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Raistlin picked up the carafe of wine, and poured Dalamar a glass of wine, Dalamar felt his heartbeat quicken, and even faster as Raistlin poured one for himself. “I do not drink this strong wine often, but tonight it seems we should have a small celebration. A toast to- how did you put it- one of true holy powers. This, then, to Lady Crysania!”
Raistlin drank, Dalamar waited until he closed his eyes, savouring the taste, and poured part of his own wine into a small potted plant, offerings silent apologies to it. He pretended to drink, coughing slightly to make it more convincing.
Now, he had to play for time. “Shalafi, if the Live One reported correctly, Lord Soth cast a death spell upon Lady Crysania, yet she still lives. Did you restore her life?”
Raistlin shook his head, drank again. “No, I simply gave her visible signs of life so that my dear brother would not bury her. I cannot be certain what happened, but it is not difficult to guess. Seeing the death knight before her and knowing her fate, the Revered Daughter fought the spell with the only weapon she had, and a powerful one it was- the holy medallion of Paladine. The god protected her, transporting her soul to the realms where the gods dwell, leaving her body a shell upon the ground. There are none- not even I- who can bring her soul and body back together again. Only a high cleric of Paladine has that power.”
“Elistan?”
“Bah, the man is sick, dying-”
“Then she is lost to you.” Good, that was one loose end dealt with.
“No,” Raistlin took another sip, and when he looked away, Dalamar slipped a little more of his wine into the plant pot. “You fail to understand, apprentice. Through inattention, I lost control. But I have regained it quickly. Not only that, I will make this work to my advantage. Even now, they approach the Tower of High Sorcery. Crysania was going there, seeking the help of the mages. When she arrives, she will find that help, and so will my brother.”
“You want them to help her?” Just a little longer. Raistlin drank once more, and the glass was almost empty, surely that would be enough. “She plots to destroy you.”
Another sip, normally the first signs would be setting in, but Dalamar could not be sure, with Raistlin’s strange pupils. “Think about it, Dalamar, think about it, and you will come to understand. But-” The quiet clink of the empty glass on the table made Dalamar’s heart beat all the faster. “I have kept you long enough.”
Dalamar swallowed, put his own glass down. His heart pounding, hands shaking. He had known this moment would come since- well, since he first came to apprentice with Raistlin, but more clearly since Crysania came to the Tower. Now, he would fall-
Or he would fly.
“You must make your journey and be back before I leave in the morning,” Raistlin continued. “There will undoubtedly be some last- minute instructions, besides many things I must leave in your care. You will be in charge here, of course, while I am gone.”
“My journey?” Dalamar started, “But-“ Oh.
He’d known. He’d known all along. Abyss. Dalamar gritted his teeth; this was going to make everything a lot more complicated.
Then Raistlin stepped forwards and Dalamar was suddenly, painfully aware he had far more immediate problems. Raistlin’s face was still, cold, almost expressionless- but Dalamar could read the rage that simmered just beneath the surface. The long-tended gall of having to nurse such a viper in his home.
Dalamar didn’t move. He couldn’t move. Spells slipped from his mind, and it was only by an enormous force of will that he staggered back as Raistlin drew towards him. He tripped on the steps leading to the bookshelves, falling back painfully onto his elbows. He saw a smile flash across Raistlin’s face for a moment, gloating.
The pupils of his eyes were thin, narrow slits, barely recognisable as hourglasses.
Then he crouched, one hand reaching out to rest on Dalamar’s chest. The tips of his fingers pressing into the fabric of his robes. For a moment, Dalamar felt intensely, utterly absurdly, aroused. The closeness of their bodies, Raistlin’s breath soft against his cheek, the almost tender embrace.
There was a flash of pain, and Dalamar started to cry out-
Then the spell failed. Raistlin shuddered, stumbled. Dalamar caught him by the shoulders as his legs buckled under him. “What-“ He started, his hand knotted in the front of Dalamar’s robes. “What is this?”
“I am sorry, shalafi.” Dalamar sat up, drawing Raistlin into his arms. “I admire you, I greatly do, but this is madness. You will destroy yourself with this folly, and drag the world with it.”
He got a low, hacking laugh in response. “Of course. The- the wine. You didn’t actually drink. Poison-“
“Not quite.” Dalamar rubbed his back. “An infusion of the poppy. You will be unconscious soon.”
“Bastard.” He bared his teeth, “And so you will kill me, gain all the- accolades of those cowards at the Conclave. Take this Tower-“
“No,” Dalamar took his cloak off, eased Raistlin down on it. “You will wake.” He said gently. “You will wake and Lady Crysania will be dead, and these books-“ he waved a hand to the blue bound books that stank of undeath and perverted magic, “will be ashes. As will your plans.”
Raistlin made a harsh keening in his throat; his hands hooked into claws of rage. “You will probably kill me.” Dalamar shrugged. “I daresay it will be agonising. I will not run; I doubt there will be anywhere I could go that you will not find me.”
“You will beg for death by the time I am done with you.” His voice rasped; he clawed at the cloak under him, shuddering. His eyes were closing.
“I suppose I will.” Dalamar sat crossed legged. “Sleep, shalafi.”
He got another broken snarl, and Raistlin’s eyes rolled back into his head. His body went limp.
Dalamar sat for another long moment, watching him. He got up, and turned Raistlin onto his side, so that he would not suffocate were he to throw up. It would be so easy to kill him, he thought idly. He could cover his mouth, pinch his nose, hold it for a few minutes. Then he would be free, he would live. He could have everything Raistlin said he would, and more besides.
It was no more than a thought; and gone just as quickly. Dalamar found a blanket over the back of a chair, and tucked it around Raistlin. Then he checked himself.
Five burn marks on his chest, red and raw. Less than a heartbeat of contact and already that much damage, thank Nuitari Raistlin hadn’t been able to continue.
Of course, they would be a loving caress compared to what Raistlin would do to him after this. But by then it would be too late. Dalamar wasn’t sure what would have happened had Raistlin been allowed to succeed with his plan, but it was best not to dwell too long upon it.
Right. To work then.
He pulled the books off the shelves, and piled them in the fireplace. Spoke a word in the magic, and they burst into flame.
Whatever qualms he might have felt at burning books vanished quickly as the books caught. The flames were blue, gave off a terrifying chill. Dalamar held out his hand and chanted, drawing up more and more fire against the terrible, undead cold. Blue warred with yellow and gold, sweat poured down Dalamar’s face- but the pages were blackening curling up-
Raistlin convulsed, keening. Dalamar jerked back, concentration broken, and the blue flames leaped up, threatened to overflow the fireplace and engulf the room. Dalamar gritted his teeth, braced himself and chanted again, and his own flames brightened, tearing into the books. Raistlin shuddered, his body drawing up tight as a bowstring, heels drumming on the floor.
Abyss. Cold sweat ran down Dalamar’s neck. Had Raistlin poured part of himself into the books? But it was too late for doubts; he had to destroy these tomes before they consumed him. He closed his eyes, focused everything he was into his magic, and kept casting.
He wasn’t sure how long he was at it, casting every spell he could think of, but finally, finally, the blue flames faded, the books blackened and charred, and the last of the magic was devoured, leaving nothing but husks of carbonized parchment and leather.
Dalamar sat down hard on the library steps’ his heart was pounding against his chest like a trapped bird, his breathing coming in pants. He had sweated through his robes, even his boots were soaked. His hands were trembling from casting so much, his magic so exhausted he doubted he could summon light.
Beside him, Raistlin was still. Dalamar checked him- but he was breathing steadily, pulse slow and regular.
It might be his imagining, but was there a little more colour in his face? Dalamar shook himself, and picked the man in his arms. He was so tired he could barely manage even Raistlin’s slight weight, but carried him over to the low bunk where Raistlin slept during late nights of study. Tucked him in, caught his breath, gathered himself.
He’d get a bite to eat from the kitchens, check on the cleric through the pool of scrying, then he would do it. Whatever he had to do, to end Raistlin’s mad plot once and for all.
It turned out to be easier than Dalamar had feared. Whether due to the drug, or because Dalamar had destroyed his books, whatever spell Majere had used to keep the cleric breathing had failed. He watched through the scrying pool as after some time, and a few pointless incantations from the little gully dwarf, the brother buried her under a strand of trees.
Good, let her rest there. If the Gods wanted her, they would keep her. If not- well, one way or another, she wasn’t Dalamar’s problem anymore.
Not that- much would be, now. The list of his problems had become very short, with only one name on it. One that it would be impossible to escape.
He thought briefly of leaving, taking refuge in Wayreth- then discarded the idea. It would hardly stop Majere, and would only serve to put others in dangers. He would stay here, and face his fate.
He stayed up for the rest of the night, cooking and eating a final feast in his own honor. Then he went back up to the study in the grey pre-dawn light, to spend his final moments among the magic.
He sat against the library stacks, occasionally parsing through one book or another, but too tired to focus on anything. He desperately wanted to sleep, but didn’t want to waste his last few hours.
Finally, as the sun rose, Raistlin stirred. He sat up, rubbed his face. Rolled out of bed but didn’t get up, sitting on the side of the bunk, fingers pressed to his temples, wincing against the light.
“Do you want me to close the curtains?”
“Please.”
Dalamar got up, his own bones aching with weariness. He looked out at the morning sky for the last time, and drew the curtains, casting the room in warm, reddish light.
Raistlin didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He looked at the fireplace for a long moment, then. “You burnt the books?”
“Yes.”
“And the cleric is dead?”
“Dead and buried.”
Raistlin nodded. Dalamar steeled himself, stood straight. Whatever happened, he would not flinch from it. Raistlin looked at him, but the anger was gone. He was- calm, thoughtful. He licked his thin lips, a flash of pink tongue. “What are you waiting for, apprentice?”
Dalamar blinked, “I-“ was Raistlin expecting him to come up with ideas for his own torture and slaughter?
“It is morning, and thus I assume time for breakfast.” He got up and sat at the study table. “I will take something to settle my stomach after the repellent concoction you had me swallow, and tea with willow bark. I have a hideous headache.”
“Shalafi.” Dalamar bowed, taking refuge in duty even while his mind was spinning. “May I offer some water? Poppy extract often dries the body.”
“Yes, at once. Then get some sleep, you look dreadful.”
Dalamar stumbled out of the room, dazed. What- what was that? Was Raistlin baiting him into some- false sense of security, only to destroy him later? Why? What would be the point? To draw out Dalamar’s fear, let him torture himself for a while before Raistlin chose to strike?
No. Dalamar drew in a breath, tried to quiet his frantic thoughts. No, he would not play that game, if Raistlin wanted him dead, he would do it now. He prepared a simple breakfast, oatmeal and dried berries with a little fresh cream. He found a jug of water, and brewed a pot of tea, and found the sharp knife that he used for joining meat. Good, that would serve. He carried all of it back to the study.
Raistlin hadn’t moved. He didn’t even have a book. He was staring down at the grain of the table as if fascinated by it, only looking up when Dalamar set the food, water and tea before him. He sat down opposite as Raistlin ate.
“What about your breakfast? You can hardly be of use to be if you starve-“
“Stop.” Dalamar said flatly. He put the knife on the table. “If you are going to do it, do it now.”
Raistlin looked from the knife, to Dalamar. “Somewhat dramatic, wouldn’t you say, apprentice?”
Dalamar bit back a snort at being called dramatic by this man. “I will not allow you to draw this out. You made it very clear you are going to kill me. Well, here I am, and I am not going to fight you. So either kill me now, or I will take the knife and do it myself. I am not going to allow you to torment me.”
Raistlin didn’t speak, face expressionless as drummed his fingers on the table. Then he got up, and took the knife. Dalamar’s heartbeat quickened as he gently brushed Dalamar’s hair away from his neck, baring his throat. So, it was going to be like this. A lot less painful than he’d feared, but he was hardly looking forward to it.
Raistlin lowered the blade to the hollow of Dalamar’s throat, and pressed it in. Dalamar closed his eyes as the blade bit in, hot pain flashing through him, a rivulet of blood trickling over his collarbone.
“This is your death.” Raistlin whispered into his ear, Dalamar managed not to shudder- and was again mortifyingly aware that he was getting aroused. By the closeness, by Raistlin’s burning touch, his voice.
“I hold your death in my hands, apprentice. Understand that. You have betrayed me, and are owed nothing but death. But you returned to face me, and met your fate unflinching.”
Raistlin stroked the back of his neck. The blade drew up to just under his chin, tilting his head up. Raistlin had stepped around to face him, his golden eyes burning into Dalamar’s.
“Your death is mine, and so you are mine.”
He took the knife away; the blade streaked with Dalamar’s blood. “I will keep this.” He continued. “And should you betray me again, I will use it. For now, you are mine. Body, mind and soul.”
Dalamar shivered, his throat was too dry to speak. His cock was painfully hard under his robes. He nodded.
“You will renounce the Conclave’s machinations. You will serve only me.”
“And the magic.” Dalamar whispered.
Something passed behind Raistlin’s eyes. “Yes.” He agreed. “And the magic.”
He carefully wrapped the knife in a handkerchief, making sure not to wipe away the blood. Dalamar thought vaguely that he would have to buy a new knife for cooking. He swallowed. “I will not help you fulfill your scheme.”
“Given it is now utterly impossible, I doubt that will be a problem,” Raistlin snapped. Then sighed. “There will be other goals. Other- heights to ascend.” He sounded as if he was talking to himself.
“There will.” Dalamar got up, “And as long as you serve the magic, then I will serve you.”
“Or you will die.”
“Or I will die.”
Raistlin took a deep breath, closed his eyes. How I have the knack of attracting such creatures, I will never know. It was mumbled, half under his breath, but Dalamar’s keen ears caught it. “You will write to the Conclave, and tell them you will no longer by spying for them. You will not tell them anything of my- previous plans. Or else I will find certain punishments that, while not fatal, will be deeply unpleasant for you.”
“I understand.” It was a blow, to have potentially saved the world and for no one to know, but Dalamar would bear it. He would know, and so would his patron.
“Then go.”
Dalamar walked back to his rooms in a daze. He was alive. He was still alive and- most likely- would remain so for the foreseeable future. He had stopped the shalafi, and all it had cost him were a few raw spots on his chest, and a difficult letter to write. It was an impossibly cheap trade.
He sat down at his desk, staring out over Palanthas. He’d chosen this room for the view, and he’d thought he’d never be able to enjoy it again. He wondered how long it would take before being alive became something he took for granted again. He hoped never.
He took up his quill and a piece of parchment.
To my esteemed colleagues in the Conclave, he started, due to a change in circumstances, I will be unable to continue the task you assigned to me. I remain true to our magic, and our Gods.
Yours in the Art,
Dalamar Nightson.
There. Odds were he’d be branded renegade for that, but Dalamar wasn’t sure he cared. He had met his own death, and surpassed it, and he wondered if anything would frighten him again. He folded the letter over, sealed it, and sent it away with the last flickers of his magic.
Then he got up, walked over to his bed and slumped down on it face-first, without even taking his boots off. He was asleep before his cheek hit the pillow.
He woke some blank and uncertain time later, ravenously hungry and thirsty, and with a bursting need to relieve himself. He hobbled awkwardly to the privy, stripping off his crumpled and stinking robes as he went.
Half an hour later, he had relieved himself, bathed, dressed in fresh robes, and was feeling much more like himself. The sun was just rising; he must have slept the whole of the last day away. He brushed his hair, and tied it back behind his head with a short length of ribbon, and checked on the wounds from yesterday.
They were healing, albeit slowly, five angry red spots on his chest, in the pattern of Raistlin’s hand. They did not hurt any more, but were still raw and uncomfortable when he touched them. He shuddered, wondered how deep Raistlin had intended them to be. He had been very lucky indeed.
He raised his hands and closed his eyes, drawing on his magic. It was there, but it too felt- bruised. He had done too much, and it would take time to recover fully. He nodded, and stepped through it to the kitchen.
He quickly assembled breakfast, sneaking bites of bread and cheese as he did so. Dear Nuitari he was ravenous. He was just settling the kettle over the fireplace when Raistlin came in. “Shalafi.” Dalamar bowed. “Forgive my absence yesterday.”
“I imagine it was a trying night.” Raistlin said dryly, walking over to sit at the table, “You are recovered?”
“Almost entirely.” He started preparing Raistlin’s tea.
“Not today.” Raistlin lifted a hand, and Dalamar replaced the herbs he’d just taken out. “Ordinary tea this morning. That Kathayan blend you bought last week.”
“Shalafi.” Dalamar nodded. A good day then. He added honey and a slice of lemon to Raistlin’s tea, a somewhat larger spoon of honey for himself. Poured in the hot water, and brought the tea and the breakfast to the table.
Raistlin ate lightly, but it was still more than Dalamar was used to seeing him consume. “You ate yesterday?”
Raistlin scowled. “I am quite capable of feeding myself without your help, apprentice.” He looked away, his face softened a little. “I may have been- underfeeding myself in recent days.”
That was an understatement. “Would you like me to cook anything in particular to tempt you, shalafi?”
Again, that odd, distant look. “I have no idea. Surprise me.”
Dalamar nodded, and ate hungrily. Raistlin managed another few spoonfuls, then stopped and watched him, absently turning his spoon in the bowl of half-finished oatmeal. “How did you do it, apprentice?”
Dalamar finished the mouthful and sipped his tea. Gods, that was good. “What, shalafi?”
“Your little scheme. The drugs.”
“It was an infusion of poppy,” Dalamar said carefully, but Raistlin didn’t look angry, just curious. “I had it dried, and powdered to dissolve more quickly. The taste is mild, and since you do not usually drink such strong wine-“
“I would imagine it to be a natural part of the flavour.” Raistlin’s lip curled. “And how did you manage to place it in the wine without my noticing?”
Dalamar kept his face impassive, and held up a hand, indicating his rings. “You have often sneered at my favouring such trinkets,” He pulled one off. “I hoped you would dismiss this one just as quickly.”
Raistlin took the ring, turning it over in his delicate fingers. “This is not actually enchanted.” He murmured; eyes fixed on it. The dull black stone glimmered smugly. “A simple charm to make it appear so?”
“Yes.”
Raistlin’s deft fingers found the catch, and the black stone flicked up, revealing the cavity within.
Dalamar waited, unable to relax as Raistlin scrutinised the ring, wondering if his shalafi would change his mind and kill him anyway for his nerve. Finally, Raistlin closed the ring with a soft chuckle, and handed it back to Dalamar. “Bravo apprentice. I have always been fond of sleight of hand tricks, and it appears I have been taught a new one. But do not think I will be so easily caught out again.”
“I hope I will not be pushed to such extremity again.”
“No.” Again, that odd look, far away and- slightly lost. “No, you will not.”
Dalamar sat there, not sure what to say to that, and finally Raistlin shook himself. “The day is wearing on, and we will not get anywhere just sitting here.” He got up, and Dalamar did too.
They went to the study, it had been tidied, Dalamar noted. The remains of the burned books were gone, the carafe and glasses too. Raistlin looked around, and his eyes shuttered, closing for a moment. Then opened, and looked at Dalamar. “Now, apprentice, since you saw it necessary to empty that bookshelf,” He indicated where the blue bound books had sat, “It will be on you to fill it again. We have storerooms full of books; it is high time we started to organise them properly. I think we will need a second library at least.”
Dalamar blinked, only able to bow wordlessly. He’d spent every last free moment he’d had in those storerooms, trying to repair and maintain the multitude of books that had been abandoned there for centuries. He’d wondered if Raistlin had even noticed, or cared.
Apparently, he had. “Where should we place that library, shalafi?”
Raistlin considered, “The topmost part of the Tower, I think. I will open it up so it is all one room, so we will have light regardless of the time of day. I will set it up; you will begin to sort the books.”
“Gladly.”
“Yes.” Raistlin sighed. “I thought you would be.”
Then he was gone, a breath in the magic. Dalamar looked at where he had been for a long moment, then shook his head and turned away.
“What is he doing?” Dalamar mumbled to himself as he got stuck into the crates he had been organising. “Dear Nuitari, does he have a plan?”
There was no answer, of course. But whatever had happened to Raistlin, he was different. Dalamar couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but-
No, he had it. His shalafi had been just as sharp and sarcastic as he was now, but there had been an undercurrent of hunger and cruelty that had made his blood run cold every time he saw it. The cold glint of hatred in those mirrored hourglasses, of rage when he saw Dalamar. Since Raistlin had woken, Dalamar hadn’t seen it. He’d seemed withdrawn and thoughtful, his jabs were still there but more blunted, with no real fire behind them. The hate and that anger were completely gone.
Was it because he now had Dalamar under his command? That he knew Dalamar would no longer be a spy, and so could be more open- but that was absurd. Dalamar had drugged him, burnt his books and ruined his plans, and had made it clear he would do so again if he needed to.
Not that Raistlin had seemed particularly heartbroken about the ruin of his plans. Pensive, and sometimes irritated, but no more than that. He had been angrier when Dalamar had accidentally broken that alembic during an alchemy lesson. Once or twice, he’d seemed almost- relieved.
Dalamar shook himself, and focused his attention on his work. If it was, he doubted Raistlin would tell him. No, if he wanted to continue studying under this most powerful of mages- and stay alive, of course- he would keep quiet and puzzle things out in his own time.
For now, he got back to work, sorting the books into crates. After a few hours of work, he thought he had enough to be getting on with, and magicked himself and the books up to the top of the Tower.
Raistlin had been busy. The interior walls had been changed to high arches, supporting the roof but opening up the space. The windows had been widened, and the midday light streamed in. Raistlin was calling up shelves out of the walls.
Dalamar stopped, watching and breathless in wonder. Raistlin barely spoke, although Dalamar knew for experience his lips would be moving, casting almost silently. His fingers twitched, tiny motions; perfectly controlled. No grand gestures necessarily, just the absolute economy of motion. Casting so fast Dalamar could barely recognise the spell.
This was why he couldn’t kill this man. The sheer beauty of the work, of Raistlin himself, left him breathless. It would be like smashing a unique and priceless work of art. The world would be poorer and more colourless without him. A precious piece of wonder lost forever, making the world so much more banal with his loss.
The wall flowed smoothly outwards as if formed from wax, hardening into beautiful shelves, ornate with scrollwork. Raistlin’s lips quirked, a little smile of satisfaction.
Dalamar shivered. Quite besides the obvious need to stop Raistlin, he was glad that the ruins of his plans meant Raistlin would stay here. He hungered for every moment with this man.
“I have the first load, shalafi.” Dalamar nodded at the boxes around him, then indicated the one he held in his hands. “These I will put in the study; they are some of the most precious.”
“Good.” Raistlin nodded. “I will bring up a table. After you have finished, prepare lunch and meet me here.”
And that seemed to be that. They ate together, and got back to work. Dalamar brought up books; Raistlin sorted them, and drew up new shelves for them. Dalamar put aside the books too damaged to be of use in the hopes they could be salvaged. They had dinner in the kitchen, simple fare, but Dalamar was hopeful he could get some better ingredients in the market, if Raistlin was going to apply himself to eating better.
Then to bed, feeling no more enlightened than he had the previous night. Dalamar lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling for a long time, watching the light of the moons track across his room. He turned his head, looking out to where Nuitari was rising over the sea. “Am I doing the right thing, Lord?” Dalamar murmured. “Is this the path You wish for me to walk?”
He wasn’t sure, but that dark light that only he could see seemed to brighten, warming him in a way that had nothing to do with the sun’s fire. The clearest answer he could have hoped for. Dalamar nodded, and curled up in bed, settling himself down to sleep and feeling more at peace than he had in a very long time.
“A moment, Dalamar.”
Dalamar stopped from where he was clearing off the breakfast things. “What is it, shalafi?”
Raistlin hesitated, looked torn. Dalamar had seen that look on him more in the past few days than in the previous two years. “When you are sorting the books,” He said at last, “I would have you look for any books on- curses. Or the breaking of curses. If you find them, set them aside, and give them to me when you bring the books up.”
“Shalafi.” Dalamar inclined his head, but inside, his mind was racing.
A curse? He entered the latest storeroom, and started parsing his way through the books. Was that it? Were Raistlin’s plans due to some malediction, cast on him and forcing him to do- Dalamar shook his head, this was pointless, until Raistlin offered him some answers, he doubted he’d find the truth.
What he did find were quite a few books on the making and breaking of curses, to the point of filling a small crate. Dalamar looked at his prizes and smiled ruefully at himself. After everything, still the thought of a smile from Raistlin made his heart soar.
He got more than a smile, Raistlin’s face lit up at the sight of the books. “All of these?” He hurried over, picking them out of the crate. “You have been busy.” His eyes devoured the covers, flicked them open to scan the contents. “Well done, apprentice.”
Dalamar risked it. “Shalafi, if it would help, I would be happy to assist you in your research into-“
“It would not.” The harshness cut him dead. “You belong to me, but I would be a fool to trust you, apprentice! After what you did-“
“I told you I would serve you as long as you did not turn against the magic.” Dalamar said softly, his heart racing. “You are not doing so.”
It wasn’t a question, but Raistlin gave a hard nod anyway. “Of course not-“
“I will not harm you.” Dalamar continued, keeping his tone level. “Remember that I could have; shalafi. You told me yourself of what I would gain if I killed you. I did not. I will not.”
Raistlin was silent for a moment, then, “You may not want me dead, but I will not give you a weapon to wound me with.”
That, Dalamar had no response to. He closed his eyes and nodded. “I understand. I am sorry.”
Raistlin turned away, face hidden in the shadows of his hood. “Apology accepted.” He said stiffly. “Now go, these may not be enough.”
He couldn’t push too quickly. Dalamar continued filing the books away, this storeroom was almost done. They were finally making some headway. Patience. If there was one thing he had an abundance of, it was time.
“I would like to stay up here this evening, shalafi.” Dalamar said as he brought it the latest load of books, and their dinner. “This storeroom is empty, and I have found a few of the more damaged books that may interest you. I want to make the most of the remaining daylight to repair them.”
“Good.” Raistlin said absently. He was sitting in a small cubby he had made for himself, curled up in a chair with a blanket around him and books piled up in a barricade.
Dalamar left the plate of bread, cheese and cut fruit beside him, and Raistlin absently took a slice of apple, eating it and wiping his fingers on a handkerchief before turning the page. There was something so endearing about it that Dalamar couldn’t help but smile as he settled himself at the table and started working on the books.
“Dalamar.”
Dalamar started back to himself. He had been so fixated on working on the books that he had lost track of time. His fingers were sticky with glue, his throat raw with casting cantrips. He started rubbing his eyes, then quickly stopped and cleaned his hands. Raistlin was standing beside him. “You need to rest, apprentice.” His voice was gentler than Dalamar had known it. “You have done excellent work, but it very late. Go to bed.”
“Yes, of course.” Gods, he was tired. He wasn’t fully recovered yet, and couldn’t afford to push himself too far. “What of you?”
“I haven’t been digging through boxes all day; I will be up a little longer. Now, go and rest.”
Dalamar nodded, stifling a yawn. “Very well. Sleep well, shalafi.”
“You as well, Dalamar.”
He shouldn’t have left him. Dalamar realised as much when he was woken by a piercing, terrible cry. Muffled by the distance, but unmistakable.
Abyss. Dalamar swore, throwing himself out of bed. He didn’t bother with finding his robes and boots, leaping through the magic to the top of the Tower.
Raistlin was on the floor, thrashing in agony and clawing at his eyes. Dalamar grabbed his hands, pulling them away from his face. Raistlin shuddered, thrashing against him. His eyes were open, bloodshot and rolling, the skin around was stained a faint green-yellow; he had dragged red marks around his eyes but didn’t seem to have done any damage. “Shalafi!” Dalamar struggled to hold him, frail as he was; the pain was giving Raistlin terrible strength. “What has happened? What must I do?”
“I- had to.” Raistlin jerked, head beating against the ground until Dalamar managed to move him so he was resting on the blanket. “Don’t- not yet.”
Dalamar turned; a bowl had been left on the table beside an open book. “What is it?”
“Burdock.” Raistlin fought him, trying to reach his face again, but Dalamar held him tight. “Dandelion. Caustic. Not yet.” He begged as Dalamar reached for the bowl. “Almost. Just a bit longer.”
Dalamar nodded. Raistlin convulsed, head thrashing this was, then the other. “What are you doing, shalafi?” He managed to pin Raistlin’s hands with one hand, and undid Raistlin’s belt with the other. Wrapped it around his wrists behind his back, pulled it back and tied them there.
“Good.” Raistlin panted. “Made it stop.” Despite the clear agony he was in, he was smiling. “Just- a little longer, and it’ll be gone for good.”
Dalamar got up and looked at the book. Thee Excising of Curses, and a recipe for-
“Nuitari,” Dalamar was horrified. Oh Nuitari, his eyes. That was the curse he was breaking. “Shalafi, you will blind yourself!”
“No. Just- almost- a little longer.” His skin was reddening, peeling. Gods only knew how painful it must be. “Please.”
Dalamar hesitated, then took the bowl. “I will count to fifty, and apply this.”
Raistlin nodded, and for a long moment- far too long, there was silence but for Raistlin’s stifled groans of pain, the thud of his bound hands as he fought to get free. Dalamar raced through the last count and knelt beside him. “Now.”
“No- just a little-“
“If you need to do more, you can do it after you’ve healed.” Dalamar dipped a cloth into the mixture, and began to spread it over Raistlin’s eyes and face.
Slowly, Raistlin’s thrashing eased, he relaxed on the floor, shuddering in fading pain. Dalamar spread more and more across his face, and finally, Raistlin closed his eyes. Dalamar found a clean handkerchief and bound it across his eyes.
Raistlin relaxed. “Oh, Abyss.” He breathed. “That hurts.”
“You must keep your eyes closed for a day or two, shalafi.” Dalamar scanned the book. “Was this truly the only option?”
“I tried everything else.” Raistlin grimaced under the handkerchief.
“Willowbark tea?”
“You- do not happen to have any more of that- poppy infusion?”
“It was rather expensive, shalafi.” Dalamar bent down and unwound the belt from Raistlin’s wrists.
“Abyss.”
“The tea then; and I will read to you to keep your mind off the pain.”
Raistlin nodded, drawing the blanket around him, curling up and shuddering. Dalamar left just long enough to gather the willow bark and a kettle and went back upstairs to boil it in the library. His heart was racing, as was his mind. Gods, his eyes. He’d almost forgotten what Raistlin had said about them, given- everything that had happened afterwards.
I see time as it affects all things. He had said, human flesh withers before these eyes, flowers wilt and die, the rocks themselves crumble as I watch. It is always winter in my sight.
Dalamar had wondered how anyone could live like that without going mad, but Raistlin had seemed to almost relish the horror. But apparently not, given he was willing to blind himself to be free of it.
Then again, he had known Dalamar for a spy. He would not have shown vulnerability to him.
He helped Raistlin raise his head, drink a little tea. Sat beside him, and picked a book at random. “A Historie of the Minautayer Yisles.” He read.
“That sounds fascinating.” Raistlin sighed.
“I suspect I will be puzzling out some very original spelling.”
That got him a frail smile. “I am sure you will manage.”
He read. Raistlin breathed more steadily, limp with pain and exhaustion. Dalamar paused for a moment, reaching for a cup of water- and realised Raistlin had moved. His head was resting on his thigh.
Dalamar froze, didn’t breathe. That warm weight, the heat of Raistlin’s breath through the fabric of his thin sleep robes- he felt at once a surge of almost painful tenderness within him- and at the same a burst of hot arousal.
No. No. He could not allow himself that. Even assuming Raistlin was of the- what did humans call it- the Ergothian persuasion; he would hardly lay himself open to Dalamar.
Raistlin snuggled in. He sighed deeply. Dalamar’s heart felt stripped raw, the pain sweet and wonderful.
He sat there, not moving, as his back started to ache, and his leg slowly went numb. His stomach was growling, but he tried to ignore it.
After a few moments, he reached down, and gently carded his fingers through the impossibly soft strands of Raistlin’s hair. White and so fine, it was like touching clouds.
Dalamar closed his eyes, head rolling back to thud against the wall. He really was beyond help.
“Let me see.” Dalamar removed the handkerchief. Raistlin shivered, but kept his eyes closed.
The skin was tight and still reddened, coppery against Raistlin’s golden skin. “Hold still.” He dipped the cloth into a solution of honey and aloe vera, and smeared the sticky substance on Raistlin’s skin. He groaned softly in relief.
“You are ready?”
“You have the flowers?”
Dalamar arranged them in the vase. Roses, he thought Raistlin liked them. “Yes.”
Raistlin breathed in, breathed out. Opened his eyes.
What did he see? Dalamar wondered. Those golden eyes focused on the flowers, and his breath hitched. For a moment, he wondered if he saw tears there- but then Raistlin’s face shuttered, went impassive. “It worked.” He said stiffly. “Good. Thank you for your assistance, apprentice.” It was a clear dismissal.
“Of course.” Dalamar stood, and bowed. “Breakfast, shalafi?”
“Yes. At once.”
He stepped outside, but didn’t vanish. He paused, pressed his ear against the door. From inside, there was a dull thud of a vase being knocked over, a choked sound, a soft cry, raw and broken.
Raistlin was weeping.
“Shalafi?”
Raistlin looked up for his work, “What is it?”
“I am having trouble with this spell.” Dalamar sighed, walked over and showed it to him.
Raistlin glanced at it. “I know it. Cast it for me.”
Dalamar did so. Nothing happened.
“The gestures are not quite right. Relax your hands, yes, like that.” He took Dalamar’s hands in his, and Dalamar’s breath caught in his chest. Raistlin’s thumbs ran over his palms, gently parted his fingers to get them in the right position. The slightest touch left fine rivers of flame in their wake. “Move them more easily- there. Now try again.”
Dalamar forced his thoughts back to the magic, and felt the magic flow through him, brilliant and electric. “Ast kiranann kair gadurm soth-sotharn,” he was precise through all the motions, but deliberately stuttered the last word, keeping the spell from completing.
“A good choice.” Raistlin remarked, “I doubt our study would be improved by being struck by lightning.”
“Agreed.” Dalamar smiled, pleased at his work. “Do you want me to open the window?”
“What?” Raistlin frowned.
“The window.” Dalamar repeated, “The weather has been fine, and your health has improved. It would be good to have some fresh air.”
Raistlin paused a moment, then gave a single stiff nod. “Not a terrible idea; and salt air would be good for my lungs. Do so.”
Dalamar opened it, breathed in. The spring brought scents of new life, Raistlin stirred, his fingers moving fretfully over the books. He looked up, turning to the open window. Breathed in.
Dalamar risked it. “Perhaps we could leave the Tower for a while, shalafi.” He tested. “To Balifor, or Ergoth, perhaps.”
“The Lost Towers.” Raistlin’s lip curled, but there was no humor in his voice. He sounded thoughtful.
“Yes. I had some luck in the ruins of Losacrum.” Dalamar showed Raistlin the ring. “I know you do not care for trinkets, but some spells may have survived.”
“It is not impossible.” He agreed absently, lost in thought.
Dalamar let the topic lapse. With luck, he could revisit the topic in a day or two, and Raistlin would agree. He ached to leave this cold Tower, still unwelcoming despite his long work, and spend some time among green and growing things.
Growing things, and Raistlin. No doubt he would be eager to turn it into a lesson on herbology. Dalamar couldn’t wait. He smiled, opened his mouth to change the subject-
And the bell rang.
Raistlin swore, standing. Dalamar got up too. “Is this your doing, apprentice?” His eyes flashed.
Dalamar blinked. “I have no idea.”
“The Conclave?”
“If it is, they have not contacted me.” He had not received anything since his last message. He’d been hoping that was a good sign; that they would allow him to remain as part of the Conclave, even while no longer spying.
Raistlin frowned, then nodded. He got up. “Come with me, we will see who it is.”
Dalamar stood, feeling cold sweat down his back. If it was the Conclave, come to deal with them once and for all- what would he do?
He had no idea. He followed, hands clenched on his components, feeling sick to his stomach.
But mercifully, it was not a battalion of angry mages outside, but-
“Kitiara.” Raistlin hissed. “You could have sent a message.”
“And you would have had an even more interesting reception planned for me, no doubt!” She yanked off her helmet; “I come and go where I please, especially to pay a visit to my brother! I made my way through those gods-cursed trees of yours out there, then I’m attacked at your front door! By the gods, I should teach you a lesson-“
Raistlin lifted a hand, looking suddenly weary, and she stopped dead. The tableau they made took Dalamar’s breath away. Kitiara, broad and strong, her thick hair coiling around her head like a nest of snakes. Raistlin, slender and brilliant, shining in the moonslight.
“I know what you did, sister.” He said heavily. “Why would you expect any other welcome here?”
“I?” She smirked, “What could I have possibly-“
“Do be quiet.” Raistlin spat, and both Kitiara and Dalamar blinked at the sudden venom. “I am no fool; do not pretend to be more of one than you already are.”
“Charming.” She turned to Dalamar, a crooked smile on her lips. “And what about you, elf? Are you to give me such a cruel welcome? Dalamar- that was your name, wasn’t it?”
The invitation was blatant, and obvious. Dalamar was saved from coming up with a response when Raistlin stormed to stand in front of him, his staff lifted. “Dalamar is not the master of this place.” He snarled. “I am, and you are trespassing where you are not wanted.”
“Really?” Her smile was coy. “Face it, little brother, your mad plan failed. Well, what a shame, but think of what you could have instead! My offer still stands.”
“And you may shove it down your throat and choke on it.” Raistlin spat. “Now, begone, before I make your journey out worse than your journey in.”
“Let no one say I go where I’m not wanted. At least for now.” Her eyes were still on Dalamar. “There are a few inns in this city that don’t mind my presence at least. If you change your mind, and want to be on the winning side-“
“Begone!”
“Oh, I see how it is.” Her smile broadened. “Poor little Raistlin, you never had any luck, did you? Ah well, if you want someone better than my withered wretch of a brother, elf-”
“Go.”
It was more than an order. Kitiara was gone, and Raistlin was shaking with rage. Dalamar held himself very still. Raistlin was pale, his fingers white knuckled on his staff. His eyes were burning.
He should shut up; he could not push his luck.
He had never been good at obeying orders. “Shalafi,” he said carefully, “Are you jealous?”
Raistlin whirled on him, and for a terrifying moment, Dalamar wondered if he had pushed too far, and Raistlin would finally kill him. Then he dragged in a stuttering breath, clenching and unclenching his hands. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.
“Because if you are,” Dalamar forced himself to take a step forwards, “You have no reason to be.”
Whatever Raistlin had expected him to say, it wasn’t that. He stopped, staring. “What?”
“If you are jealous.” Dalamar repeated, “You do not have to be. I am yours, after all.”
Raistlin’s jaw worked, his nose flared. “You offered me Kitiara once,” Dalamar continued, “Did I take you up on the offer?”
His hands flexed, Raistlin swallowed. “You did not.”
“Do you know why?” There was no answer. “Because I wanted you, shalafi. And as I am not stupid enough to think I could have you both, a choice between the two is no choice at all.” He took another step forwards, reached out a hand. “It’s you.” He whispered. Touched the tips of his fingers to Raistlin’s burning cheek. “It’s always been you.”
Raistlin looked at him. His mouth opened, closed. His eyes were wide, but there was no anger there, only pure panic. He made a raw, broken noise in the back of his throat.
And vanished.
Dalamar looked around at the empty courtyard, and sighed. Well, he was somehow still alive, so it could have gone worse.
To his surprise, Raistlin found him in the kitchen as he was making an evening pot of tea. “I have- thought about your offer.” He said stiffly. “I would- not be against the idea.”
Dalamar dropped the teapot. It hit the hearth and shattered. “What?”
Raistlin was blushing so hard he was fully red. “You heard me, and I am not saying it again. Do we have another teapot?”
“I- yes. Sorry. I will replace that one.”
“See that you do. Do not make a habit of it.”
“Are you sure, shalafi?” Dalamar said softly, getting the spare teapot down. It didn’t pour as well, but would be fine for the time being. He added the leaves.
“What is there to be sure about?” His voice was so harsh and brittle it was almost cracking. “People- do this sort of thing every day. I am sure you have done it often enough.”
Gods, he was jealous. Of those unnamed others. “Never with you, shalafi. Never with anyone like you.”
That did seem to work, Raistlin relaxed a little. “I imagine people like me are rather thin on the ground.”
“There is no one like you.” Dalamar filled the teapot. “No one at all. I would rather have you than anyone else.”
Raistlin looked at him helplessly. “I see.” Was all he could say.
Dalamar carried the teapot over to the table, sat down to let it steep. Raistlin sat beside him, looking at everything that wasn’t him. Dalamar poured two cups.
“Shalafi,” Gods, he had to be careful. He had everything he could have dreamed of before him on a silver platter, but the wrong move could ruin it all. “Have you done this before?”
Raistlin took his mug, as if taking refuge behind it. “Never with a man.” He said stiffly.
Dalamar nodded. “It is somewhat different.”
“I imagine it is.”
“You- wish to find out how?”
Another breath. “I think I do.” And Dalamar’s heart soared.
He took his mug, and stood. “Should we go to my room, or yours?”
Raistlin stumbled to his feet, he was still burning red. Dalamar offered his arm, and Raistlin looked at it for a long moment, then rested his fingers lightly on his forearm. Even that slight touch made Dalamar shiver. “I think yours.” He said softly. “Your- bed is larger.”
Dalamar inclined his head, and stepped through the magic to his room, drawing Raistlin with him.
Raistlin looked around his room, pulling his robes around himself as if in protection, clutching his mug. Dalamar set his on the bedside table, sat down to make himself seem smaller. He was starting to suspect Raistlin’s claim of only being inexperienced with men might have been an exaggeration. “What would you like to do, shalafi?”
Raistlin took a nervous sip of tea. “I- I assume sex. I was not aware there were- variations?”
Dalamar managed to hold back his smile, but it was a struggle. “There are a number of options at our disposal, shalafi, but they do all involve taking our clothes off.”
“Oh- o-of course.” Raistlin’s hands were trembling so badly that Dalamar took the mug out of his hands, putting it down next to his.
He turned away, giving Raistlin a little privacy- and to give him a good view as he undid his own robes, pulling them teasingly around his body before letting them fall. He untied his underclothes, teasing down his legs, and heard Raistlin’s breath catch. Good, he was at the very least interested in the show.
When he turned, Raistlin was naked.
He was so very slender, like a honed blade. The golden skin stretched a little too tight over his bones, but giving him a delicate beauty all the same. The flush had spread down his neck and chest, turning it a deep bronze-copper. He had a lot less hair on his body than Dalamar was used to in humans, only a trail of darker curls running down his stomach, and a thicker thatch over his groin. His penis already half hard, pressed against his thigh and- yes- just as gold as the rest of him.
Raistlin grabbed his mug and took a hurried sip.
“You are beautiful.” Dalamar said stepping closer. The heat of him was burning, sweet. Dalamar paused, just a moment before touching him, soaking in his fire, relishing the anticipation. Raistlin flushed a deeper red, and put down the cup. He closed the space between them, hands flitting from Dalamar’s shoulders, to his waist, to rest awkwardly on his back.
Dalamar closed his eyes and leaned in, touching his cheek to Raistlin’s soft curls, breathing in the scent of roses and death and tea. His hands came up to hold him by the shoulders, and Dalamar was suddenly, strangely reminded of that terrible night, cradling Raistlin in his hands as the drug set in.
How had they come from there, to here? Dalamar hid a smile in Raistlin’s hair.
“I- apprentice.” Raistlin cleared his throat awkwardly. “We are naked, and the next step?”
“We get on the bed.” Dalamar reluctantly let go, and stepped back. Raistlin looked at the bed and blushed, if possible, even more.
Was this really the same man who had gleefully said he would leave Dalamar to die, only a few weeks ago? The man who had tried to torture and kill him? Who had been willing to destroy the world for mad ambition?
There were parts of that man there, yes. Dalamar climbed onto the bed, rolling over to get comfortable. Watching as Raistlin sat down stiffly, and lay back, pulling his legs up. Dalamar stroked his chest, along his collarbone. That man was there, yes, but something else had been lost; and that one Dalamar would not mourn the loss of.
Raistlin looked at his hand, to Dalamar, then rolled over on his side. He reached out, touching fingertips feather light to the back of Dalamar’s arm, and tracing up to his shoulder.
And dear sweet Nuitari, but that simple caress set Dalamar’s blood to fire. Delicate as moth wings, the tips of his nails just brushing his skin. Lightning raced up and down Dalamar’s spine, set every hair on his body on end. He was fully hard, and starting to ache almost painfully. Raistlin’s fingers traced over his chest, those five wounds that had closed and healed weeks ago, faint reddened scars now, but having Raistlin’s hand so close there again made a flash of delicious fear rush through him, only adding to his arousal.
“They no longer hurt?” Raistlin whispered.
“No.”
“Good.” Raistlin glanced down, then quickly back up again. He was still very flushed, but he too was stiff, cock pressing into the crest of thigh and hip. “Is this- I- is a kiss to be expected, at this juncture?”
Dalamar could not hold back that smile. “It depends if you want one, shalafi.”
Raistlin nodded, and shifted forwards on his elbows. Dalamar lay back, and Raistlin kissed him. Hands pressed on his chest, mouth slipping awkwardly against his. Their noses bumped, and Raistlin’s sharp chin butted against his jaw. Dalamar adjusted the angle, and put a hand on the back of Raistlin’s neck, deepening the kiss.
He tasted of tea, and roses, and the summer apples Dalamar had prepared for their dinner. Raistlin shivered, and pressed closer, a deep hum in his throat. Dalamar kissed him back, ran his nails down his back. Opened his mouth to touch his tongue to Raistlin’s lips.
Raistlin started back. “What?”
“It is often done, in moments like this.” Dalamar licked his lips. “But we do not have to, if it does not please you.”
“I- I-“ Raistlin shook his head. “I do not know.”
“Then we can return to it later.” Dalamar dragged his nails up to the back of Raistlin’s head, smiled as his shalafi’s eyes slipped closed. “There is no hurry.”
“So, what is next?” Raistlin swallowed. “You mentioned there were- options.”
“Well, that depends on what pleases you.”
“You have no preferences?” There was a small, ironic smirk to Raistlin’s lips.
“I prefer to be with you above all things.” And that irony was gone, “The rest will merely add to be pleasure.”
“Oh.” Raistlin looked away, then squared his shoulders. “Very well, tell me.”
Dalamar rolled onto his side, so they were facing each other. “If you wish to keep it simple, we will lie like this, and I will take you in hand, and you me.” The thought of having those incredible, unearthly hands on his cock was enough to make him sweat, mouth dry and achingly hungry. He reached down, and stroked Raistlin’s cock, feeling it harden and fill in his hand. “We will stroke each other, until we reach completion.”
Raistlin nodded, he seemed to be unable to look at Dalamar. “I- yes. And the next?”
“I will go down like this.” Dalamar slid down the bed, until his head was level with Raistlin’s groin, “And I will take you in my mouth.” Oh, he liked that. His could see his cock twitch. Dalamar leaned in, not quite taking him into his mouth, but letting his breath wash over him. Raistlin made a low groan in the back of his throat. “I will suck you until you come, and either I will pull myself off afterwards, or you can.”
“That is- somewhat tempting.” Raistlin’s voice was slightly strangled. “But- continue. I want to know all the options.”
“Or you could take me.” Dalamar shuffled back up the bed on his elbows, rolled onto his back. “I can lie down while you fuck me, or I could straddle and ride you, if that is more to your liking.”
“I- penetrate you.” Raistlin seemed to have finally reached the limit of his embarrassment, looked at Dalamar at last. “Anally?”
“Well, yes. I cannot think how else you would do it.”
“And it will not hurt you?”
Dalamar reached over him to the bedside cabinet, and found the small bottle of oil. “Not if we use this.” He handed it to Raistlin.
“And you had this ready, all along?”
“Do you think I would invite you to my bed without making sure everything was ready?”
He got an actual laugh at that, a harsh bark that seemed to surprise Raistlin as much as him. “And it is- pleasurable for you as well?”
“Very much so.” Dalamar smiled, “I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.”
Raistlin nodded, turning the vial over in his hand. “Are there- any more options?”
Dalamar hesitated, but Raistlin had asked. “One more, though you may not like it.”
“I will be the judge of that, apprentice.”
“The same as the last, but I will be the one penetrating you.”
Raistlin shivered, and- oh, he did like it. Dalamar had not expected that. “I think that may be the best option.” He somehow kept his voice steady, as if they were discussing the finer points of herblore. “I am- new to this, so I may learn best from watching one with more expertise in the matter.”
“Very wise of you, shalafi.” Dalamar’s voice was a little strangled because Gods, he had not expected he would have this so quickly, so easily. He had expected it would take weeks, and much gentle coaxing- but Raistlin would never cease surprising him, it seemed.
“How do we begin?” Raistlin started to sit up, but Dalamar put a hand on his chest.
“You will lie back, shalafi, and I will do the work.”
He nodded, relaxing against the pillows. Dalamar took a spare one and tucked it under his hips, lifting him to a better angle. Raistlin looked down. He was still flushed, but his eyes were bright with interest, eager to learn this new art. Dalamar stopped a moment as his heart squeezed unexpectedly.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Raistlin waved a hand impatiently, and handed him the vial. “Now, apprentice.”
Dalamar bit the inside of his mouth, but didn’t think he held back the smile. He uncapped the bottle, and coated his fingers carefully. “Since you have not done this before,” he said softly, “I am going to prepare you. When you are in my place, you need not be so concerned.”
“I will decide that, now stop stalling.”
His cock was looking rather painfully hard, pressed against his belly, head peeking out red and hungry. Dalamar nodded, and poured more oil between his legs, behind his balls. Raistlin gave a hoarse whine deep in his throat as Dalamar pressed two fingers into him. “That feels- very odd.” He managed.
“It doesn’t hurt?”
“No, just strange.” Raistlin shook himself. “Continue, apprentice.”
Dalamar smiled, and started moving his fingers, gently stretching him. Raistlin hummed, relaxed into the pillows. “Not unpleasant.” He continued, eyes closing, “I- even quite like it.”
“Good.” Dalamar added a third finger, continued to move them slowly, letting Raistlin get used to it. “How is this?”
“Good.” Raistlin lifted his head again. “Is there more?”
“Very soon.” Dalamar sat up on his knees. His own neglected cock was desperate for attention, aching almost to the point of pain. Dalamar withdrew his fingers and found the vial, pouring more over his cock and quickly rubbing it in, making sure he was fully covered. Then lined himself up, and pushed in.
“Oh.” Raistlin gave a deep exhaled, curling up to better meet Dalamar. Dalamar caught his ankles, shifted him into a better position and- sank all the way inside, until his was fully seating in that tight, hungry, burning heat.
Gods, it was wonderful, it was perfect. It was everything he could have dreamed. Raistlin hummed and gasped, shifting under him as he tried to get used to this new sensation, and every twitch of him sent new and blinding pleasure through Dalamar. “That- is nice.” Raistlin panted, shivering. “You are- very good at this.”
“I- aim to please.” Dalamar was finding it hard to catch his breath. “Now, lift your hips a little more, shalafi- yes, like that- now-“
He drove forwards in little bursts, circling his hips until-
“Ah!” Raistlin’s back arched, his eyes went wide. “Oh!”
“Yes.” Dalamar gasped. “I- said it was pleasant.”
“Do- be quiet.” Raistlin’s head was thrown back, his eyes closed. “Keep- more of that.”
“Yes, my shalafi.”
Dalamar tried to focus on finding his rhythm, but sweet Nuitari it was everything he could do not to come there and then. Raistlin was clenching around him tight and delicious and the noises he was making, soft and hungry and so wanton.
Raistlin whined deeply, reaching down to grasp his cock, already leaking on his stomach. Dalamar pushed his hand aside and took him in hand. “Let me, shalafi.” He panted. “A duty I am glad to-“
“Shut up.”
They moved together, and Gods but Dalamar was close. His shalafi, the man he had wanted so desperately, in every way he could. And he had him, writhing under him. Mine. He was balls-deep in Raistlin Majere and still could barely believe it.
Raistlin shuddered, back arching, and keened once more before coming with a cry, all over Dalamar’s hand. That final clench of his body was enough to tip Dalamar over the edge too, and he groaned as the world went white, thrusting wildly into Raistlin as he came and came, blind and mindless in want.
Finally, he fell forwards on his elbows over Raistlin, catching his breath. Raistlin was supine on the bed, one hand thrown over his face, thin chest rising and falling rapidly. He turned his head as his breath caught, and Dalamar shoved himself off him, reached for the tea- but the fit passed, and Raistlin relaxed again.
They lay there for a moment, just breathing, feeling their heartbeats slow. Finally, Raistlin shoved himself up the pillows to sit up. “That was-“ he paused, and smiled a little. It was self-deprecating, but nowhere near as bitter as Dalamar was used to. Finally, he gave a soft chuckle. “I was just thinking, I sometimes wondered why so many women courted my brother. But if it was anything like this, I think I understand.”
“It is.” Dalamar curled up closer, resting his head beside Raistlin’s.
“Why did you think I would not enjoy that?” Raistlin turned to face him, “I think I got the better deal of the two of us, receiving pleasure from- two sources, as it were.”
“I did not know how you would feel about being in the less dominant position.” Dalamar snuggled in, starting to feel sleepy. “I did not want to overstep.”
“You did not.” Raistlin stifled a yawn. “And besides, you said it could be done while- being on top. That would be a dominant position.”
“I would enjoy that.” Dalamar breathed in Raistlin’s scent. Gods, this was wonderful.
Raistlin prodded him. “Do not sleep just yet. We are filthy.”
Dalamar grumbled, sat up. “Fine.” He didn’t bother to get up, pulling a handkerchief from his robes and wetting it with a word.
“A waste of your magic.” Raistlin shook his head.
“We are about to rest, and I can spare it.” Dalamar started to wipe them both down. Raistlin was right, he had to admit, it would not have been pleasant to wake up covered in dried seed.
“Fine.” Raistlin held still as Dalamar cleaned him, and tossed the cloth in the direction of his washing basket. But when Dalamar made to move away, Raistlin caught his wrists. “Is-“ he hesitated. “The kissing. Is that only done before, or-“
He didn’t say more before Dalamar kissed him, sweet and deep and ravenous.
“Stay.” Dalamar whispered against his lips.
“Yes.”
It was still dark when Dalamar woke, but he didn’t need to light a candle. His patron’s moon was high, and the darkness no match for his keen eyes.
Beside him, Raistlin was already awake, watching him with thoughtful eyes. “I hope I give satisfaction, shalafi,” Dalamar stifled a yawn, “as a subject for your scrutiny?”
“You do.” There was no irony in his voice. “You always have.”
A pause. “What are you thinking?” Dalamar stroked that so-soft hair, relishing the freedom in being able to do so.
“You love me.”
It was soft, matter of fact, as if Raistlin were remarking on the weather, or the expected result of an experiment. Dalamar went still.
“I did wonder, for a long time,” Raistlin continued, “how to make sense of your actions. I was cruel to you, and promised you nothing but pain and death, and yet you let me live.”
“I could not kill you.” Dalamar whispered.
“And why not? You owed me no loyalty, and I certainly did not inspire any.”
“You are the magic.” Dalamar said at last, “It lives in you like it does in no other. I could not destroy that.”
“And as you love the magic, so you love me.”
There was no denying it. “Yes.”
Raistlin leaned in and touched his lips to his. It was gentle, soft, almost tentative, as if Raistlin was feeling his way through this new tenderness. It pulled at Dalamar’s heart so deeply it hurt.
“Sleep.” Raistlin whispered, “I will stay.”
When Dalamar woke up, Raistlin was already gone. He rolled over, touched fingertips to the dip in the bed where his shalafi had slept. The pillow had a hollow where his head had rested, and Dalamar picked up a long strand of snow-white hair, left behind in the night.
He rolled over on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He- could not begin to imagine what would happen now. He had been flying blind since he had drugged Raistlin, the world a strange realm of wonder and beauty, more than he could ever have imagined. He smiled. So much, and here he was, still alive.
Raistlin was already in the kitchen. A kettle whistling over the hearth, a pot of porridge steaming on the table, while Raistlin cut a pear into fine slices with the kind of attention Dalamar had only seen him use with particularly complicated spell components.
You love me. Raistlin had said, and dear Nuitari but he did.
“Shall I get the tea?”
Raistlin started, almost cut himself. “A little warning would be welcome.” He scowled. “Elves are far too quiet on their feet.”
“Apologies.” Dalamar got the kettle. “Tea?”
“Just the usual, thank you.” He scowled at the knife, “Is there a better one?”
Dalamar thought of that knife. “No.”
Dalamar was getting the jar of Kathayan tea down, when he caught sight of the jar where Raistlin kept his medicinal tea. It had not been touched for weeks, and a fine film of dust covered the glass jar. Dalamar frowned at it, tried to remember the last time Raistlin had a fit. Not the short, rattling coughs, but a full fit, coughing blood.
Not since that night.
He- wasn’t sure what to make of that. It was frustrating, a puzzle that would make perfect sense if only he had the key. He added the leaves to the teapot and filled it, coming to sit with Raistlin at the table.
Raistlin had served up two bowls of porridge; a spoon of honey stirred in each, and was adding sliced fruit- he really needed to get a better knife. “What does this change, apprentice?”
“Nothing if you do not want it to, shalafi.”
Raistlin nodded, pushed the bowl over to Dalamar. “I do not.”
“Then it won’t.”
The silence settled over them, warm and sweet as morning sunlight. Dalamar tried a bite of his porridge. It was exactly as he liked it. He smiled at Raistlin and served the tea.
“I am still concerned about Kitiara.” Raistlin said at last.
“I told you, shalafi, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Not about that.” Raistlin smiled, a small, utterly wonderful smile that made Dalamar want to lean over and taste it. It occurred to him that he could if he wanted to, and did so. “I- yes.” Raistlin flushed as Dalamar pulled away, “As I said, you made your loyalties perfectly clear. I meant in more violent terms.”
“Ah.” Dalamar nodded. “You think she will attack Palanthas?”
“I am not sure.” Raistlin sighed. “My- original plans were for her to draw attention away from the Tower, harry the knights along their borders in order to distract them from what I was doing.”
“But she refused you.”
“And was no doubt planning something idiotic to stop me.” Raistlin’s lip curled, “I doubt she would have been satisfied to simply kill the cleric and go back to sulking in Sanction.”
“Could she come here?” Dalamar frowned. “We are quite far from Sanction, the Solamnics are unlikely to welcome her, and they have dragons of their own.”
“True.” Raistlin looked down into his mug. “I have made quite the mess, haven’t I?”
It was whispered, just under his breath. “I do not know your sister well, shalafi, but I doubt she needed you as an excuse.”
“Yes, of course.” Raistlin shook himself. “All the same, the dragonarmies destroyed my home once, I am not eager for them to do it a second time.”
“Could they attack the Tower?”
“I doubt it, but I do not relish looking out of the window and seeing nothing but smoking ruins.”
“I entirely agree; shalafi.” Dalamar finished his bowl, and put it aside in favour of a second cup of tea.
“Bring that with you to the study. I have letters to dictate.”
It was peaceful morning, writing letters to the mayor of Palanthas, the head of the temple of Paladine, the leader of the knights, and someone called Tanis Half-elven who Raistlin seemed to think would be of some importance. Dalamar wrote them out dutifully. “I suppose the Conclave should also receive a note from you.” Raistlin added, looking out of the window over Palanthas. “I believe some of them live in Palanthas.”
“Justarius does.” Dalamar said carefully, taking a piece of parchment. The world suddenly treacherous under his feet. “I do not have to write to them.”
“But you want to.” Raistlin’s voice didn’t change. “It will help you regain some status with them, given your loyalty must be under considerable question now.”
Dalamar sighed. “I have been trying not to think about it.” He admitted.
“Write your note.” Raistlin shrugged. “My feud with them is not your business.”
He should be grateful with this much, and not try to push further. One day, Dalamar supposed he would have to start listening to sense, but not today. “I heard your status as a renegade was due to you not declaring your new allegiance, but was it not in the middle of the war?”
“It was.”
Dalamar let the silence stretch, like playing out a line, until Raistlin turned back to him, his lips curled in an ironic smile. “I do know what you are doing.”
“I never intended to hide it. Is it working?”
“Masterfully so. I have my own reasons to hate the Conclave, and its leader in particular. I was a weapon they forged to aim at the heart of the dragonarmies, and when I so inconveniently survived that final confrontation, I became a liability. Does that answer your question?”
“It does.” A breath; and Dalamar ventured further on that creaking ice. “And your- original plans?”
Raistlin turned away. “Were the inevitable result of their scheming. But I am free of hi- of them now. Are you done?”
Dalamar finished the note, and sealed it. “Thank you, shalafi.” He got up.
Raistlin nodded, still looking out of the window. He didn’t move when Dalamar came up behind him, putting his arms around that narrow waist, but when Dalamar held him; he relaxed, just a little, in his arms. Rested his face against Dalamar’s and let out a low breath.
The sun shone through the windows, played on the stucco roofs of Palanthas, and the shining sea beyond. The moment stretched, trembled like a blown bubble. Held.
Dalamar leaned in and kissed Raistlin’s cheek.
Dalamar woke with a start, something striking his shoulder. “Wake at once, apprentice.” Raistlin sounded amused. “We are summoned.”
“By the Conclave?” Dalamar sat up, rubbed his eyes.
“Don’t be revolting. I would rather scratch my eyes out. No, by Astinus and Elistan. They are having a council of war with Half-elven, and we should go along should we prefer Palanthas as it is.”
“Ah, yes.” Dalamar stretched, yawned. “I agree; it would be rather hard to get Ergothian chocolate or Kathayan tea should the city be left a blackened ruin.”
“Quite. Now, go and get dressed. Your finer robes today, I think. We should make an effort.”
He was standing by the basin, wearing only his sleep robes. The morning light highlighted his tousled hair, made his skin gleam. He looked quite impossibly beautiful, like the living dawn made flesh, and just the sight of him made Dalamar’s mouth run dry.
He got out of bed, walked over and pressed a kiss to the back of Raistlin’s neck. Raistlin hummed, amused, and handed Dalamar the cloth. “There is no time for that, wash and dress.”
Dalamar sighed, and obeyed. He did notice that Raistlin made no move to leave the room as he washed, standing beside the bookshelf and not even pretending to browse. Dalamar smiled, and made a little show of undressing; undoing the ties of his sleep robes teasingly, letting the fabric slide off his shoulders and down his back. He heard Raistlin’s breath hitch as he shook the robes off, letting them pool at his feet. He stepped out of them, picking up the washcloth.
He made a little performance of that too, letting the water run down his face and neck, running the cloth slowly over his chest, along his sides and stomach. He took his time running it up and down over his lower stomach, dipping into the tight curls at his groin-
“A- very original way of washing, apprentice.” Raistlin’s voice sounded strangled, “An elven tradition?”
“A new one, shalafi.” Dalamar smiled, “Just for you.”
“I think I would appreciate it- ah- more if we had more time.” Raistlin adjusted his robes, trying to relieve the pressure on what looked to be a very prominent erection. “Do behave yourself.”
“You could spank me,” Dalamar cocked a hip. Raistlin made a ragged sort of sound and hurried out of the room. Dalamar blew a kiss after him.
He finished washing quickly, then checked through his wardrobe. His robes from Tarsis. He smiled. They had been a gift from his lover there, soft and rich black so deep it was almost blue. Fine silver runes marked out around the sleeves and cowl. Dalamar nodded, and pulled it on, toeing on his better pair of boots, taking a few moments to buff the dust off them. There. No need for a cloak in this heat, hopefully Raistlin would be appreciative.
He was. He flushed a deep and delightful copper when he saw Dalamar, ducking behind his mug of tea. He was looking particularly fine too, Dalamar thought approvingly. His robes of heavy velvet, plain and without ornamentation, but since his decision to eat more, he was filling them rather more becomingly, and the contrast of the rich black against the spill of long white curls was lovely to see, his skin glowing against the darkness.
“I am ready when you are, shalafi.”
“Let us go then.”
A word in the magic, and they were outside the great library. Dalamar looked up at it hungrily, apart from occasional trips out for supplies; he hadn’t dared spend any time out of the Tower. Now, he glanced at Raistlin and saw something of the wonder in his face as well. “We have been holed up too long in the Tower.” Dalamar rested a hand on his arm, “Perhaps I should organize some outings.”
“Nothing too frivolous.” Raistlin said firmly.
“Of course.”
They stepped inside, and were greeted at once with a wail of despair from somewhere inside the library, the sound of something smashing, and running feet. Dalamar recoiled; raising his hands to cast- and Raistlin grabbed his arm almost painfully hard as a small figure sprinted around the corner, and stopped dead.
It was a very small gully dwarf. She blinked at them, and gave a cry of joy, throwing herself at Raistlin with such force he was almost knocked over. He looked down at her in amazement, then a look of almost unbearable tenderness passed over his face, and he rested a hand in the gully dwarf’s tangled hair. “Bupu.”
“Pretty man.” She mumbled into his robes. “You okay.”
“I am,” He stroked her hair and Dalamar felt something hot and angry lock in his stomach. “What are you doing here, little one?”
“I come with others.” Her hands were knotted into his robes. “They say they come here. Stop you. Hurt you. Like they hurt pretty lady.” Her face crumpled. “I try save her. I try all my magic. Nothing work.”
Oh, of course. That gully dwarf. Dalamar vaguely remembered her, in the pool of scrying just before his and Raistlin’s fateful meeting. Raistlin sighed, “I know, little one. I know. You could not have saved her, I doubt anybody could.”
“You could.”
“Perhaps.”
“But you okay?” She let go of Raistlin at last, standing back to peer into his face. “Yes.” He nodded, satisfied. “You look good. Who he?” Noticing Dalamar at last.
“This is my apprentice, Dalamar.” Dalamar gave her a stiff nod, and was immediately irritated at himself. Was he feeling jealous of a gully dwarf? “Dalamar, this is Bupu. A- friend.”
There was something so raw there, so tender, that Dalamar felt his annoyance ebb away. He smiled at the gully dwarf, and held out his hand to her. She beamed, and took it in her small one. “You pretty too. You look after him?”
“I do.”
“Good. You do good work. You do bad, I hit you with lizard.”
Raistlin looked at her, and his face shuttered. He closed his eyes. “Abyss. Who came with you, Bupu?”
“The kender and the big man.” She pulled a face.
“They’re in there?” Raistlin sighed. Bupu nodded. “Very well.” He looked exhausted.
“Shalafi?” Dalamar took his hand
“My brother.” He didn’t pull away, leaned a little closer.
The larger man in the scrying pool, Dalamar recalled. “I take it this is unlikely to be a pleasant meeting?”
“I expect you are correct.”
“I will be here.”
They walked together through the corridors, Bupu in tow. The sound of something else breaking and more swearing came from further inside the library. “Kender.” Bupu said in the way of explanation.
Raistlin sighed, and nodded, the grip on Dalamar’s hand getting tighter. Dalamar squeezed back.
They reached the door at the end of the corridor; Raistlin drew in a breath, and pushed it open.
Inside the room was crowded, but all fell silent when they walked in. Dalamar recognised Elistan, pale and weak, clearly ailing. And that strangely ageless man must be the immortal Astinus. There were a handful of burly men who must be representatives of the knights, a short man in fine clothes and a scrubby red beard, and-
“Raist.”
Raistlin flinched as the massive man got to his feet, shaking. His face was red, marked with broken veins, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was cleaner than when Dalamar had seen him in the scrying pool, but had clearly been drinking.
“Caramon.” Raistlin said flatly.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, then Raistlin sighed, and walked over to sit at the table. Dalamar took the chair beside him, Bupu the other. Caramon looked desperately at Raistlin, but Raistlin turned away, looking at Elistan. “Should we begin?”
“Yes, of course.” Elistan’s lips thinned, and he sat.
Everyone took their seats, and Dalamar couldn’t help but notice that with the exception of Astinus’ disinterest, Caramon’s desperation, and of course Bupu’s clear affection, everyone else was looking at them as if they wanted nothing more than to have their heads on a pike. Perhaps unsurprising from Elistan and the knights, but the red bearded man was staring at Raistlin with real hatred.
“You know why I summoned you.” Raistlin started without preamble. “The forces in Sanction are massing, and I believe Kitiara is planning an attack on Solamnia, if not Palanthas itself.”
The bearded man went almost as red as his hair, looking away. Raistlin ignored him. “She has substantial forces of dragons, and I believe a flying citadel. Not to mention the power of Lord Soth and his forces.”
“Yes.” Elistan’s voice was stiff with rage. “I believe those should be mentioned. As should your part in the Blue Lady’s plans.”
“I would say the part she was to play in mine, but given her actions, I doubt we will have anything to do with each other again.”
“And this is what?” Red beard spoke up, “Revenge?”
“Yes, in fact.” Raistlin shrugged. He looked impassive, but Dalamar could almost feel the tension radiating off of him. “I was of the impression you were finished with her too, Half-elven, given your marriage, but-“
“Shut your damned mouth.” So that was Tanis Half-elven, and he looked like he was going to punch Raistlin. “What were your plans? You seduced that poor idiot cleric, led her to her doom, and now-“
“And now I want to get revenge on the one who killed her. Is anyone taking exception to that?” No one spoke. “Then let us not spend any more time on what might have been, and deal with the reality of our situation. We will be at war very soon, and must prepare.”
The meeting settled into the minutia of discussing defenses and tactics, and Dalamar tuned it out. His and Raistlin’s role was rather straightforward- they would be dealing with Soth and his undead. It was just as well they were there, Dalamar thought ironically, given that no one else seemed to have a clue of how to deal with a rampaging Death Knight, but apparently that wasn’t enough to warrant any kind of recognition. The knights tried to ignore them, Elistan and Half-Elven couldn’t look at them without loathing, and the brother lapsed from pleading glances to half muffled sobbing that was incredibly awkward to witness. Raistlin was growing increasingly exhausted just being around them.
“If that is all,” Dalamar spoke up, and garnered looks of surprise from everyone. Did they think Raistlin had cut out his tongue? “Then my shalafi and I must return to the Tower; we have much to prepare for.”
“Indeed.” Raistlin was trying to hide his relief, but Dalamar could see it. “We have a great deal of work to do.”
“I go home.” Bupu hopped down as they stood. “I want see you okay, and you okay. Now I go home.”
“Of course.” Raistlin nodded, “But it is a long road, perhaps I could help.”
Bupu beamed, and Dalamar bit back a comment about Raistlin’s lectures on wasting magic when he was going to magic a gully dwarf halfway across Ansalon- then a hand closed on his elbow, pulling him back.
It was the brother. Oh Abyss. “Let me go.” Dalamar tried to pull away, but the man didn’t let go, his meaty hand almost engulfing Dalamar’s upper arm.
“Who are you?” He scowled, but drunk and addled as he was, Caramon was still large and heavy enough to hurt him if he wanted to.
Dalamar’s hand closed on his components. “My name is Dalamar, I am Raistlin’s apprentice. You will release me at once.”
“Caramon!” The man let him go, and Dalamar winced, shaking his hand as blood flowed back to it. Half-elven joined them. “His apprentice. Do you know what he is planning?”
“I believe my shalafi was fairly direct about explaining his plans.” Dalamar said coolly, sliding his hands into the sleeves of his robes, hiding the components he had prepared. “But if you need me to explain them further-“
“Not those.” Half-elven scowled. “That cleric travelled across Ansalon because of him, chasing gully dwarves and Gods only knew what, and got herself killed for her troubles. Why? What was he planning with her?”
Dalamar hesitated, for a moment deeply tempted to tell them. To show them how close they had all come to disaster, and that he was the one who- Dalamar cut that thought off, it would lead him nowhere helpful. “I have no idea, but give the cleric is dead, and my shalafi furious at the loss, I daresay that plan is unlikely to come to fruition.”
“Am I supposed to believe that-“
“There you are.” Raistlin had come back. “What are- oh.” He tensed when he saw Caramon. “Come, apprentice, we have much to do.”
“Yes, shalafi.”
“Wait!” Caramon stumbled forwards. “You’re just- leaving?” He finished weakly.
“Our business is done here.” Raistlin turned away, as if the sight of his brother wearied him beyond words. “Go home, Caramon. I told you once we have our own paths to walk, and we must walk them alone.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You have to come home. You need me-“
“No, I don’t.” Raistlin glanced back, looking so very tired “I am happy, Caramon. I am well, and stronger than I have been in a long time.”
“You said-“ He looked like he was about to cry again, “You said I wasn’t-“
“I said what I needed to, to get you to leave me alone. Go home, brother. Go to your wife and live your own life. Be well. Now, we are going. Come, Dalamar.”
Dalamar saw it a moment before it was too late. A flash of something in Half-elven’s hand. He lunged forwards, Caramon’s mouth opened, but drunk as he was, he was too slow-
The magic sprang to Dalamar’s fingers faster than it ever had. The components in his hand, the words spoken in one breath. “Ast kiranann kair gardrum soth-arn.”
The lightning bolt hit Tanis a split-moment before he would have buried his knife in Raistlin’s spine. The explosion was deafening, a roar like the world being torn in half. Caramon was thrown against the far wall, and Dalamar reeled, almost blinded. Half-elven was hurled into a bookshelf, dead before he even struck it, and the bolt bounced between the walls twice before shattering a window and dissipating.
For a moment, total silence reigned. Raistlin looked with wide eyes at the shattered, blackened corpse, the dagger lying inches from his feet. Then to Dalamar, lightning still dancing between his fingers.
There was the sound of running feet and a kender sprinted around a corner. “There you are! I was just trying to find Tanis and- oh hullo Raistlin! What was all that noise about? Did you cast a spell-“ He looked down at the body, and his face fell. “Oh.”
Bertram; robes stained and appearing near tears- or perhaps apoplexy- tore around the corner after the kender. He stared at the wreckage, the air stinking of ozone, the walls scorched and the bookshelves overturned, and opened his mouth.
Dalamar never found out what he’d have screamed, because Raistlin grabbed him by the arm, and they vanished in the magic.
“I suggest,” Raistlin said as Dalamar slunk in carrying dinner, “That we make ourselves scarce for the foreseeable future.”
“I agree.” Dalamar put the plates down. “Shalafi, I am so-“
“I refuse to have you apologise for saving my life.” Raistlin scowled. “I admit your choice of spells could have stood to be more- diplomatic, but I am not arguing with the result.”
“Nevertheless, I have only added to our list of problems.”
“Quite the contrary, you have simplified it considerably.” At Dalamar’s curious look, Raistlin continued, “If this is how Palanthas chooses to reward me, then they can deal with Soth themselves.”
“And when the Tower is surrounded by nothing but ruins?”
“Then we move it elsewhere. Wayreth can travel; there must be a way to imbue our Tower with such magic. Perhaps Kalaman will be more amenable.”
Dalamar nodded. Raistlin looked down into their meal of salad and fresh baked bread, and sighed. “I- admit I hoped the meeting would have a better outcome.”
“I doubt it could have been worse.”
“Not that part. Even before, I-“ Raistlin turned the knife in his hand, “I wanted to- impress them. Show you off, and have them- in awe of me. Of what I had become; and how far I had come.” His face twisted, he put the knife down. “I think I forgot how wretched they all were. How much they always hated me.”
“The gully dwarf seemed fond of you,” Dalamar smiled, “Perhaps we could stay with her for a few weeks.”
“A tempting idea. It was good to see her. Perhaps-“ Raistlin looked a little happier, “there were a few like her, not many, but some. My- friends. Perhaps I could meet with them again.”
“That is a good idea.”
They ate quietly. Then, “What do you want?” Raistlin said softly. “Everything has been because of me. My plots, my siblings, my messes to clean up, and now my friends. What of you, apprentice? What do you want?”
Dalamar blinked. “I? My needs are rather simple, shalafi. I want you; I want the magic. I want tomorrow to be like today. I want to stay with you, learn from you- and yes, love you as far as I am permitted to. I have no family, shalafi, and no friends. My life ended two years ago upon my exile, and I have- needed to find reasons to continue despite it.”
“Oh.” Raistlin’s mouth worked through a range of unspoken words, “I hope I have been helpful in that goal, despite- everything.”
“You have.” Dalamar smiled. “Particularly now.”
The quiet settled over them again, “Have you heard from the Conclave?” Raistlin said as Dalamar started to clear the plates away.
“I have. It was terse, but I am not branded a renegade just yet.”
“Good.”
Dalamar took the plates away, washed them and rejoined Raistlin in the study for a few quiet hours reading by magelight. Dalamar loved those moments most of all, warm and quiet, sharing the magic and knowledge, things far beyond the pettiness of plots and power. They sat together, as the moons rose outside, until finally Raistlin stretched. “I think it is time to sleep, today has been a very long day.”
“Indeed.” Dalamar marked his place in the book and set it aside. “Good night, shalafi.”
Raistlin didn’t move, “Wait.”
Dalamar frowned, then- oh. “I am sorry,” He smiled, “I would be very happy to have sex with you tomorrow, but I am very tired tonight, I doubt I would be able to please you to your satisfaction, or my own.”
“No.” He was flushing again, it was delightful. “I mean, yes, for tomorrow. But I did not mean that. I would like to sleep. With you. Just to sleep, without- that. In my bed. I had it enlarged.” He looked about to say more, but forcibly closed his mouth.
“Then I would be very happy to.” Dalamar walked to his side, his heart thrumming with sheer joy. Raistlin stroked his arm, then his hair, then his cheek. There was something odd in his eyes, something not entirely like how he had looked at Bupu. Deep and strangely tender. Dalamar leaned down and kissed him.
He wasn’t sure how, but within the moment of that kiss; Raistlin had moved them through the magic to his rooms. Casting without words or motions, Nuitari, but he was incredible. “Will you teach me that?” He managed when they broke for air.
“I will,” Raistlin walked over to turn down the bedclothes, “Though it took me many years to master it. I learnt it from a hedgemage, one who never took the Test, but knew his few spells so well that he could cast them in his sleep.”
“That sounds dangerous.” Dalamar undid the ties of his robes. He was tired, and that bed looked plush and lovely.
“It was; he set his own tent on fire at least once.” Raistlin smiled fondly. “I should write to him; it has been too long.”
He undressed, still flushing a little as he pulled off his underclothes, but less self-conscious than he had been. The fire was not lit, and only the cool light of the moons shone in, highlighting Raistlin’s slender body in silver and red and a deep, hungry black, as if Nuitari wanted to make it very clear this young mage was His.
Dalamar smiled. I think we will have to be content to share in this, my God. He climbed into bed, and Raistlin slid in beside him, undid the ties on the bedposts and let the hangings fall to block out the light.
“Will you leave?” Raistlin breathed, so softly Dalamar only just heard it. He sat up, surprised. “You will not be satisfied to stay with me forever, and however much you love me, you have your own ambitions.”
“I do.” Dalamar admitted, he rolled over, put an arm around Raistlin and felt him shiver at his touch. “I do wish for power; I admit it freely. I wish to be Head of the Black Robes one day, Head of the Conclave even, but not at the expense of the magic. And I will learn more magic with you than I could with them, so here I am.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” Raistlin stroked his arm. “And you are an elf; you will live for many more centuries. I suppose a few decades will be a short enough time to devote to me.”
Dalamar felt his stomach turn over. He- hadn’t thought of that. The last few months had been so extraordinary that he hadn’t thought much of the future at all, let alone so far. “And will you be satisfied with a mortal human lifespan, shalafi?”
“I suppose that could be an ambition to strive for,” he said, a note of irony in his voice. “But certainly not at your expense, I learnt that lesson well enough.”
“Well, I suppose I could spare a century or two of my own years, if you need them.” Dalamar smiled. “I have more than enough to go around, as you remarked.”
Silence. “You would do that?”
Dalamar hesitated, “I would rather not, but if it was the only way-“ yes, a thousand times yes.
Another paused. “I will endeavor to make sure it is not required.” Raistlin whispered.
“Thank you.”
“Dalamar-“ His voice was soft, husky. Dalamar waited for more, but only received a soft kiss to his lips. “Sleep.” He said instead.
As the shalafi commands. Dalamar smiled and closed his eyes.
When he awoke, it was still mostly dark, the sun only just touching the horizon. Raistlin was already up and dressed. Indeed, he looked like he’d hardly slept, his eyes shadowed, his face drawn. He was sitting at his desk, a second chair pulled up beside it. Dalamar frowned and sat up. “Shalafi, are you-“
And then he saw it. On the table was the knife.
His knife.
Raistlin drew in a deep breath as Dalamar got stiffly out of bed, walking over naked to take the chair. His heart was beating hummingbird fast against his robs. Was- this to be the end then? It made no sense but then, not much in the last few months had. He supposed he must have been on borrowed time, but-
It hurt. Those months had been by far the happiest and most wonderful in his life. The thought of leaving them behind was almost as painful as dying would be.
Raistlin saw his face, and swore. “Abyss, Dalamar! No! I am not- Oh Gods. No. This is not your death. I only meant to-“ He broke off, swearing.
Dalamar looked at the knife, the edge was still stained with his own blood, dried almost black. “You told me my death was yours, shalafi.” He said softly, “What else am I to think?”
“Blast! I am- I wanted to give it back, I only took it because you were going to- but- no, no.” He took a deep breath. “I am going about this backwards, and you more than deserve an explanation. Let us begin again.” He took the knife and covered it with the bloodstained handkerchief, shoving it out of sight under the table like a clumsy conjurer trying a trick for the first time. “Put something on, it is summer but the morning is still chill.”
Dalamar got up and took his robes from yesterday, throwing them around himself and sitting back down without bothering to do them up. Gods, was he finally going to get some answers?
Raistlin drummed his fingers on the table. “When you stopped my- utterly idiotic plan a few months ago, you quite rightly assumed that I would kill you for it. Yet, I didn’t. Do you know why?”
“I do not.” Dalamar swallowed, his throat was dry.
“Because in doing so, you did me an extraordinary service.” Raistlin looked at the table, out of the window, at anywhere but Dalamar. “I had been- Gods, I do not know how to describe it. For the last two years, I have been not one person, but two. Two people, trapped in one body, unable to know which of us was who, or where one of us ended and the other began. The result of an- extremely foolish series of decisions, some mine, some the Conclave’s.”
“Hence why you hate them.” That was what he’d been talking about.
“Yes. The plan was not mine, but that of the- other. But it appealed to enough of myself that I was pulled along with it, even as I hated what I had become. I suppose the part of me that was still Raistlin hoped it would destroy us. Or perhaps if I was successful, we could finally separate. In truth, those last two years feel like a deeply unpleasant dream, and I find it hard to remember them clearly. It would make sense, given I have only half the memories.”
“And when I stopped you?”
“It wasn’t merely that, but you burnt the books.” Raistlin smiled, stiff and harsh, but a real smile all the same. “The other’s power was bound to those books, and when you burnt them- he burnt with them. I do not know if he is truly gone, or merely rendered so powerless he can no longer make himself known, but when I awoke the next morning- I was myself for the first time in two years.”
Oh Nuitari. Dalamar kept his face calm, but his hands flexed under the table, feeling sick to his stomach. Those books. He knew who those books had belonged to, and that meant- sweet Nuitari-
“Yes.” Raistlin must have read his expression anyway. “Do not say his name; I do not want to hear it. So, I woke, alone in my head and-“ That smiled turned a little more genuine, if more self-deprecating. “I then had to try and- salvage what I could from the mess I had been left to deal with. You were my first priority, of course. You saved me, refused to kill me even if you had more than enough reasons to. I was not about to let that go unrewarded.”
“But-“ Dalamar looked at Raistlin’s lap, where the knife was still tucked away.
Raistlin sighed and put it on the table. “I could not think of another way to stop you from hurting yourself. You were convinced I had some- dreadful fate planned for you, and were quite set on dying. It was the first thing I could think of to keep you alive.” He unwrapped it. “I should have given it back before, but- I wasn’t sure how to. I didn’t want to- well, admit what a debacle this has all been. But now you know.”
“Yes.” Dalamar took the knife. “And since then-“
Raistlin flushed. “I do not wish to become a God. Abyss, the thought of answering prayers and dealing with petitioners and squabbling with the others Gods-“ He pulled a face, and Dalamar smiled. “But I had no idea what to do with myself. I still do not, as a matter of fact. I rid myself of my curse, and I have been enjoying working together on the Tower- not to mention our other activities.” He blushed harder, but didn’t look away from Dalamar. “But- I do not know. I have no more interest in my sister’s plans of world dominations than I had in Fi- in his plans.”
Dalamar blinked. “You genuinely have no idea?”
Raistlin’s smile faded, he scowled, “If you have any better ideas, apprentice-“
“I have- Of course I have! You could do anything, shalafi! You could craft spells that none of us could have dreamed of. You could raise this Tower and set it among the moons! You could raise the Lost Towers anew, and usher in a new golden age of magic! You could crush all who seek to destroy the magic under your heel, so that none could stop us! You could leave this very world behind, and see what may lie beyond this wretched sphere. You could raise new Towers; of a power or glory none could dream of! You could live forever! You could-“
“Thank you, apprentice!” Raistlin was very red now, right to his adorably rounded ears. “You have made your opinion of my prowess perfectly clear. I admit- yes. Some of these are indeed very tempting. And you will be with me?”
“You think I would do anything to risk missing such events?”
“Of course not.” He smiled, that wonderful little smile, so very sweet. “How could being the Head of the Conclave even compare to such glories?”
“I cannot see why I could not have both.” Dalamar retorted. “Would you not feel more favorably inclined to the Conclave were I ruling it?”
“Bring me Par-Salian’s head, and I might even agree to rejoin.”
“Is he the one who-“
“Yes.”
Abyss. Dalamar would murder that man purely as a service to the magic. To have allowed the Dark One to possess anyone, let alone someone as powerful and deadly as Raistlin- how could he had not foreseen it would lead to nothing but disaster? “Then gladly, shalafi.”
“Raistlin.” Raistlin said softly. “Come now, we have come far enough together. I have a name, and I would have you use it.”
“Raistlin.” He tasted the name. It was delicious. “And I am Dalamar.”
“You are.” Raistlin touched his hand with his fingers, so very light and gentle. “And I am sorry. For how I was before.”
“It was not you.”
“It was at least partially me-“
“I have lived with both of you; I can most definitely tell the difference. It was not you. And even then, I still loved you.” Raistlin shivered. “That has only grown over the past few months, but it was most definitely there to begin with. But this true you has shown that man to be less than your shadow.”
“Thank you.” He was blushing again. “And you are quite extraordinary yourself. You are beautiful; and brilliant and- I am not as skilled with words as you are, Dalamar. I would like to be but I have little experience in this. I will have to work on it.”
“On complimenting me?” Dalamar smiled.
“In loving you the way you deserve.”
Oh. What could he say to that?
“I expect you will teach me that much too, in time.” Raistlin stood, and leaned in, touching those featherlight fingertips to the back of Dalamar’s neck.
Dalamar turned his head up, closing his eyes to the kiss, soft and deep and rich as honey. The touch of a tongue, and he opened his mouth as Raistlin pressed closer, his own tongue tentatively pressing in his mouth, tasting each other.
“Well.” Raistlin managed when they broke the kiss at last, looking dazed and flushed, his lips swollen and his erect cock pressing into Dalamar’s tight. “And that is why you can have the knife back.” He finished weakly.
“Oh, good.” Dalamar licked his lips. “I haven’t been able to find one as good for cutting fruit.”
They looked at each other, and burst out laughing. Bright and happy and as alive as the rising sun.