A/N: Wow. I never thought I'd get around to finishing this. *sigh*
However! Zoi asked me to, and I sorta felt obligated. Reading back over this story, I don't know what I was thinking. On the other hand, I suppose I'm actually kind of satisfied that there's some sort of logical progression, and that I managed to actually have an ending.
I mean, I actually planned this entire story out, originally. Except that file somehow got lost in the past year. *rolls eyes*
I'll probably rewrite this, change it from a pseudo history into a full blown AU - that way I can actually bring in the other Titan characters as promient figures instead of sideshow attractions. The lack of actual Teen Titans peoples has been, in my opinion, this story's greatest failing. When/if I rewrite this, I suppose I'll stick it on my lj. Or something. Maybe even post it here, if anyone's interested in reading it.
"And so it came to pass that Rorek of Nole defeated the dread dragon. However, in the wake of the monster's defeat, the mage forces of the House of Metrion were a decimated ghost of their former selves. Rorek himself did not return from the battle. Instead, a single survivor arose – a wizard of the House of Azar, a wizard whose power the likes of which we of the mageborn had never seen. In a fiery campaign he raised the dead of his fallen house and marched upon the undefended capital, laying waste to all in his way."
Artor leaned back in his chair and set down his quill. Sinking into exhaustion, he closed his eyes...
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Kyrie shot up in her infirmary bed. Around her, the room was a starched white, devoid of life. Next to her, she noticed Artor. There looked to be two more occupied beds in the room, one by a sleeping Garth, and the other by someone covered by a sheet. Probably in respect to the dead.
"Hi!" chirped Artor. The child was grinning happily.
"Artor..." said Kyrie. "Artor, where's your cousin?" she begged. Or perhaps she demanded, her tone was desperate enough to be either.
Artor continued to grin. "Rorek's off to fight a dragon!"
"No," whispered the enchantress. Clumsily, she pushed the sheets covering her off and made to get up. Suddenly though, a force was slamming her down onto the bed. The force was personified as a sparkling white hand.
Artor frowned. "They said you're not to get up. You're not well enough."
"So you won't let me up?" asked Kyrie.
Artor shook his head. "Nope."
Realizing she was facing all the stubbornness of a child, Kyrie changed tactics. "If I'm not well enough..." she trailed off, quite obviously. "You'll have to do it. But it's too dangerous..." again, she put special emphasis on her own hesitancy.
"Do what?" asked Artor, taking the bait.
"Nothing. You're too young," responded Kyrie, quite firmly.
Perhaps too firmly, as Artor gave up. "Oh, okay."
Darnit. Children were supposed to be more curious and headstrong than that. Once again, Kyrie was forced into a different tactic. "If you do something for me, I'll get you candy as soon as I'm well."
Artor's eyes lit up at the mention of sweets. "Okay!"
Kyrie smiled, happy that her plan seemed to be working. Closing her eyes again, she concentrated, bringing all the energies remaining in her battered body into focus. Holding out her hand, a black and white nexus of energy formed around it, conjuring up a white book. Reopening her eyes, Kyrie looked over at Artor again. "I'm going to weave a spell, and I just need you to lend me your power."
"That's easy," said Artor. The boy sounded very disappointed. However, he obliged the request and closed his eyes, summoning up his own white aura, which blanketed both himself, Kyrie, the bed, and a large portion of the room.
Kyrie grimaced as she concentrated on the spell threads she wanted to bring out. Drawing small runes with her fingers while clutching the book under her arm, she summoned up the power that was suffocating the room.
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The first thing the enchantress noticed when she arrived was the smell of smoke. The second thing was the sea of bodies. The dead expedition force blanketed the field.
Panic rose in Kyries throat as she desperately searched for Rorek. Surely such a powerful man would still be alive? Surely?
A giant crash caught her attention. In the distance, the dragon Malchior tumbled down as dust billowed up around him.
Gathering herself up, Kyrie began to stumble forward, headed towards the battle. If Rorek lived, that was where he was.
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Rorek watched, detached, as the ground beneath the dragon broke beneath its feet, leaving the wizard on a narrow precipice of solid ground.
The battle had been long, and Rorek was exhausted. But he had finally won, he had finally defeated the monster. Turning away from the chasm that had just opened, Rorek began to stagger towards more stable land.
He did not realize his mistake until a pillar of fire spewed up from where the dragon had plummeted down. With a giant crash, the beast landed on the ground Rorek had only just been standing on moments before.
It was his mistake, he knew. Dragons had wings.
Before Rorek could react, the monster's snaking tale whipped out from behind him, grabbing him and lifting him up into the air to stare into the crimson eyes of the beast.
"Rrrrroooorrrrkkkk..." it moaned.
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Kyrie watched helplessly as Rorek was torn from the ground and brought to face the dragon. She was still too far, gods curse it! Stumbling to a halt, she shouted up, "ROREK!" Knowing he would not reply, she twisted her body around and flung the book as hard as she could in the general direction of the battle. It was all she could do.
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"ROREK!"
Rorek tore his eyes from the staring contest with the dread dragon and saw... no... it couldn't be... Kyrie? Whoever it was, the figure hurled up something that looked suspiciously like a book. Realizing his only chance lay in that person, whoever it was, being an ally, Rorek reached out his hands and called to the tumbling object, summoning it up to him.
The wizard and the dragon's eyes widened simultaneously as they both realized what the book was, and what it meant.
Resolve evident in his eyes, Rorek twisted in the dragon's grasp to face his adversary. "Scum of the earth, you have lost."
"Aldruon enlenthra nalthos sola narisnor!"
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Kyrie stumbled through the wreckage of Malchior's castle. The proverbial silence was deafening, and she felt acutely alone among the dead. Step by step she headed towards where she judged the final battle to have taken place.
Indeed, surrounded by the rubble of the once majestic building, and covered by dust, was a single book.
Hesitantly, Kyrie picked up the volume, slowly opening it.
A blast of power issued forth from the pages, almost knocking Kyrie off her feet. The book fell to the ground, still open, and still leaking energies forth.
Gathering herself up again, she crawled towards the book once more.
The energy subsided as she stared down at the pages, and black ink began to form on the pages. The rough outlines of a face appeared, hastily sketched, constantly shifting. "Kyrieee..." the book moaned.
In a panicked rush, Kyrie slammed the covers shut.
Panting heavily from terror, she jumped as someone laid a hand on her back. Twisting around, she looked up at the one whose hand it was, hoping...
"Hello," said the man.
Kyrie sighed a sigh of disappointment.
"We should probably get back, get someone to clean up this mess," continued the man. Dressed in deep red, the crest of Azar was engraved on the clasp of his cloak. He smiled down, his friendly voice added, "By the way, I'm Trigon."
The End