Author's Note:
I know it seems a bit odd, to do, out of all things, a HP/DL crossover. Especially one dealing with dragons. But I shall endeavor to make this story one worth reading, and with my slew of OC's, keep the Mary Sues to minimum.
This story will probably be best enjoyed by those who have a working knowledge of both DragonLance and Harry Potter. Most of the DL characters are original, and basically none of the HP characters are. So I imagine that someone with little to no knowledge of DragonLance will get a good gist of what's going on, regardless. Most things explain themselves out well enough. If you're a DragonLance fan, but for some reason in your right mind you haven't read the War of Souls trilogy yet (and you don't know what happens, and care), for God's sake, stop reading. Major spoilers. You've been warned!
I can't imagine this story ever getting above the PG-13 rating - there will probably be a bit of graphic violence down the lines, but nothing horrible. Some romance, yes, but sorry, no lemons or limes. ;)
Some notes to the HP people who do not know much of DL:
Paladine = Platinum Dragon = The Paladin = Valthonis = Head God of Light (out of six)
Takhisis = Five-Headed Dragon = The Dark Queen = Head Goddess of Dark (out of six)
Mishakal is Paladine's consort, Sargonnas is Takhisis's consort.
DL world is Krynn, full of elves, humans, dwarves - you know, the usual fantasy menagerie.
Chrome dragons (breath weapons in parentheses) – red (fire), blue (lightning), green (poisonous gas), black (acid) and white (frost). Takhisis's children, generally "evil".
Metallic dragons – gold (fire), silver (frost), bronze (lightning), brass (poisonous gas) and copper (acid). Paladine's children, generally "good".
The two are considered mortal enemies of each other, and have been for as long as anyone can remember.
Dragons can live a long time - thousands of years - although most do not live that long, as they get killed in battle well before then. The do not age linearly, but rather dependent on their environment, and I want both HP and DL readers to realize that throughout this story, the dragons in it are basically children. They have the same mental capability as the teenagers they befriend later on in the story. Just because they are hundreds of years old at that point doesn't make them any the wiser. And it will be a long time before we see the HP crowd, just so you know. We’re gonna see an account of the Wizarding World from before Grindelwald, to Voldemort’s first uprising and Marauder years, to finally…finally…Voldemort's second war and the current HP crowd. Soo…this may take a while; you’re in this for a long run.
One last note to HP readers and DL people who didn't take my warning about WoS - right before this story begins, at the end of Dragons of a Vanished Moon, Paladine sacrifices his godhood so that Takhisis may became mortal and thus be killed, which she is. Paladine then becomes the elf Valthonis, and begins to travel Krynn. At this point, my story becomes increasingly AU, although I imagine that the story will hold true for quite a while in the DL Universe, as the authors tend to horribly vague about anything that could directly contradict my story.
That's all you really need to know, HP readers. Not too bad, was it?
So, without further ado...on with the show...
Takhisis was dead.
Across the surface of Krynn, and deep within the pits of the Abyss, there spread a ripple of magic. It was subtle – few were attuned enough to the Dark Queen’s power to feel it. It created an outcry among the chrome dragons – most with rage and loss, but some with victory, for they would not be forced to do her bidding anymore.
But the most susceptible to her all suddenly sighed with relief. No longer were their young minds full of nightmares, but rather, blessed peace. A hundred young chrome dragons shifted within their eggs, and began to dream of greater things.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There was a sadness to see the Paladin finally step down from godhood. All understood it, but few liked it. Nevertheless, the Balance must be maintained, always. The metallic dragons retreated to the Dragon Isles in their grief, and put their dead to rest. The war among mortals was to continue – granted, it never ceased – but they would have no part in it, now, except for the few stray Silvers and Golds who had pledged their allegiance to the Solamnic Knights or the elves. After all, what was the point, most reasoned, when neither the Platinum Dragon nor the Five-Headed Dragon were in the skies above?
It was a relief that the Dark Queen was dead – and Paladine wasn’t dead yet by any means – but it was still an alienating fact that most of the dragons alive today would outlive him in short order. Many couldn't deal with it, and completely ignored his elven form, preferring to think him gone for good. While they knew he was still alive, his divine presence had disappeared from their hearts. The benevolence that had invaded their minds at every turn was gone. Even when the gods had disappeared before, when Takhisis stole the world, they still felt him in their hearts. But not anymore.
Their eggs no longer glowed with a holy light.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was time.
The dragons across the world could feel the whisper of infant thoughts trickle across their minds. Most of the chromes shut out the whisper – there were those who would be there to properly instruct the hatchlings, to cull the weak from the strong. It was none of their concern.
But the metallics crooned with delight. So many of their eggs had been stolen, transformed into the hideous draconian armies, and those that had survived were finally hatching. It was a good sign, for it meant that the young within felt safe enough with the world around them to finally come out and experience it. No one could ever tell when the eggs would decide to hatch – it was entirely random at some times, depending on the chaos of the world. Many had feared that the eggs would never hatch without Paladine. And yet, here they were, only a few years past his descent into mortaldom.
The new hatchlings boosted the metallic numbers by almost fifty. They were still outnumbered by the chromes, who would see another hundred to their ranks, but the dragons of the former Dark Queen seemed too far interested in the power struggles of mortals to bother with the isolated dragons on their Isles.
But there was something decidedly different about dragons that hatched that day. Furora snarled down at the youngest generation of chrome dragons. There were a few promising gems – notably among the reds and blacks. But a large group cowered together, seeking strength in numbers, like weaklings.
“Why do you not attack your siblings?” the red matron cried at a sizeable blue hatchling among the throng.
The Blue turned its blind eyes to her, “Why should I? They are weaker than me, they pose no threat to me.”
Furora was shocked into silence before roaring the age-old mantra, “Why? Because mercy is weakness and weakness is death!”
“Then why are we still alive, when others are not?” a Green piped up from near the center. Furora was so incised that she lunged at the unsuspecting Green, but was stopped at the last moment by the blue tail of Hyperion. She snapped in rage at the Blue, but he paid no mind.
“Let them see their own folly, Furora. You teach them nothing by devouring them when they are blind,” the older Blue supplied.
“They must be taught respect! I will not allow this weakness! It is what our Queen would have done,” she added petulantly.
Hyperion smirked and released the Red, “Yes, and look what that has done for us. We are free, now, Furora. This generation has not been tainted by her presence, or known the alien Overlords. Perhaps we could learn something from them.”
Furora snorted, and suddenly snapped her head forward, devouring the squalling Green in one bite. The other hatchlings cowered away from the spot the Green had once occupied, and Hyperion gave her a disapproving frown.
“I think not,” she spat.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The metallics noticed that their young seemed troubled by their surroundings, as if something was missing. They did not take any more than passing interest in an elf named Valthonis who watched his youngest generation of children hatch with a great sadness in his eyes.
“They will see great trials in their lives,” spoke the wearied elf, leaning on an oaken staff. “Great tribulations. More so than any before them.”
“They are lost,” spoke the old, blind silver at his right side. “Lost without you, as we all are.”
“They are not lost, far from it. They are free,” the former god replied.
And thus they became known as the Freed Ones.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
With the aid of Hyperion, nearly half of the newest generation of chrome dragons disappeared. Most of the adults didn’t care in the slightest – those that were gone were weak, unfit to live. If they ever returned, they would be dealt with in short order.
No one heard wing or tail from the Weak Ones, as they had been known, until nearly a century and a half later. The youngest generation had grown at an alarmingly fast rate among both chromes and metallics – dragons normally grew at different speeds, depending on the times in which they lived – but it was as if the young ones had picked up on some urgent message to grow, almost as if time were against them. And grow they did – they were already flying, nearly a quarter of their full-grown size, at only one-hundred and forty years old.
The mortal world had changed around them – many of the chromes and a few metallics still joined the lesser races in battle. The lines of power changed constantly – alliances were forged and shattered in what felt like heartbeats to the dragons, but were decades to the humans and elves. But it was a normality for them in an otherwise restless time.
It was a young Red who found the lost enclave of the Weak Ones. She snarled at the sight of them wheeling around her new domain, under the watchful eye of the old Blue. She would kill them all herself, except she knew she was no match for Hyperion. So she changed course to fly southwest – she would find Furora, knowing the other Red would be pleased to know where her long-lost daughter and kin had flown off to.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
And so the chromes came in droves to finish off their exiled offspring. Gealdra the White was the first to sense the approach, and she quickly, but discreetly, flew to warn the others. But it was only a moment’s notice before the chromes attacked – they had even brought along some of their other offspring, to watch, and even help, their siblings be killed.
The Weak Ones flew in terror from the onslaught. They had never been trained for battle past the occasional hunt or mock fights with each other. Unlike their parents and siblings, who knew war and had no reservations against killing their kin. The shrieks of terrified dragons filled the dry highland air, followed by the enraged roar of Hyperion as he returned from his hunt. The dead bison fell from his jaws, forgotten, as he dived at Furora, the obvious leader of the attack.
“Fly away,” he roared to the young ones. “Fly away and hide!”
“Yes, hide, little ones! Let us hunt you down and kill you in the snow, like the weak, pathetic little worms you are!” Furora screeched in delight.
Hyperion let loose a blast of fatal lightning at the Red, but her battle-hardened reflexes allowed her to dodge the bolt at the last second. She sent a ball of fire in response, which caught the slower Blue on his right wing. He roared in pain, and then her fire was joined by other Reds in the flight, eager for bloodshed. Furora was irritated at the intrusion on her kill, but it was nevertheless satisfying to see the old Blue flail his burnt wings uselessly under the onslaught, plummeting to the rocky hillside below.
“Cease!” she suddenly cried, and landed beside Hyperion.
The Blue was no where near death yet, and snarled as he lunged at her. She took to the air quickly to dodge his snapping jaws, blowing a jet of fire straight into his face. He screamed in agony and floundered about, blinded. Furora’s laugh was echoed by the dragons wheeling above her.
“Norax!” she called, suddenly, a thought forming as Hyperion collapsed onto the ground, trying desperately to put out the fire that was burning away his eyes. The Black flew down to join her.
“Yes?” he rumbled, sneering down at the charred face of the old Blue.
“I would like our friend here to die a slow, painful death,” Furora grinned maliciously. Norax was one of the few dragons that earned her respect in the past century. Respect was an odd emotion for her to handle, she had never felt it before Takhisis’s demise, but it was certainly useful for garnering allies. Not that she needed any. But there was something to be said about knowing that someone else had your back in battle.
“Certainly,” the Black replied. He paused a moment, as if in thought, and then spat a large ball of acid onto the Blue’s flank. It was not as potent as the substance he normally used – no, this was meant to burn away the Blue’s hide slowly, painfully, before eating into his innards. Furora cast a quick spell to keep Hyperion bound from moving, and another to keep him from passing out from the pain. She wanted him awake for every agonizing minute of it.
“Find the Weak Ones!” she cried to her circling brethren above. “Find them, and kill them! Show them no mercy!”
“For mercy is weakness, and weakness is death!” they responded as one – the teachings of their lost Queen was all they had left of her, now, and they all knew it with a passion. They wheeled off in many directions, in search of their lost offspring.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The young chromes were hunted down ruthlessly and killed one by one. After a few days, still enraged that she had not found her daughter, Furora received summons from the Dark Knights in the southwest. The Solamnic Knights were marching on Sanction, and they would need the chromes to battle a flight of Golds and Silvers. It didn’t matter; they could continue the hunt later, after the battle. She would have her revenge for the shame her daughter had put her through. Her blood was not weak – she would not allow Furor to reach adulthood! The adults left, their flight heading southwest towards Sanction.
Slowly, the hatchlings called out from hiding, when it became clear that the older chromes had left. They squawked to each other quietly in the cold night, voices carrying well in the air. They could scarcely believe that their attackers were truly gone; rather believing that it was a trap to lure them out of hiding. But the pain-filled cry of Hyperion called his charges to him, and they obeyed.
They congregated on the still-living body of their old caretaker. Only half of them were left, and they cried with despair for their lost siblings. They piled snow from the mountaintops onto Hyperion’s disintegrating flank to help dissolve the Black’s acid, but it was of no use.
“We are sorry we could not protect you, Father!” the young Tyberis called out. They all called him Father, but only Tyberis was his true son, though the young Blue did not know it. “We are weak – we are ashamed.”
“Do not be. You are young, yes, so therefore you are weak, but only in that regard. Your strength is in your numbers, in your loyalty to each other, in your reliance on each other, and when you are older, you will appreciate that more fully, my children,” the old Blue rasped.
“What shall we do?” Furor asked quietly. She had thus far escaped her mother’s wrath, although she did not know how much longer her luck would run. “They will return, and we will be slaughtered, like our siblings.”
“Fly west, into the setting sun, and north. You will cross a sea, and through the veils of thick magic, you will find the Dragon Isles. They are your sanctuary, your salvation.”
“Don’t the metallics live there? Don’t they hate us?” Gladyli the Green asked.
“I trust that they will see you for what you are – go in peace, and they will have no quarrel with you,” Hyperion sighed. He only hoped what he said was true, but it was the hatchlings' last hope, without any adults to protect them.
“What about you? We cannot leave you to die!” squeaked Tyberis.
“There is no hope for me, my children. The only thing that keeps me awake is the spell Furora placed on me, and none of you are skilled enough to remove it. Go now, before they return.”
The young ones squalled in protest, crying out in rage, in fear, in frustration and in grief. Tyberis was the first one to take off, heading northwest to the fabled Isles that promised to be their solace. He did not look back.
One by one, they took off. The last one left, Gealdra, blew her frost breath across Hyperion’s flank, effectively numbing him from the pain of the acid, though it continued to burn through his innards. None of the other hatchlings had ever used their breath weapons before, but Gealdra found the strength within her to try.
“Thank you, my daughter. Now go. I shall be with you all, always.” Hyperion sighed. If he had known the word, the emotion, the feeling, he would have told them that he loved them. But he didn’t know it, and thus could not describe the feeling blossoming within him.
As he watched the White fly quickly after her siblings, his vision began to cloud. He was proud of them, he reasoned. That was the emotion. With that knowledge, death was upon him, and he saw a visage of a beautiful human woman before him, clad in blue robes. He knew she was a Goddess of Light, although he did not know her name, or why she would visit him in death.
“Come, my young Blue. Your next journey awaits you, if you are to truly watch over your children.”
“Why, Goddess, do you come to me? I am not of Paladine’s stock.”
She smiled. “Good and Evil do not matter here. For you, my friend, are a Dragon of Krynn.”