Author's note: I'm back! Cranked out another chapter in less than a week! I'm going to have Saturdays be my uploading days, so hopefully nothing hinders that from happening. Anyways! Thanks a lot to all the people who clicked on, looked, scanned, and/or actually read my first chapter! It made me really happy! I even got a review! Although it was by a close personal friend, but still! I was very happy someone liked it enough to review. :) I would love it if people would give me a review or follow the story, it makes me immensely happy! And I always write better chapters when I am happy! Anyways, I would like to give a big shout out to Regina lunaris, for giving me my first review and my first favorite, along with following my story! I would also like to thank Demetra Blackstone and MysteryGirl2401 for being the first two to follow my story! You guys all rock my socks and make me a happy girl! Anyways! Onward Saint Francis! ;P To The Story!
Warning: There is some violence and some graphic details, but really, nothing horrible.
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans, believe me, if I did, Raven would have gotten with Robin and there would have been many character deaths. :/
Titan's Kingdom
His padded feet made no noise as he stealthily made his way through the carnage. Dead bodies of peasants, holy people, and animals alike, littered the blood stained ground. Their bodies twisted in agony, their faces, what was left of them, were like burnt statues of terror with their missing limbs and melted eyes.
He turned his face away from the scene before him to blink away the tears that formed in his eyes because of the ferocious smell permeating the area. His dark eyes scanned the bodies looking for any sign of hope that She was still alive.
He let a deep growl of frustration escape his throat as he weaved in and out of the wreckage. Drawing in a deep breath, and wishing he hadn't, he ducked under the scorched remains of the holy place. He was doing his best not to dwell on the fact that he did not know what he was looking for. She would have changed so much in the five years she was living here. The only thing he knew would not change, would be the mysterious color of her hair.
Since the creation of Titan's Kingdom some thousand years ago, the royal family has always had the same pale cream skin, deep amethyst eyes, and thick deep purple hair. They had all been born with a beauty so rare, none could ever hope to compare. No matter where a royal went, there could be no mistaking the fact that they were of the royal blood.
Only, She was different. She had the same deep purple color of eyes and hair as the rest of her royal family, but the beauty and the pale creamy skin had never existed. It was no wonder, for anyone who had been alive and in the castle around the time She had been born, why. Luckily, he had been. He was immensely glad for that fact, as he hated when people knew things that he himself did not know. That was one of the reasons he was the greatest assassin-spy in the whole Kingdom. No matter the information, he would get it. No matter the prey, he would kill it. And no matter the task, he would complete it.
Which was more or less the reason why he found himself so frustrated at the moment. He knew the task, find Her. He knew the prey, anyone who got in his way. And he knew the information, She was here. He just didn't know WHERE here!
He contemplated softly calling out to her and immediately decided against it. He was not so old that he was hard of hearing, by any means, and he could hear the scuffling about of the raiders who were here for the exact same reason as he.
He gave a whispered grunt of approval as he soundlessly skirted a few corpses. If they were still looking for Her as well, then he still had time.
Dipping under a broken table in what used to be the kitchens, he dodged the raider who came stomping through muttering curses and kicking debris. He stopped stomping directly in front of the broken table and started speaking in a foreign tongue to another raider in a different room.
Tucking himself even deeper into the shadows, which wasn't very easy because he was a rather large man, he held his breath and listened in on their conversation. It wasn't hard really, because he knew every kind of tongue that existed inside and outside of the Kingdom. There were over one hundred different tongues outside of the Kingdom and only one known tongue inside the Kingdom. There were secrete tongues and code tongues inside the Kingdom of course, and he knew every one.
As soon as they were done shouting to each other over the space of separate rooms, the raider swiftly turned, muttered an oath, kicked a kitchen woman's corpse, and stomped loudly out of the room. Softly letting out the breath he had been holding, he started to slither out of the crevice he had squeezed himself into when a dancing light in the corner caught his eye.
Staying crouched down, he cautiously crept forward, keeping his ear open for unwanted intruders. There, laying in the corner of the room, lay a shattered looking-glass, no bigger than a small eating bowl. Normally, he would not have touched it, as it was a personal belief that if you messed with the scene, they would know you were there. But for some reason, he was transfixed. He felt a pulling, urging him to touch it, to take it back with him and fix the broken pieces. It was almost like the looking-glass was sad, begging him to just pick it up.
Against his better judgment, he reached out and picked up the abandoned object. The weight of the thing shocked him. It felt as if there was a small person living inside. Shifting the looking-glass in his hand he decided to turn it over, to remove the broken glass pieces, so that all that would remain was the outer shell. As he turned it over and started removing the glass, the word on the back of the shell caught his eye. Glancing around quickly, he dusted the ash and soot from the back of it to read the word.
His heart promptly stopped beating. "HERS" was carved into the delicate shell, in a hand that made the word seem spiteful. His heart slammed painfully against his rib cage like a crazed man against his dungeon's bars. He knew that it really did belong to Her. For no one else would have their belongings labeled that way. As if their very existence was a curse.
He took a harsh breath and slipped the shell into the pouch on his hip. Standing, he closed his eyes and listened intently for any sign of Her. In the distance he could hear the raiders abusing the corpses and talking angrily amongst themselves. It seemed, from their conversation, that they had found no trace of Her. For that, he was thankful.
Suddenly, he heard a faint tormented scream pierce the air. His breath caught as he held himself rigid, praying to whoever would listen that the raiders were hard of hearing. Darting out of the kitchens, he headed outside of what was left of the building. Glancing around, he noticed that the raiders were calling it a day, talking as if She was dead and gone. They laughed with each other and talked of how they would be coming back when the sun rose up to find Her corpse. Breathing a sigh of relief he realized that they had not heard Her scream.
Smirking at their impatience, he turned towards the wooded area of the land. He would bet his immense wealth that She was in there. He felt it in his bones. She was a smart girl, his Monarch, She would have headed towards the thick trees to hide. His only worry was Why She had screamed. If anyone hurt Her…
Picking his way around the various dead creatures littering the earth with practiced ease, he made his way stealthily towards the area with the most trees. It had been five years since he had been here on this holy place. Five long years.
He had been instructed by the Yahudhist Shepherd, who at that time had been the only Man of the Cloth in Titan's Kingdom, to retrieve Her Majesty and bring her to the holy place, for the Monarch was no longer safe at the last location she had been moved to previously. Though loathe to follow any command that the Shepherd gave, as the only one in the Kingdom he was the Monarch's guardian, he had left first thing that morning.
He remembered that meeting very well, as his memory was perfect… except when it came to finding his blasted right glove every morning… anyway, his memory was nearly perfect, so the image that graced his mind of that morning was very vivid.
He had worn peasant's clothing to lessen people's attention of the very large, very healthy, man entering the plague area. He had hunched over and tried to appear sickly, but really, as amazing as he looked, it was very difficult to pull off. He had his hair long back then, long thick locks of the darkest of black fell down his back nearly touching his rock-like derriere. He had gone on foot, plague ridden people rarely had the means for a horse, and arrived at the orphanage in record time. As he had neared the building, he remembers seeing a very sickly small child standing at the door holding the hem of her over-large green dress. He had immediately recognized her by her coloring. It was strange to him, seeing the royal coloring on something so sickly and different from normal royalty. He had taken his time, walking slowly up to her, so he could better take in his Monarch's appearance.
Her deep purple hair was short, falling limp and lifeless to her shoulders. An over-large cap was placed over her head, falling forward into her unnaturally large looking amethyst eyes. Eyes that looked at his coming towards her with wariness and fear. Her features were pretty despite her sickliness. High cheekbones, though not enough meat on her bones to make them plump and rosy. A tiny nose that swooped upwards at the end, giving her a pixie-like look. Her lips were big and full, at odds with the thinness of the rest of her face, though the corners were turned perpetually downwards, causing her to look sullen and pouting. Her chin was pointed, giving her a heart-shaped face, and her slim little neck led down to a slim little body. A body that was being dwarfed by a crudely made faded light green dress, a dress better suited to a chimney-sweep's daughter, not a Monarch. Her feet were so small and bare, it had made his chest ache.
And She stood there, eyeing him, shivering slightly. She had nothing else with her, no possessions, and no one was there to see her off. He had wondered, briefly, why the Shepherd had sent her to a place so diseased. Even if for Her safety, would it not do her more harm than not if She had gotten the plague and died here? He had eyed Her again and wondered, again briefly, if she was not already plague-ridden considering the fact that she had been there for three years already and that there was no sign of danger around and yet she had to be moved so quickly.
He had shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts, then stopped directly in front of her and crouched down to her level. Her eyes had widened even more, if possible, and she moved as if to take a step back away from him, but changed her mind half way through and held her ground. The look in her eyes had changed from a scared child to one of determination. Sticking her puffy bottom lip out and scrunching up her eyes, she clenched her fists tightly before dropping into a very swift curtsy. He had cracked a smile when, as she whipped her head back into a standing position, her over-large cap fell completely off and onto one of his boots. Her gasp was dramatic and full of fear, causing him to frown before promptly picking up her cap and extending it out to her. He had watched in amazement when that small action caused her to flinch and back away. Had she expected to get hit?
Anger had swelled up in his chest so quickly, he had gotten dizzy from it. Standing swiftly, he plopped the cap on her head, making sure it covered her eyes, then lifted her fragile body up and to his chest, causing a raspy squeak to rush out of her mouth.
"Shh, put your head on my shoulder and try to sleep, we have a long journey Your Majesty." His voice had been soft and deep as he put a small amount of pressure on her head until it touched his shoulder. Glaring up at the orphanage, he had half a mind to come back and light the place on fire, but he remembered the orphans and decided he had better not. He didn't need children's lives on his conscience. The Monarch had grasped his rough tunic in her bony little hands and lay there, rigid as a board until she fell asleep sometime later.
It had been a three-week journey from the plagued orphanage to the holy place, and during that time the Monarch did not speak. He had gotten her to smile near the end of their journey, but she never laughed and she never cried. Strangely it was as if she had no emotions. 'Because someone probably beat them all out of her.' He had thought in annoyance. By the time they had reached the holy place, he decided he liked his Monarch, quite a lot actually. Her quiet, somber demeanor was endearing, and he had enjoyed watching her when she thought he wasn't. She had let a smile slip out when that happened.
He grimaced as he remembered arriving at the holy place. Her hand had been tucked inside his, it would stay that way so long as he didn't look at her, when they walked up toward the large wooden building. As soon as he had rapped on the door, he had wished he could take it back. The holy women had yanked open the door, the whole lot of them had sour pinched faces, as if they had just eaten a rotten fruit, and they had curtsied to him, grabbed the Monarch by the arm and yanked her inside. He had grown furious and slammed his boot in the door before they could close it completely.
He had straightened his spine and glowered down at them, hoping to intimidate them with his sheer size. It had worked. They all gasped collectively, which creeped him out to no end, and shuffled backwards admitting him entry.
Staring them all down with hard black eyes, he frowned, searching the room for the little plum-colored head. Seeing it behind one of the holy women, he had stalked forward, head nearly brushing the top of the floor, causing the holy women to part like the red sea until he could see that one of the horrid holy women still had his Monarch in a bruising grip. Gritting his teeth together and clenching his jaw, he grabbed hold of the holy woman in the exact same bruising grip that she had on his Majesty.
"Does it feel good? To be grabbed in such a way?" He asked when she shrieked, his voice deeper than he remembered it being. Tightening his grip he continued, "No? I didn't think so."
The holy woman's eyes welled up and she shrieked again, "Unhand me Sir! I am a woman of holy blood! This is sacrilege!"
His grip only managed to get tighter. "Ah, yes, and I suppose it makes me a very bad man for treating such a holy blooded person as yourself so roughly?" The woman only nodded dumbly, her lip quivering.
"Mhm, I see, so what then, does that make you? For I am only mimicking your treatment of Our Monarch." His voice had risen with each word until he practically shouted. The holy woman's eyes were huge as she looked stupidly down at her hand, which was still in a death grip around the brittle little arm. The little girl's face was scrunched up in pain and her eyes screamed out for help, but her mouth did nothing but quiver.
"Let. Her. Go." Each word was forced out between painfully clenched teeth. "NOW!" He barked when she didn't let go fast enough. The holy woman dropped the small arm like it was on fire then flashed her eyes up at him expectantly. He could hear the whole collective of holy women holding their breath and glaring at the little plum haired girl.
The Monarch had grit her teeth and crossed her arms so she wouldn't cradle it and let on how much it hurt. If he had been a beast he would have roared. He squeezed the woman's arm tighter, not as tight as he could, mind you, for it would have broken, and glared at everyone in the room before saying, "She is your Monarch, no matter her size or coloring, or where she came from, she is your Majesty! Treat her like one! And if I happen to hear of ANYONE treating her as anything otherwise, and believe me I will hear, I have eyes and ears everywhere, You will be getting a special visit from Me. Understood?"
The collective nodded quickly and cleared a path to the door. Stooping down to pick up his plum haired pixie, he sent one last glare before carrying her outside and demanding to be shown the grounds. They had taken him everywhere, showed him every nook and cranny, per his demands, and showed him her room. It was small, but nice enough, with a hay mattress and various pieces of crudely made furniture.
Setting her down and kneeling, he had crooked his gloved finger under her chin and brought her face upwards until they had been seeing eye to eye. Staring at her hard, he had told her, "Never let anyone treat you like that again, understand? You are better than that. You are a Monarch, and not just Any Monarch, you are Their Monarch."
He had tilted his head to the side as he gently picked up her arm and surveyed the damage. There were five finger-shaped bruises formed on her upper arm, he had been surprised that her arm had not snapped in two! His heart had felt heavy as he glanced from her bruised limb up to her timid face. She was looking at her arm as well, noting, not for the first time, that her skin was very different from his. This always caused her expression to turn to one of self loathing. Unable to give her any explanations or any anything for that matter, he had been overwhelmed with sorrow for the little creature. She was far too tiny for her age. For a girl of seven, she looked to be about five.
Without further thought, he had tugged her arm over to his face and pressed a feather light kiss upon her discolored flesh. Putting her arm back down at her side, he looked up at her and felt heat settle on his face. Suddenly mortified at what he had done, he went to gruffly get back to his feet so the little imp couldn't see the Kingdom's greatest assassin-spy blush. Just as he went to stand, the Monarch had launched herself into his arms, throwing her mini limbs around his neck, with a strangled cry.
"Thank you, oh thank you, Sir!" She cried out in a voice no louder than a whisper. Her voice sounded underused and raspy, like her throat would start bleeding at the hint of a shout. He had felt his eyes well up as he roughly pulled her into a tight hug. What was it about this girl that made him this way? He had wondered. It made no sense! One single tear from her had the power to make him move a mountain in order for her to smile!
Fearing for his manhood, and the fact that he could do nothing more for her, he pushed her away from him and held her at arms length. Looking into her tearful eyes, full of wonder and a glimmer of hope, he tore his gaze away and with a whispered goodbye he had left. He did not let himself look back at her little face staring soulfully out her window at his back.
Shaking his head, he tried to rid himself of thoughts of her. He had been thinking about her for the past five years. Worrying about her safety, her happiness… was she eating enough? Did they treat her fairly? Did they beat her?
He knew nothing. No one would tell him anything, and to be honest, he was afraid to know. He knew he was fully capable of killing the whole lot of them if they hurt her and that would do no one any good, so he pushed her out of his mind and squashed the worries as they came. It would do no good dwelling on something he could not change.
As he stepped onto a path, he subconsciously sidestepped a severed arm. Glancing down at it absently, his head jerked upwards as he heard the unmistakable gritty voice of his Monarch cursing the Heavens. His heart slammed a sporadic rhythm in his chest as his feet flew him silently towards the direction of her voice. As he ran, he swooped down and picked up an old rusted battle-axe that for strange reasons unknown was just laying in the brush.
As he came to a jarring stop, he noticed three things; he was standing in front of a clearing with a well in the middle, there was a man not four paces in front of him, the rather large smelly man had a weapon.. a nocked bow and he was aiming it at the well. Heart in his throat, restricting his breathing, he leaned to the left, just enough to see around the man, and his heart fell straight to his toes.
A severely disfigured child was sitting with his back to the wall, a look on his face of determined acceptance. His short-cropped hair was a deep purple. The same deep purple as his little pixie Monarch.
Within the space of a breath, he had moved forward, jumped in the air, and came down on the man's head with the battle-axe, at the same time he threw his leg around to kick the bow out of his hands.
Panting heavily, he stood over the dead man, who now lay at his Monarch's feet, where he belonged. He turned his horrified gaze to his Majesty's face and took in the severe swelling, the broken nose, the blood.. So much blood. His stomach turned as his voice was wrenched from his throat.
"Lady Raven! Lady Raven! Are you unhurt? Who did this to you!?" She just stared at him, not comprehending what he said at all. 'By all that is Holy! Is she deaf!?' His frantic mind raced. Shock! It had to be shock! Kneeling down in front of her he got closer to her face, Making her see him.
"You're Alive, Lady Raven! Your Majesty!" Grasping onto her shoulders he repeated the statement. She had to know that she was alive! She did not die! He had saved her! His grasp got more gentle as he watched the life come back into her eyes. Smiling down at her, he pulled her into a soft hug, noting that she really hadn't changed much at all, only grown a little. Pulling back, he crooked his finger and brought her face up to meet his before whispering.
"I will not let anyone hurt you anymore, my Lady, I will not leave you again." Raven's eyes grew wide with recognition and she threw her arms around his neck and cried, "Sir Bruce! You've come back!"