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2024-01-25
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2025-06-24
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19/?
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In the Name of the King

Summary:

Many thanks to Ari & Ciss who are helping me a TON. Based on a Tumblr post I can't find.
-
Tim Drake is assigned to investigate a ghost cult. Not a big deal, really, until you consider he's sent with Damian Wayne, an assasin who tried to kill him less than a year ago who he is expected to befriend because they're "brothers".
What follows is as much as a mystery as a romance for Tim, and Damian, Dick, and Bruce finally learn actions have consequences- and they can't make Tim fix everything.
-
"Two lives are too many. I can return one of you- but you must choose."
The abnormally grainy footage didn't allow lip reading, but body language transmitted well. There was Tim stepping forward, and Damien- he said something, had to from the way Tim bent in pain. There was a back and forth between the two before Tim took another step to the king.
"Some heroes," the king said, "I see only one here. I'll return you, as promised."
To Tim, he said, "a hero was sacrificed, so I must accept."

"I want to know what was said between Damien and Tim," Bruce said, "and how to get Tim out. I need you to focus on finding any way to get to him without sacrificing soneone."

Notes:

In the words of the immortal meme:
Fuck it, we ball.

Also Gladiatrix isn't lying here, she's just implying something for funsies & time travel is weird.

Are you confused?
Cool, so is Tim and I love him so much, sassy little genius. You'll learn more as he does. Thank you, Ari & Ciss!

Thanks to Dontgiveah00t for the link to the OG post this is based off of! https://im-totally-not-an-alien-2.tumblr.com/post/689723734673784832/danny-bit-back-a-sigh-from-his-place-on-the-throne

Chapter 1: The Story Begins

Chapter Text

   Tim's head reeled from the events of the past twenty minutes. His captor was kind enough to let him get his bearings. 

   "I promised you a deal," the massive creature on the throne promised. "Guess my real name, and you will be returned. Until then, consider yourself an honored guest."

   Tim was only able to figure out a few emotions from the alien, scarred face under the flaming crown, but the main one was pity. 

   He hated that- but could maybe use it. If even half of the information the Watchtower had on the Ghost King was true, he needed as much leverage as he could get.

   "How many tries do I have? And how long do I have?" If it was unlimited, he'd just throw as many names at the King as he could think of. 

   The King raised one clawed hand to tap at his chin. "The Fenton portal is closed for now, and Plasmius' has been broken. I don't want to kill you," he mused, "and it gets boring around here sometimes. I'll give you until your human lifespan ends, and you'll have one try per day."

   Relief mixed with fear sent chills down his spine. If the King was confident enough to give him a lifetime, he had a rare name indeed- and possibly one a human mouth couldn't pronounce. 

   "Pariah Dark?"

    There were gasps around the room as well as titters, and the King raised his other left hand. "Enough. I kept the news of a new King quiet for a reason, and I'm pleased to see my efforts worked."

    To Tim he said, "tomorrow."

-

    He was given a journal to count his attempts, though he was informed by the Royal Head of Scribes he could use it for anything. He was also informed he would be attending court daily after breakfast, and his first name to the king would be his guess. 

   Other than court, he was free to roam if accompanied by a guard. 

   When he opened the journal, it said 'Pariah Dark' in scratchy calligraphy. Below it, it said 'The old king's name isn't mine'. 

    "He's got jokes, huh?"

   The ghost woman in rather revealing armor with a spear lodged in her chest shrugged. "One must have a sense of humor, with as much as King Phantom has gone through over the millenia."

   "Your name is Octavia, right?"

   She scowled. "You may call me Gladiatrix. Only those who have defeated me in battle may call my by my given name."

   "Sorry. Have you known King Phantom for long?"

   She chuckled, likely guessing the game. "I was given the privilege of meeting my King some 3,000 or so years ago, as you would count it. Though I only met him again a few years ago."

   "Wow. Was he already King back then?"

   "It was a great shock back then, his defeat of the ghost who called himself Plasmius. It would not be so now, but at that time, he was dead only three years," she replied.

    "His appearance was that of a prepubescent boy, a waifish one at that. And yet, though Plasmius tore down every obstacle our empire set up to declare himself Caesar, my king tore him nearly to pieces."

   3,000, Gladiatrix- female version of a gladiator, and a young boy at the time.  

   "He must've started out powerful, then."

   She pursed her lips. "The power of a ghost directly responds to the pain of their death, and the challenges they face while their core develops. He was merely powerful, then. I caution you the best way to leave this place is to enjoy his mercy and solve his game. You cannot defeat him in battle."

   "I never intended to," he answered, "but thank you for the warning. Can I ask you something else?"

   Gladiatrix shrugged, briefly dislodging the spear in her chest. "You may ask."

   He swallowed. "Why didn't- or couldn't," he hesitated, trying to find a way to phrase his question that wouldn't turn the only friendly person he'd met so far hostile. 

   "You and the other were sent as a sacrifice. Because of the loophole implying singular, he was allowed to refuse one. The two of you chose who would stay, and out of generosity, my king decided to sacrifice you to his boredom rather than his hunger."

   There were a multitude of ways someone could stop boredom, and Tim was grateful it was just a guessing game. "Wait- what happened to my brother?"

   Her face scrunched into a formidable scowl (not quite as good as Bruce's), for only a second. "Perhaps you should define 'brother' more effectively. Now come, the midday meal is food from the mortal realm, which you may eat safely."

   She ignored his other questions, except for those about the castle or the "infinite realms."

-

  Tim didn't try to sleep, too busy playing the last few moments with Damian in his head. ("You're only a replacement anyway!")

- 

Day 2

-

   He was still awake when Gladiatrix came for him. He was required to change- interestingly enough into modern human clothing- and had the joy of a shower using completely unidentifiable liquids before getting breakfast (fruit and heavily seasoned porridge) and being taken to the King's court.

  The fact that his weapons weren't taken from him added a tally to the host section in his mental debate of 'host vs captor'. 

   He was then escorted to a throne room, occupied by all manner of creatures, some which looked as human as Gladiatrix and others that gave him a headache to look at. Tim was instructed to sit facing the court at one of the long tables in front of the throne. He would've preferred to be at the back so he could keep everyone in sight. 

   Tim whispered, "where's the King?" 

   Gladiatrix replied in a whisper of her own. "Least to most important. The King is last."

   Slowly, other ghosts floated, walked, crawled, or slithered in to their seats before a group of four floating eyeballs in extremely fancy robes flew in. 

   They looked to the dias, spoke among themselves briefly, and tried to leave, stopped by a pair of guards- a centaur and what had to be a theropod dinosaur. Not a T-Rex, he was reasonably sure, but possibly a cousin. 

   "No one leaves court until the King grants leave," she whispered to him. 

   So they'd made an unintentional social gaffe, or maybe the people scheduled to go in before them were late. The next few ghosts marched up to the dias, behind Tim. He wondered if there were rules to where everyone sat, but before he could ask, the guards near the door stamped their feet and roared. 

   Absolute silence. No more whispered conversations and even twitching and fidgeting stopped, until one of the eyeballs grumbled, earning glares from everyone assembled. A moment later, the King's form- mostly starry void with bands of stark white- twisted in the air. 

   Four arms, each ending in white hands (interestingly, two had claws while the others were squared off) reached upwards. "In the name of the Infinite Realms and the Zone, I greet you and invite you for petition."

   Then, the King rose to his throne and settled. With nothing else to do, and unwilling to break the pattern of grievance, inquiry, law, return grievance, solution until he had a reason, Tim jotted down notes- on the laws, how ghosts reacted, how the King handled things- anything that seemed important at the time. 

   As cases were handled, giants that seemed to be made of too many arms and an even worse number of heads struck out old laws and wrote new ones on massive tablets. Each change clearly upset the eyeballs, though everyone else in the court was happy (or at least not as angry).

   Page after page went by, and Tim felt the urge to sleep- an odd sensation to say the least. 

   Shortly after he switched hands, the king rose again, and ordered court adjourned until the '80th cycle', whatever that meant. 

   Petitioners left in the same order they entered in, meaning he got the pleasure of leaving literal monstrous giants and definitely hostile eyeballs at his back. "Wait," Gladiatrix ordered. 

   Though the eyeballs didn't have faces per se, there was undoubtedly strong disapproval, and possibly outright hatred. They scattered before the next group of ghosts, more eldritch monstrosities than anything recognizably human, and finally the king left, flanked by the two door guards. 

   "I hope you rested well," the king said with something resembling a smile. "What do you think my name is?"

   "I'm told you met Gladiatrix a few thousand years ago, and fought an emperor. I'm just going to throw out: Spartacus."

    The king laughed, surprisingly human. There seemed to be a little disappointment there, too. "Good reasoning, but not it."

   "Do I get a clue?"

   The king considered him with green and white eyes, too big for his face. "Can I see what you wrote down?"

   Interesting- he hadn't been ordered. Tim handed over his notes (though not the shorthand coded copy he made while waiting for the massive hall to leave).

   The king considered them, flipping through with the squared-off fingers. The taloned hands laid still at his side. "My name," he said finally, "doesn't have an S."

   That wasn't very helpful, was Tim's first thought- then realized just how many names he could rule out. Julius. Augustus. Remus. Romulus. Jason. 

  (Would Jason possibly know how to find him, with the whole undead thing he had going on? Would he even try, or be equally as grateful as Damian that 'the Replacement' was gone?)

   "Thanks," he said absentmindedly, choosing to work on a mental list of names rather than dwell on... everything. 

-

Day 3

-

   A cycle was roughly 15 minutes according to the extremely disturbing talking lamp, which meant he had about 20 hours until his next chance, if his calculations were correct. 

   There was a problem here he hadn't foreseen: no coffee. No redbull, no energy drinks. There was purified, super-concentrated, electrified ectoplasm, but that would have the unfortunate affect of killing him. 

   This meant, about six hours after court ended and his next meal (something called Zamzaganu, which was incredibly strange but tasty), he actually slept. Alfred would be equally shocked and proud, Tim thought in amusement.

   It quickly died, choked by morbid questions he couldn't answer: what did Damian tell Alfred, and the rest of the family? Alfred would try to find him, he told himself quietly in his room. Even if no one else, Alfred would. 

   There was more doubt in his voice than he liked. 

   Tim found his original clothes- the Red Robin suit- had been cleaned and had a slight scent of ozone and pumpkin pie spice. 

   After changing, Gladiatrix was again his guide, letting him have a tantalizing but brief look at a massive library called the Trillion Book Athenaeum. The many floors of the building stretched farther into the green and purple sky than his human eyes could see- and lower, as well, into gangrenous depths. 

   There were seemingly- endless fields of garbage, which shifted before his eyes, becoming lost toys, forgotten but cherished books, all of which carried the scent of his father's cologne. The kind his dad brought out on good days, when he acted like he really loved Tim, like everything would be ok. Before he burned the last bridges and Tim ran off to Bruce to drown himself in solving mysteries.

   "Red Robin, it is time to move on," the now-familiar voice of Gladiatrix commanded. "The fields of nostalgia have many pitfalls, and it is time to attend my King's court."

   With difficulty, he took his eyes away from the mountains which, from his peripheral vision, were nothing more than piles of broken toys, rotten food, and trash. 

   On the way, the female gladiator cleared her throat. "You have my apologies. Most ghosts find this place lovely, much as a museum or garden. I forgot how it impacts the minds of mortals lacking a core."

   "It's okay," Tim said, more of a rote response than an honest one. "What’s a core?"

   Classic. Picking a question instead of confronting emotions to avoid backlash. Jeez. Maybe he shouldn't have read so many psychology textbooks while profiling and tracking serial killers. 

   "It is an organ which develops over time in ghosts," she explained, eagerly taking the peace offering, "and allows us to filter and consume ectoplasm. But more importantly, it is the seat of the combined mind-soul. Beyond that, most knowledge is instinctual."

   As before, they reached the massive court hall after the supplicants, though Tim noted the faces of those who spoke in court yesterday had changed. The eyeballs (though 'Observants' were the correct names, apparently) came in before the group of 6 so-called 'Ancient' ghosts again, and again made a fuss. 

   This time, he took notes on purpose, aiming for another clue. As before, after court the ghosts in the lower area began to file out, though now he noticed an interesting quirk. They would leave by group, but always one- the same one all three days- would stay until the last had filed out, then the next group to leave seemed to have their own pattern as well. 

   This time, too, he noted down questions on a separate piece of faintly glowing paper. 

   Who determined who was most or least 'important'? Was there a way to move up or down in society? How did they get human food? How could he get coffee? Or Red Bull, he wasn't picky. 

   How did-

   "How did a human gain a seat beside the King," one ghost demanded. Judging by the gasps and hisses, speaking out of turn- or maybe just speaking ill of the king- was a taboo. 

   He almost turned to see the king's reaction until Gladiatrix's hand clamped firmly on his shoulder. The Observants tittered for a moment, but quickly subsided. 

   The king didn't answer. The silence now was almost as oppressive as that time Mr. Freeze destroyed Alfred's favorite tea shop. 

   The ghost shifted and every hair on his nape rose to attention when the king let out a bloodthirsty hiss. He let the silence after that drag on for several more minutes- a full cycle by Tim's count. 

   "I received a sacrifice from the mortal realm," King Phantom said, low and menacing. "And you dare to police what I do with it?"

   The ghost shivered, it's leonine mane bristling even as it ducked and tried to make itself smaller. 

   "Even Poindexter had the guts to fight me when he disagreed with me. And you stand here shivering like a rat in the rain. Sit down. Shut up. Think before you speak. These hands," he continued, "are rated E for everybody. Understand?"

   The ghost squeaked out an affirmative and sat down hurriedly. The ghost beside it, a manticore if he wasn't mistaken, smacked it behind the ears with a meaty paw. The manticore in question then rose to its feet with a bowed head. 

   "Chief of the Lions Guild. You may speak."

   "I apologize on behalf of my Fright, your majesty. This insubordination will not be tolerated."

   "I am glad to hear that, Lord Pisthirió. Otherwise, your presence at this court would be sorely missed."

   The threat wasn't subtle, yet if anything there was an ease in the tension as the manticore ghost settled back down with a strangely pleased expression. 

   He now had more questions: what just happened? And what was a 3,000 year old king doing with modern phrases? Also, was he an 'it' now? Fuck that. 

  Tim Drake was nobody's 'It'. 

   Still, he wasn't sure it was a good time. After all, if he was just a thing to this King, he probably would react worse than he would to someone who worked with a creature he evidently knew by name. 

   The court moved on. Again, the multi-headed multi-armed giants carved edicts into glowing stone as quickly as his pen moved. And again, after the king dismissed court for 80 cycles, they filed out in their strange order. 

   "Red Robin," the king said when he exited the hall after the ancients (again, the observants seemed none too happy.) The king held out a hand for his notes, which he read- despite Tim having written them in Greek.

   "Your majesty," he replied. 

   "Have you seen the Caves of the Mountain King yet? If not, you should."

   That threw him for a loop. "I just got here," he said slowly, "so no. Do I get my guess?"

   The king nodded. 

   "You know Greek, and there aren't any S's. I'm going to throw out Alexander."

   "A mighty King, I'm flattered. But not my name."

   "Do I get a hint this time, too?"

   "There's an A in my name," he said finally. "And for your questions, the head of each guild and each fright stay behind a little longer. It's a sign of respect for me, acknowledging I'm dangerous, and for their family, a way to say they'll give up their life if needed."

   He hummed a little as he tapped the next one. "Importance is derived by status, but it's not really something you're born into here. It's more-"

   The impromptu culture lesson was interrupted by a messenger, a little girl with bright blue eyes and vibrant butterfly wings. "King Phantom, the halfa Plasmius wants to speak with you. He sent the message through the Warden of Bleak Gales."

   The King sighed heavily. "Thank you for the message. Please inform the Warden that I-"

   Gladiatrix kicked the king none-too-gently, a thud echoing.

   He cleared his throat. "Please inform him that I expect him to continue holding the prisoner. I will pay him a visit with a gift on his Ascension ceremony, and may choose to visit the prisoner Plasmius afterwards."

   "Okay! I- I mean, yes your majesty!"

   The king reached out a hand and formed a condensed ball of bright blue. "Okay is fine with me. Here, for your troubles."

   The ghost kid- couldn't be more than 6 or 7- looked between the ball and the King's face several times. "Um, the Warden already paid."

   "Take it as a bonus, or tell the warden I paid for your next message. Your choice. Ok?"

   "Thanks Mr. King!"

   The butterfly girl moved too fast for Tim to follow, gone with the ball and her wings trailing blue and purple light. 

   "Your majesty," Lord Pisthirió began, "if I can interrupt, I would like to speak with you regarding the trade agreement and the incident today."

   "Very well," he replied. "Gladiatrix, please continue your assignment. I'll speak with you soon, now that we know this isn't a temporary affair."

   "I am pleased to serve, your majesty. Come, Red Robin."

   To her credit, she waited until out of earshot to complain. "If he visits that fool, I'll challenge him myself."

   "Who's the fool?" Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea for someone to challenge the king- then again, according to Constantine, the last king decided to celebrate his reign by nearly sending humanity back to the stone age. Maybe this current one wasn't such a bad ruler. 

   Bad guy, maybe, but at least keeping the worst in check. 

   "Plasmius," she snarled. "Time and again my king has given that-" he didn't understand what she said then, but it made his ears burn regardless- "chances. Time and again, he has spurned the offer and bitten at the hand that fed him. Four times that I know of in the last year alone, he's tried to kill my king! And he killed the emperor in life!"

   "Wait, that's the same Plasmius? The one with the portal?"

   Gladiatrix fixed him with a gimlet stare. "Even if his portal was working, you would much dislike the cost for use of it. Perhaps you do not yet understand what a boon my King has offered you."

   Was she indirectly calling him a brat? 

   "Maybe no one has explained it to me."

    She observed him for a moment, then continued walking. "Follow me, and I will give you a lesson perhaps more relevant to the situation."