a finger against.
They were close once. And walking through the same halls in which they had both walked in happier times, wounded him, though never would he ever tell that to others. Ever.
But he did wonder about the future.
He needed to get things done. Fast. He had already made his horcruxes. The Knights of Walpurgis were attacking and retreating but they would not remain undiscovered forever.
Neither would he.
He needed to gain power and he needed it fast. He needed more power than necessary. Furthermore, he needed to be as safely hidden as possible. He had to build a reputation that aurors and soldiers alike would fear- even Volsung ones. And above all else, he needed to be efficient about it. He needed efficiency, reputation, followers of the right kind of intelligence and thinking, and magical power.
And as he had already consulted Slughorn about this- not that the conversation he had with his old teacher as a teenage boy had much merits…
The other clans, he thought. Would they have the secrets to his power?
Everyone knew Atlantis was a dream-an El Dorado of magical power, knowledge, practices and secrets. During the Camelot period, things had revived somewhat, but Camelot was long gone, thanks to the poor and destructive planning of the idiot Morgause and her insane son. They merely wanted to take over. They instead destroyed things.
He couldn't afford that.
And there was something else.
He would never admit it aloud. Not even to himself. But he had another reason to be exceptionally careful.
Images of a beautiful woman with gleaming black hair, haunted his mind. A woman with very pale, flawless, milk-shaded skin, full, sensual cherry-red lips, finely-chiselled features as delicate, perfect and beautiful like a snowflake, with shining onyx eyes delicately fine, black eyebrows and lashes.
She had promised him something.
Athelinda had promised him something. When he had arrived after a long meeting with the Knights of Walpurgis in secret. She had stood up to him and demanded to know what he had been doing. Normally he would have never tolerated the slightest disrespect, but he humoured Athelinda. And she had become enraged and fumed, promising him something.
1949…
Athelinda scowled as Tom emerged in their bedroom.
"Where in Merlin's name have you been?" She asked so frostily he paused.
"I was at work?" He answered, his handsome eyebrows raising.
Athelinda regarded him with black eyes, the same colour as his own, but so cold it was a miracle he stood his ground.
It reminded him, in a way, of her brother, the day he brought Hagrid to the Headmaster's Office.
"Do you really expect me to believe that?" She asked so dangerously quiet. He was impressed. Amused and impressed. A strange combination, but not unwelcome.
"I did tell you I was eating before I get home," Tom said sounding amused. He took off his wristwatch and placed it on his nightstand.
Athelinda boiled silently.
"I don't believe that. Or at least, I bet you must have had a lovely meal with Avery."
Tom froze.
He turned. His wife was glaring at him.
"What were you doing with him?" She asked. "Are you jealous?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.
She sneered mockingly. "When Merlin returns to teach chimeras to dance ballet."
He smiled. "Love," he said standing and holding his arms open.
"Don't 'love' me." She hissed. Her blood was boiling.
She went over to lie down on the bed. On the way she passed a massive earthenware urn filled with hot water and sealed tightly but magically allowed oxygen inside. Inside it, was an egg. Surasa's egg, which she had given Tom as a wedding gift.
It was still incubating.
She glared at him as she lay down. Her black eyes refused to look at him, as he took off his jacket and laid down next to her, drawing and arm to pull them closer and kissing her.
"My love," he whispered in her ear. He continued to kiss her at the cheek, close to her mouth and down the line of her throat. Athelinda might have felt a stirring but happily, she ignored it. Nearby Surasa observed pretending to be asleep. She was used to it, or rather to him doing this thing he so typically did, but not her current actions.
His hand drifted to the hem of her nightgown and between her legs, but she turned and gave him such a glare it startled him. And disappointed him.
"Love," he groaned. "Athelinda."
"Don't." She hissed, eyes wide and bright with rage. "Treat. Me. Like. A. Fool." She sent him a scorching glare this time.
Severely disappointed, any hopes he had deflated, Tom Riddle lay back down on the bed.
"You take me for a fool, don't you?"Athelinda hissed in Parseltongue.
Tom's eyes snapped open. "I never said that."
"You lied to me." Athelinda turned and glared at him. "And worst, you treat me as an incompetent, clueless idiot, who shouldn't be wasting her time with anything deep. Need I remind you what I am capable of? Or do you need to go back to school to find out?" She sent a withering gaze.
"I was given gifts and powers of knowledge that you can scarcely believe when I was born." She hissed. "The Naga that nursed me with her venom instead of milk ensured that. I was given gifts and powers that you can never hold or understand."
He raised his eyebrows, curbing the urge to laugh. "Gifts?" He asked, trying to hide his amusement. "Powers? Like…" But he didn't get to finish, as his wife sent him yet another glare.
She snarled and lay back down on her pillows.
"Are you a seer?" He asked.
She narrowed her eyes when she looked at him. "Seers are slaves to the future. They can only see and tell of what is to come. They cannot decide it." She sneered.
"And you can?" Tom looked and sounded incredulous. "The Naga venom gave you that."
Her eyes narrowed further. "You doubt me. Very well then, I shall issue what is to come. I am carrying your child."
It was as if time stopped and Tom stared at her.
She smiled, chillingly and leaned forwards. "It is a boy-child. But because you have treated me like a fool, then I shall make this happen: our newborn son shall be born with the image of the serpent in his eye."
Tom stared at Athelinda. She smiled cunningly, a blade-like smile.
"And he shall be known as one of the greatest wizards in the history of the world." Athelinda smiled wider, a smile that didn't reach her eyes, any more than his did for the Knights of Walpurgis.
"This much, will be."
Tom opened his eyes.
A son. That was what she promised him. Another heir of Slytherin.
One of the most powerful wizards in the world.
A boy born with the image of a serpent in his eye.
He had to find the mother and this boy. Fast.
But he suddenly froze.
He turned slowly.
Tom was at this point, just leaving the castle grounds, his hood now drawn over his balding head, where gleaming black hair once grew.
But there was someone very familiar at the other end of the grounds. Yards away from him.
A very handsome young man, handsome even by Atlantean standards. With very vivid blue eyes, sapphire-like, so deep and clear a blue, they seemed to glow even at a distance and the light was captured within them, flashing this way and that. His hair was windswept and tousled, but it suited him perfectly, black as jet and its strands brushing over his forehead, almost sweeping over his eyes with the wind. His skin was flawless, somewhere between perfectly tanned and fair. Even wrapped in a cloak and a less-than-flamboyant robe to cut the cold, he could easily tell the young man was lean, muscular and in much better shape than any athlete. His features were incredibly striking and very, very familiar.
He had no doubt who it was. Rhaegar Artrigos, brother of Athelinda and uncle to his son.
And he was gazing at him with an unreadable expression more frightening than even Dumbledore.
Tom had never been one to fear anyone. But this person likely knew his secrets, and invulnerable as he was….
He recognized Tom.
He knew he was very different to the handsome, teenage boy Athelinda knew in Hogwarts. But he recognized him.
Rhaegar slowly walked towards him. "Hello, Riddle," he said softly.
Tom forced an icy, blade-like smile. "I am called something different now."
Rhaegar regarded him slowly. "Yes, I'm sure you would be," he said quietly and slowly as if confirming something he already knew.
Tom slowly felt ice creep up upon him. His smile, however, went wider. "I didn't think you'd recognize me."
"Some people wouldn't," Rhaegar said quietly. "But others might see something that is hidden deep inside for so long, finally become all too obvious. There are things about you that would never change, Riddle. And some things never did."
The two stared at each other for a very long time.
"Commander of the Armed Forces I heard," Tom said softly. "Congratulations. We always knew you would make it to the heights of success."
"The heights of personal success are one thing," Rhaegar replied. "Continuing to make our peoples flourish and thrive is another, as well as weeding out any threat or any sign of rot among the growing fruit." He smiled a slight smile that looked very dangerous and his blue eyes looked very dark. "A threat I know for sure will be stamped out. I have reason to believe it so."
Tom regarded him for a while. "Do you?" He asked quietly.
Rhaegar smiled. He did not radiate any sign of fear of any kind. "Do you know of Merlin's prophecies?"
His eyebrow rose a bit. "I am familiar with a few of them, yes."
"Then you must know the Prophecy about the Dragon Hatchlings awaking." Rhaegar said in a tone that lurked like a predator in wait. "'And the Hatchlings of the nests of broken eggs and slain dragons will awake. They will roar long and loud in their rage. And leaving their sanctuaries which they have safely hidden for so many a year, they will rise upwards and forwards and seek vengeance for their kin and the house of their fathers.'"
Rhaegar stepped forwards. "The interesting thing about prophecies: you try to avoid them, to stop them from happening. And in the end all you do is simply build a trap for yourself. I am not a superstitious person, Riddle, but I think only a fool would doubt the words of a mage as great as Merlin. If people didn't want the dragons to get upset, surely they shouldn't have started killing them?" He gave a very predatory smile.
"The Dragon Hatchlings will awake." Rhaegar said quietly. "And I have been given assurances that they will, sooner rather than later." His blue eyes never left Tom's.
Tom nodded, trying to seem expressionless. "In that case I really wish that time would come." He said. "I'm sure we all wish for Camelot," Rhaegar said. "But some people think Camelot was built by blood. And blood was only ever shed to defend it, not to build it." He tilted his head. "Goodbye, Riddle. And thanks."
Tom was confused for once. "For what?"
Rhaegar now looked undoubtedly menacing. "For teaching me the importance of family. And betrayal."
And he waved his hand.
Tom saw the world around them spin into darkness. But before he had time to realise- and curse- that Rhaegar, an accomplished occlumens had not only dared to do something to him, but had caught him unawares, he fell to the ground as his vision cleared.
"Was this where you had it?" Rhaegar snarled. Now he looked at Tom with such absolute loathing he was worse than a beast like a chimera, a nundu or even the dragons his clan the Volsungar adored.
"Was this where you sired her son, my nephew? Was this where you practiced your filthy arts, and concocted abominations? Was this where you grouped your dastardly followers into scheming and plotting to slaughter any innocent that you could find so you could weed out King Arthur's descendants and use them to create a Camelot of your own sick and perverted ideals?" Rhaegar roared as he waved his hand. Tom felt himself being launched off the ground before landing several metres away on the grass. "Tell me, Riddle, look there and see."
Rhaegar suddenly apparated next to him, he grabbed Tom by the scruff of his neck- or robes- and yanked his head roughly in the direction of a cottage.
His cottage. The one he shared with Athelinda, years ago.
They were near the sea. Which would explain the strong wind he realised was belatedly tugging his robes in all directions.
"You filthy bastard," Rhaegar snarled. "It was you, wasn't it? It was you all along. You were behind the attacks. You ordered the families that bore the slightest connection to King Arthur, killed."
Riddle growled at him. "I do not know what you mean."
"DON'T," Rhaegar roared. "LIE!" He waved his hand into the air and Tom once again found himself flying and landing on the ground, anything but softly. Rhaegar apparated again by his side.
"I know it was you." He snarled. "You might have been able to change your face, you might have been able to hide your sorry arse, you might have even been able to disguise your voice in the damned message left in your follower's brain just before it killed him, but you can never hide who you truly are, Riddle. I know it was you."
Tom drew his wand, quick as a flash, but Rhaegar, an experienced soldier and an expert dueller to say the least, disarmed him, causing the yew wand to fly.
Rhaegar laughed harshly. "You think you're so clever, don't you?"
He grabbed Tom by the collar and drew him up, slamming him onto a nearby tree.
"Yet, you're not strong enough to realise the absolute truth." He whipped out his own wand and Tom Riddle howled when he felt a searing, burning pain on the side of his face. "It's a pity we never had this conversation when we were younger, isn't that right?
"I'm here to tell you that you've failed. The prophecy will be fulfilled. One way or another. I just want you to know." Rhaegar whispered.
"My wife and son." Riddle rasped. "Where are they?"
Rhaegar froze. "What?"
"My wife and son." His reddened eyes fixed on Rhaegar. Rhaegar looked at him and threw his head back and laughed.
"Does it matter?" He hissed. "The boy doesn't even know your name, Riddle. He will never know your name. And she is no longer your wife."
"He might not know this name," Tom said. "But he will remember a name which wizards fear even to speak. And she is still my wife. Our marriage was never ended. My wife will never escape me. And my son will know my name, I promise you. Just not this name."
He summoned his magic and used a blast to throw Rhaegar away. However, the commander must have guessed something like this was about to happen, because he shielded himself from the blast, even though they were separated.
He was not a typical ordinary wizard, even if he was not of Atlantean descent. He was not helpless without his wand, even if he depended on it more than Atlanteans. And furthermore, his wand had flown back into his hand.
Tom struck the first blow. Rhaegar warded it off. Soon, they started duelling, more aggressively, harder and faster than any other duel, both fuelled by their mutual loathing of each other. If anyone had stumbled upon them, it would have been difficult- if they could deduce anything from the speed of the duellers, the flashes of light, smoke and whatever else- who was more terrifying- the handsome man or the deformed one.
Rhaegar's face was contorted with loathing and rage. He didn't let his rage blind him, however. He could have confronted Tom Riddle with many things. But instead, he chose to keep to himself many things- including little Sigurd's name and that he, and Rhaegar's yet-unborn daughter, were the ones of the prophecy. And that they were all of King Arthur's blood.
Well, maybe not Rhaegar or his daughter, if what Grindelwald said was true.
Rhaegar caused a flash of golden light to appear before him, while something similar to lightning was sent flying to his very direction. Rhaegar pushed it aside, causing steam. It was now raining. The classic setting for a duel, he might have thought if he wasn't so busy. He fought with a wand in one hand, but was not dependant on it. In fact, he also used wandless magic and his spells were non-verbal.
Riddle however, was undeterred. A series of powerful, lightning-fast strikes- jinxes, hexes and curses all appeared, but Rhaegar was a powerful duellist to say the least. Loathing fuelled both wizards and lent them enough strength and energy.
Smoke appeared in front of Rhaegar just as Riddle sent several jets of blue, yellow and red light towards him but Rhaegar dodged it, and he was shielded from Riddle's view by the smokescreen spell. He then sent more curses and hexes towards Riddle, before Riddle conjured up fiendfyre.
A gigantic serpent hissed and coiled, its evil eyes glared, full of hate at Rhaegar, but he merely gritted his teeth and caused a force of energy to sweep it aside. More lightning came from Riddle and Rhaegar counterattacked with whilst being able to deal with the fiendfyre by causing a stream of water, the size of a river, to rise from the sea and coil around it. Something like fragments of light flew towards Rhaegar from Riddle while the serpent wrestled with the water which seemed to choke it, depriving it of oxygen, both literally and figuratively as fire always needed oxygen and snakes can be strangled. Then Rhaegar pulled apart the force of the water, and took control of Riddle's fire serpent, causing the water to fall on Riddle while the serpent, now controlled by Rhaegar, flew towards the master that conjured it.
Riddle rose his hands up into the air. Smoke and light flew around him and the raindrops formed one collective water-shield that held firm while the fire stormed and raged towards him. Rhaegar pulled back and sent a series of hexes, jinxes and curses towards Riddle while also sending harmless sparks around him, making Riddle unable to distinguish which was actually harmful and which were merely distractions. A duel was no time for legilimency or occlumency, if one didn't already cast the spells before.
Furthermore, Rhaegar threw streams of light at him, and the raindrops solidified into giant waves crashing into him, extinguishing the few spells he had managed to cast, before casting a spell which had Riddle sprawling on the ground, his wand a few feet away from him, bound with ropes.
Panting for breath, Rhaegar glared at Riddle.
"Yield! You can never beat me, Riddle." He uttered the name like a curse.
Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled over them. Like something out of a story.
"You. Have. Lost," he hissed. Riddle did the unexpected- he laughed.
"Oh, I don't think so." He hissed. "I've only just begun. And Riddle is no longer my name. You don't think that I would keep as filthy a name as my Muggle father's would you?"
Rhaegar regarded him silently. "No, I didn't think you would. But if you have any dreams of becoming Dark Lord, I think you can kiss them goodbye. You will never come into contact with my nephew. That boy will never be regarded as your son. You will end up in Azkaban."
"Oh, I don't think so," Riddle snarled. "A Dark Lord will never set foot into a common, stinking place such as Azkaban. And I am a Dark Lord."
Then he extended a finger and in flame- which had to be much harder than doing it with a wand- he wrote the words, Tom Marvolo Riddle, in capitals. His hand waved and the letters made a swooshing sound, like fire leaping suddenly, as they rearranged themselves.
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.
Voldemort, Rhaegar thought. Athelinda did claim to hear a Dark Lord's name down in that cellar. Someone she could not recall being mentioned in the history books. But she also recalled them calling Riddle, 'my Lord.'
Voldemort. The name meant Flight of Death in French. And for someone who had committed the abominations beyond belief, of creating more than one horcrux, Riddle must have loathed the idea of death more than anything.
Or feared it.
But Rhaegar knew he couldn't kill him. There was no way he could, not with so many horcruxes. He might not be vulnerable, but Rhaegar had no intentions on exhausting himself trying to kill someone- or something- that can't be killed by spells or blows.
No, not Tom Riddle. Voldemort. "You will never beat death," Rhaegar warned. "Seek to conquer it and you shall find yourself in its mercy. You've only made yourself more vulnerable. One day something small, something insignificant in your eyes will topple you. You will not have the adversaries of the Dark Lords and Ladies of old. Perhaps you will grow more powerful than them. But in the end, if I do not bring you down, it will not be what you consider a foe deemed worthy of the great mages of old." He looked icily down at Riddle. "You will fall."
Riddle stared at him incredulously and then smirked. He would have laughed, Rhaegar knew it, but the truth was that Rhaegar terrified him.
"Convince me," he smirked. "I will be greater than they, and I will. And my son will join me- or fall."
Snarling harsher than ever, Rhaegar, pointed his wand directly at Riddle's chest, and his hand which grasped his throat started to glow from within.
"You dare threaten him?!" Rhaegar roared. "I do not threaten him," he rasped, trying to breathe. "I merely state the truth. With me, he thrives and becomes one of the greatest sorcerers in history. Without me, he falls. He cannot escape his own destiny."
"You," Rhaegar said, looking at him with loathing. "Do not decide his destiny."
"No," Riddle rasped. "His mother did."
Rhaegar stood stunned. "Is this some sick joke?"
"I thought your sister would have told you everything," he whispered. "She predicted that our son would be born with an image of a serpent in his eye, didn't she? Did she prove to be correct?"
Dread filled Rhaegar further.
"She also said that he would become one of the greatest sorcerers in history," Riddle continued, inching his chin higher in a futile attempt to avoid Rhaegar's magic. He chuckled.
Of course Rhaegar knew about those predictions. He just didn't think that Riddle would actually believe it. Riddle had never seen his own son. He and Athelinda, Alarissa, his mother, father, Willamar and Philomena did their utmost best to keep Sigurd away from any stranger's eyes. They took extra precautions. So even though he might have had spies….
Rhaegar's fist tightened around Riddle's throat. "Clever, aren't you?" He hissed. "But you were the one responsible for everything. Don't you even try to deny it!
"You were the one who organized the attacks, slaughtered innocents and captured and tortured families whom you thought might be remotely related to Arthur. You were the one who destroyed my family and turned my own sister- my own sister- against me in particular and against us all in general. And you were the one that at least knocked her back to her senses." He gave a crooked smile. "But not without taking the life and fire out of her, and never giving it back."
Riddle narrowed his eyes. "I took nothing from you or your sister. She came to me, and she came willingly. Do you blame me for the 'mistakes' she made in her lifetime? I never forced her."
That was true, Rhaegar silently admitted. And admittedly, Athelinda's flaws were what spiralled out of control. All Tom had to do was to charm his way into her life, her mind and her reasoning and play on her dreams, just as a puppeteer pulls the strings and she danced to his tune.
"As for the deaths of those innocents, yes I admit I played something. In fact, I pulled the strings openly in this one. But am I the only one? I did what I had to do. This is a cruel world, Rhaegar Artrigos. Surely your time as one of the Children of the Endless Night would have taught you that?" He smiled thinly as Rhaegar looked coldly at him.
"Tell me, Rhaegar Artrigos, you of all people, have always championed the rights of others, always claiming that it is not birth that defines us, and that we are all equals. In truth, are we? The Ministries wouldn't say so. Your clans wouldn't think so. The Muggles would not agree- not if they knew about our existence. Even without knowing that witches and wizards are more than folktales, they too will never see each other as equals. A man with dark skin is lower than one with white skin. A woman is lower than a man. And it is not merely some that believe so, but many of them- even the so-called Allied Forces during their Second World War. Everyone has prejudices, Commander Artrigos. Some prejudices are just more refined, that's all. We do not discriminate based on something as stupid as skin colour, when our organs remain the same, nor do we believe that a woman is stupider and weaker than a man. After all, four Founders- two male, two female, for instance. No, what we do is essential for our survival. Do you think that wizarding society can survive this long? We are already going into decline, Artrigos. Just ask your sister. The steam engine that takes students to Hogwarts is a Muggle machine, merely modified through magical means. Muggles have learnt how to fly. When was our last ground-breaking innovation? And yet we still continue, and the Ministries, and even other wizards and witches are content to believe that everything is fine and we are not slowly declining. Ask yourself if this isn't true."
It was true. But Rhaegar would never admit that to Riddle.
"The only one with such innovations are the clans. And other magical folk- goblins who possess the skill to craft metalwork of such artistry and power, giants with their strength and near-invincibility. The Fey with their beauty, nature power and grace-" Rhaegar went cold again, if possible, because the way Riddle smiled made him certain that he knew about his marriage to Alarissa. "-Vampire immortality. Merfolk and their music and water magic. And even the Muggles who are rising high and quickly dominating the world with their clever inventions, their numbers and their lack of hiding. And what do we have? Even your people, Rhaegar are in hiding, why do you think not even ordinary wizards and witches are allowed to enter your acropolis city Kataris, even though you are shining at the height of innovations and powerful magic?"
"Only because of people like you," Rhaegar's crooked smile returned. "Who hunt and slaughter innocents. Why should we share any of our powers and knowledge with people that want to hunt and kill us?"
"And how many innocents have you killed Rhaegar?" Tom Riddle said softly. "How many Muggles, magical folk, Atlanteans and ordinary wizards and witches have you killed? How many have you killed in the name of power, glory and strength? Your former 'teachers' taught you to kill without mercy. To spare was a weakness. And the weak were always weeded out among the strong even in their children's numbers. You needed to kill to survive. To plunder what you needed- to rob and kill because your rations were short. To kill anyone who might kill you. When they put you in that 'play-pen' with another child, your own age, did you hesitate? Didn't you kill when they gave you the order? I think we both know the answer, since you're standing in front of me. How many young boys and girls did you brutalise and pound to death during your time amongst them? How many mothers and fathers did you make childless? How many orphans did you make out of children, the same age as your younger siblings then? How many cities did you set aflame? You see? Do you really think you're so different from me, Commander, or from Grindelwald? What you did, you did in the name of survival- committing a lesser evil for a Greater Good."
Rhaegar could throw up if he could. What he felt before…Riddle knew about this, and he was certain this didn't come from Athelinda, she knew nothing about his experiences as a child-soldier. And he would know if he was using legilimency. But he was right. Riddle knew about the 'play-pen'- the large cage where children, captured ones, like he was, was forced to fight against each other for the amusement of their captors. It was gladiatorial fighting, no doubt about that. It was killed or be killed. And Rhaegar had killed there. He and whoever else who survived, had to, in order to survive. It was killed or be killed. One way or another- if it wasn't your opponent, and you refused to kill the other youth, the organisers would have you ripped apart, burnt alive like the witches of old, or impaled- whatever. And all you thought about in there was surviving. To get home to Mother, Father, Sisters and Brothers. About killing to survive on the meagre, poor rations they gave you. On minimalizing the amount of tortures, by being as brutal as they wanted to turn you into. By taking orders without question. By killing your victims quickly, otherwise, they would torture the victims and force you either to watch or take part in it.
But how did he know? That was the rational part of Rhaegar's thinking which usually dominated his thoughts, except now he was frozen. Of course, afterwards, one would realise that was exactly how Tom Riddle drew Athelinda into his hands. But today he was trying too hard.
Still, Rhaegar wasn't unaffected. He remembered it all.
January 1929…
The Cage…. Or the 'Play-Pen' as some of their captors sneeringly told them, mocking them with jeers and roars of laughter. Where Rhaegar saw young boys and girls pitted against feral beasts- Chimeras and Manticores and the occasional Nundu or Lethifold if their captors were being particularly sadistic.
Or even a dragon. Anything with appetite and an overwhelming odds- not too overwhelming. Not even grown wizards would be able to face the worst.
They just wanted the fun to see the little boy and girl dodge and scream and desperately try to wrestle onto the last bit of life, before whatever was left of them- if there was anything- was dragged away after the beast was herded back into its cage.
He saw a young boy battle a Quintaped. Shoved inside the holding pen- a cage where he could easily see through the bars, Rhaegar could only watch and pray desperately for the young boy to survive, somehow.
The young boy had dark hair. He looked like a boy that would learn from his mother on her kitchen bench, revising his letters and basic maths, running outside when the sun was out, playing Quidditch and soothing his little brother or sister's tears whenever he or she grazed their knee, or ended up bullied by the neighbouring children.
Rhaegar watched as the Quintaped roared and… He didn't see what happened next. Only years later, did he learn that that boy did indeed survive. But then, he thought that his life was gone, dashed, he would never grow up, never go to school and be awarded best potioneer of his year, never win the Quidditch Cup, never meet a girl, never fall in love, get married and introduce his firstborn to his parents…
Rhaegar swallowed.
The next few children certainly didn't survive. He could still hear the dying screams.
"Alright folks!" A thin, weedy man with rotting teeth stepped up. The ringmaster as he called himself. "Here's the nex' prize. We'll not be pitting them against beasts just yet, though." They collectively groaned. "Instead, we'll be pitting them agains' each otha!"
The crowd gave an approving roar.
Rhaegar saw the door of his cage slide up.
There were no monsters. Just another boy, scrawny and scared, but angry and determined.
No there was room for only one monster- the one that kills the victim.
Rhaegar snapped back into the present without seeming to leave it. He narrowed his eyes.
"You know nothing of the greater good, bastard." He whispered. "You don't fool me. You don't justify your actions. I don't deny I did those things as a child. When I was captured and tortured, brutalised among other things. But given the chance, if I had nothing to return to, nothing to cling onto, I would have never allowed myself to do any of those things. If I could go back, I never would." Save for one reason, he thought, remembering Alarissa and their baby.
"I spent the rest of my life, and I forever will, trying to amend for whatever I've done, even though I was in captivity and people often said I had no choice, I still do. Without many of my loved ones I would have become insane. I became a soldier not so I could feel the rage of war again, but to make sure nothing like this ever happens again. Even if I have to die to stop the slaughters, I won't allow any more people to be sacrificed, simply to boost a filthy, deluded ideology, or someone's own ego, like yours or mine." His blue eyes glared, boring into Tom's.
"Then you're a fool," Tom whispered. "And you are weak."
Rhaegar gave a harsh laugh. "A weak fool who defeated you," he reminded. "I defeated you and I am more than ready to do it again."
"Maybe, if the problem is not your little sister." Riddle whispered.
Rhaegar froze. Athelinda? No, no! It can't be!
"Little Philomena, isn't that what she's called?" Tom whispered. "The Selwyns have been particularly helpful, like so many others you will never know. Philomena. Perhaps you must contact her."
And Rhaegar felt his whole world come crashing down just as it did when his other sister left and he separated from Alarissa, without knowing that he would see her again.
I'm sorry for the length of this chapter. I also have something going on in my family and this is a time when some may feel threatened but we have to stick together to work things out.
I don't think that Harry was the first person that Tom Riddle pulled the flame-letters-rearranging spell on. I don't think he actually loves Athelinda. If you haven't read my prequel Lady of Serpents, don't be shocked. Sigurd was sired by Tom Riddle.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter universe, and I don't own anything here, save the Atlanteans idea, the Artrigos family, a number of friends, the clan. Even the Fey is from mythology and folklore, as are the Arthurian legends- only I made Igraine and Merlin siblings and Morgana isn't so bad. So I tried to reconcile canon- cause I'm not going to change that- that's not my place, even though I love AU fics- with my own plotline and character development in the series.
I know J.K Rowling said that Voldemort never loved a girl- not even Bellatrix- and the idea of Voldemort as a father is scary- but is Voldemort really a father? I know Sigurd- if and when he finds out the truth would never consider that. He isn't a real father. All he did was sire Sigurd, and technically, that's it. Even Darth Vader is by far, a more fatherly figure. And Valentine Morgenstern from the Mortal Instruments series, is to Clary. In absolutely no way is Voldemort more than a biological sire. NOT a father.
As for what he feels for Athelinda- well, it may be the closest thing he feels to loving anyone or anything, even in regards to his horcrux, Nagini which she gave to him as an egg. He even gave her Slytherin's locket to wear- his horcrux. Romantic in a twisted, insane way. But it's more like he owns her, rather than he loves her. He may still- foolishly- hope for a cosy reunion, though.