Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Raistlin sat at the mess table, alone. Hunching slightly over the table, he cradled a mug of Tarbean tea, hoping that its warmth would thaw his cold, rigid fingers. The mess hall was close to the fires of the kitchens, yet it was too wide and open to retain any heat. Raistlin’s hands, already sensitive to low temperatures, were now stiff and painful, causing him significant annoyance.

His morning had been plagued by a fog of unfamiliar sensations that he struggled to make sense of. Nevertheless, he was in a generally happy disposition and had enjoyed an unusually rich breakfast that included bread, cheese, grapes, and dried fruit. Even though mages were generally disliked in that part of Solamnia and the Tower’s cook was still pretty distrustful of Raistlin, he had offered him a spoonful of honey to soothe the throat and soften the tea’s terrible flavor. Raistlin had gladly accepted the offer and was now impatiently waiting for the tea to reach a drinkable temperature.

He was restless. He moved his legs nervously, giving an outlet to that excitement that still coursed through him – the breathless exhilaration of the previous day, of that mad dash through the streets of Palanthas as he and Magius escaped that mob of angry minotaurs. The desperate thrill of running side by side with a friend, of overcoming danger together — the mere thought made Raistlin twist his lips into a genuine smile. He had spent the night tossing and turning in his bed, reliving those moments in his head with almost addictive desperation. Unable to sleep further, he had made his way to the mess hall very early in the morning, hoping to meet Magius.

The hours passed, and no amount of fidgeting could make his wait more tolerable. He had brought his spellbook with him and had already memorized the spells written inside. The few spells written inside, Raistlin thought to himself with a tinge of frustration. There wasn’t much else he could do to look busy, and Raistlin started doubting whether Magius would have stopped by the mess hall at all - it could well be that he had woken up much earlier than Raistlin and was already busy helping out the Knights organize their fortifications. The thought filled Raistlin with extreme embarrassment and he did his best not to show it outwardly in any way. What was he doing, wasting hours waiting for Magius to show up? He had better stand up and make himself useful in preparation for the imminent battle. Besides, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure sitting there, waiting, with nothing else to do.

His resolve was further strengthened as he saw Huma enter the hall. He was scanning the hall with a slight frown and narrowed eyes, apparently trying to locate someone. He intercepted a couple of soldiers, who replied to him by shaking their heads. Eventually he noticed Raistlin and made his way towards him.

“Good morning, mage. I’m glad to see you. I was just looking for your friend, Sturm. Have you seen him?”

“I’m afraid not,” replied Raistlin. “I thought he might be already with you and the rest of the knights.”

“I see. Oh well, I’ll find him. I’d better get back to the walls and wait for him to find me there. But I’m glad to see you too. Are you with Magius? We couldn’t find either of you yesterday and I was slightly concerned he had dragged you into something stupid.”

Raistlin let out a somber chuckle. “I see you know your friend very well.”

“I’ve got the scars to prove it. What in the Abyss did he do this time?” asked Huma.

“We journeyed to Palanthas to try and recover an artifact that could help us in the coming battle. I thought he might have mentioned this to you already.”

“I haven’t seen him at all. But I will definitely ask when I do.” Huma smiled. “You know, this actually sounds like one of the smartest things he’s done recently.”

“Well, he also drove us through a mob of angry minotaurs, to be perfectly honest.”

“Ah,” Huma couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, that sounds more like the Magius I know. I would have been surprised if he had not tried to impress a fellow mage. He tries to make do with me, but I know he resents my inability to encourage his minotaur-frying addiction.”

“He doesn’t seem to need a lot of encouragement,” Raistlin commented. “By the way, I was wondering whether I could offer my support to your fortification attempts, today.”

“That would be most welcome. I’m afraid I do not know exactly in which way we’d need your help, but if you reach me on the walls you could examine what we’re doing and come up with a few ideas of your own.”

As soon as he decided to finish his tea and leave with Huma, they heard in the distance the sound of robes rustling, and Magius made his entrance into the room.

It was now relatively late in the morning, and the majority of the knights that usually populated the mess hall had already left to attend to their duties; nevertheless, there were still a few that were eating or resting in the room, and they turned around at the arrival of the mage, unable to ignore the rustling of the long robes, a sound that preceded him by quite a few seconds. The wizard, a young Solamnic in his thirties with an elegantly chiseled visage and a permanent smirk stamped upon it, noticed Raistlin and Huma at the end of the hall; and after giving them a friendly wave, he made his way towards them.

Raistlin glanced repeatedly at Magius while he effortlessly navigated between the long mess tables. He was tall and lithe, but had a somewhat imposing presence; his robes further enhanced this quality of his, draping around him like a prince of old. They were different from the ones he had been wearing in the past days, Raistlin noticed: instead of a simple wizard robe, he was now wearing a long gown, of an intense, deep red, coupled with a jerkin in the same color that emphasized his lean build. The garment was adorned across the hems by golden runes that looked like they had been woven in pure gold – just like his hair, which was combed into a long golden mane draping fluidly on his shoulders and back. These were not robes for traveling and much less for combat, and Raistlin struggled to think of an occasion for which they would have been appropriate, short of a coronation.

“There he is,” Huma commented, twisting his face into a teasing smirk.

“Good morning,” Magius greeted them. His face lit up with a charming smile, and he accompanied his greeting with a soft touch on Raistlin’s shoulder, which Huma did not fail to notice. He dropped onto the bench next to Raistlin with ease, and raised his arms over his head in a stretch as if he had got up just a few minutes before. Raistlin smiled in return, without realizing that he had been holding his breath since Magius’ hand had touched him.

“Good morning to you, my dear friend. Raistlin here was just telling me you went on an important mission, yesterday.” Huma’s tone was affable, but he looked Magius up and down, repeatedly, his eyes slightly narrowed.

“Oh, yes. We managed to grab you a Dragon Orb. Don’t thank me yet, I don’t know if I can use it.” Magius replied casually.

“What’s a Dragon Orb?”

“The worst-kept secret of our order, apparently. I shouldn’t be telling you. Conclave rules and all that.”

“Oh.” Huma’s tone turned sharply to sarcasm. “I would never want to put you in a difficult spot with the Conclave. I know how important it is to you to be respectful of your order.”

“I’m so glad you understand.” Magius replied in kind. Then, with a somewhat more serious tone, he added: “But I swear, once I figure out if it’s usable you’ll be the first one to know.”

“I hope so,” Huma replied, a tired note creeping into his voice. “We could really use some good news.”

“I know. I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will. Besides, I’m sure Raistlin here would be happy to help,” said Huma, looking at Magius dead in the eyes with a sly smile. “We were just talking about him joining our troops on the walls, but it sounds like this may have priority.” He turned to Raistlin. “I think it’s best if you two coordinate your efforts. You can always reach us later if you’d like.”

“I will, thanks,” replied Raistlin.

“Well, then, I’ll be on my way. I’m still trying to find Sturm. I’ll leave you two to it.” With a friendly wink, he left the two mages and made his way towards the main entrance of the Tower.

“Did you manage to sleep well after our outing yesterday?” Magius asked, turning his attention to Raistlin.

“To be honest, most of my dreams have been about angry minotaurs chasing me around. Not the most peaceful sleep,” said Raistlin, his lips spreading into an amused smile.

Magius laughed. “Ha! Me too. As if those brutish monsters weren’t already intrusive enough without invading my dreams too. I kept turning around in my bed until I decided to take the bull by the horns - if you’ll forgive me the pun - and get up. I’m glad it was right in time to meet you here,” he added. “I’ll ransack the kitchens for some breakfast, would you like some?”

“I’ve had my fill already, thank you.”

“More hot water for your tea maybe?”

“Oh, thanks, I think I’m fine.”

“As you wish,” said Magius. “Then I’ll have to go pester the cook with my requests. He really dislikes mages but has been ordered to give me food, so I always enjoy watching him being conflicted between hating on me or disobeying an order.”

“Then maybe I should feel more honored about the honey he gave me earlier, for my tea.” Raistlin said.

“Oh,” Magius frowned, then looked towards the kitchen entrance, pensive. “I guess there could be a remote possibility that he hates me specifically, not mages…”

Raistlin let out a light chuckle.

“Well, in any case. I’m starving. I’ll be back in a second.” He sprang out of his seat and made his way towards the kitchens, the train of his robes dragging behind him.

Raistlin had heard many stories about Magius’ bravery, intelligence, and sacrifice, but those stories seemed to have left out his flair for the dramatic from the list of his qualities. Much to his surprise, Raistlin found it an endearing trait. He usually had a low tolerance for big personalities, mostly because they often tried to obscure everyone else around them; and he was sure that many would have said the same about Magius. However, in the few days they had spent together, Magius had time and again displayed the ability - no, the desire - to bring others into his light instead. Raistlin remembered how delighted he had been to teach him his teleportation spell, thinking that he was merely a novice - and how his delight had not wavered when he had found out that Raistlin was, in fact, a very experienced mage himself. If possible, it had increased, even though at this precise moment in time Raistlin was barely able to cast a bunch of low-level spells.

Magius reappeared soon after, his plate full of cheese, bread, and dried meat strips. He took his place back to Raistlin’s side, casually sitting with a leg folded beneath him, his body turned towards Raistlin.

“So, do you have any plans for today?” he asked while breaking a slice of bread with his sinewy fingers.

Raistlin hesitated. The only thing he had planned for that day was trying to intercept Magius in the mess hall, and admitting that was not an option.

“Nothing much. As Huma mentioned, I was thinking of joining them on the walls to survey the Tower’s defenses”.

Magius smiled at him with a conspiratorial air about him.

“Want to have better plans?” he asked.

“What are you thinking?”

Raistlin had not hesitated in his reply for even a fraction of a second. He shot Magius an intrigued and amused look, and Magius responded in kind with a mischievous smile of his own.

Since they had met in the forest, a few days before, Raistlin had been a constant source of delight for Magius. His countenance was mostly serious and impenetrable, he didn’t talk much, and the only emotion he seemed comfortable expressing was his irritability - mostly towards his companions, the kender and the knight. But then they had talked about their Test, about the sacrifices they had made; and Magius had sensed in Raistlin a kindred devotion to magic - not the pedantic and repeated study required to master a subject, but the consuming need to feed a raging fire that would have otherwise consumed them. In that brief moment of connection they had managed to establish, a light sparked behind Raistlin’s eyes - a small flicker that had intrigued Magius, attracting him like a moth to a flame.

And there it was again, that ember in Raistlin’s golden eyes, silently asking to share with him what new bizarre adventure he had in mind. Watching that young, fragile mage suddenly light up and transform into his perfect accomplice sent a jolt of excitement through Magius. He had to admit that part of his excitement came from knowing he was the only one in the entire Tower to hold the key to this peculiar transformation. Without even realizing it, Magius’ smile widened.

“Well, I guess I will have to figure out how to use this Dragon Orb, sooner or later. I figured you might enjoy going through its companion book together. Maybe give me some pointers. And of course, we could also spend some time preparing more scrolls for the upcoming battle, there might be some spells of mine that you could copy to expand your spellbook. You know, just mages doing mage things.”

Raistlin smiled, his look colored by playfulness. “I was half hoping you had come up with another insane adventure at the very fringes of the law. Oh well, mage things sound good too.”

“Trying to control a dragon orb is not insane enough for you?” Magius laughed heartily. “You really must have seen some shit in your time.”

You have no idea, Raistlin thought to himself.

“Anyway, if you want to do something even more deranged, I’m sure I can come up with something else to entertain ourselves, my dear Raistlin.”

Magius didn’t know if it had been his ill-concealed innuendo, the husky tone he had used, or having uttered the words “dear” and “Raistlin” next to each other, but his smile froze as he felt Raistlin suddenly withdraw, his expression once again blank and inscrutable. Magius twitched his lips and felt his cheeks burn. He was not easily embarrassed, but Raistlin had the power to make him feel extremely inappropriate with just a look.

Luckily, the sudden appearance of Tasslehoff Burrfoot saved them from the uncomfortable silence that had descended upon them. He had emerged from the kitchen entrance, a slice of bread in his mouth and a cornucopia of sausages and fruit in his arms.

“Waiftlin! Magiuf!” he exclaimed upon seeing them, trying his best to speak through the bread without letting it fall. He kept his loot in a precarious balance, stuffing some of the goods into his numerous pockets. “I didn’t fee… m’ment…” He finally managed to free one of his hands enough to take the bread out of his mouth and skipped eagerly towards them.

“Hey, hi Raistlin, hi Magius, I didn’t see you coming in! Though it’s possible that’s because I decided to enter the kitchen from the window, but only because poor Lorik seemed so busy and I am sure he would not have liked it if I had distracted him asking for things I could just take by myself… by the gods! Magius!” he exclaimed excitedly, “I didn’t know mages could be so fashionable! I thought you were supposed to always wear the same clothes, though maybe I got this idea because all the robes that Raistlin gets just look the same, Dalamar had nicer ones but he said that if he’d catch me looking into his pockets he’d turn me into a cricket - like you always say, Raist - but anyway his are nicer but also kinda all the same, all black, all boring - ”

“Tas,” Raistlin tried to interrupt him, but a sudden cough forced him to clear his throat with a sip of tea.

“I just wanted to say that I like your robes, Magius, I think they look real nice, maybe you should help Raistlin choose better ones, he’s never had any with those squiggly signs all around, he always said only idiots wear those but I think he’d really like them if he had them! Once he at least had that sparkly robe with sequins that Tika helped him sew, remember that, Raist? Do you still have it? Maybe you should show it to Magius…”

“Tas!” Raistlin interrupted him, raising his voice. His ears had turned into a slightly reddish-bronze color. “I am sure I saw Sturm before asking about you, he needs you to help him with some maps —“

“Raistlin!” Tas looked at him, shocked. “Sturm needs my help and you kept me here chatting about robes? I gotta run!” And he propelled himself outside the hall, a couple of sausages dangling from his pockets, without even asking where Sturm was.

The two mages remained silent for a moment, still dazed by the amount of words that Tasslehoff had poured over them in such a short time. Magius fidgeted with what was left of his breakfast and looked down, letting his hair fall over his cheeks, burning from all the attention the kender had innocently showered on his attire. In his enthusiasm, Tas had shone a big, bright light on his attempt to make an impression, which now seemed obvious and childish. On the other side, Raistlin looked away, suddenly conscious about how shabby he must have looked to the discerning eyes of Magius.

Magius was the first to recover.

“A red robe… with sequins?” he asked nonchalantly, betraying just a hint of quiet amusement.

Raistlin’s ears flared up, and he silently cursed the kender for having such a loose tongue, but his face showed no sign of embarrassment, or any other emotion.

“I used to be an itinerant magician, in my youth. Mostly did it to get some easy money while I studied and traveled. Simple spells, illusions, and so on. Of course, my teacher back then did not approve,” he said.

Magius snorted. “When do they ever. I’m sure that their oh-so-precious respect for magic was so strong that they would have rather seen you and… Tika? Starve.” He emphasized the interrogative tone on Tika’s name with false innocence, knowing he had not been subtle. He was afraid of having pried too much, but on the other hand, Raistlin intrigued him - and if there was one thing Magius couldn’t resist, it was his own curiosity.

Raistlin didn’t seem to find the question too intrusive, but he did not fail to notice how Magius had brought their attention back to that name.

“Tika’s my sister-in-law. We traveled around a lot with my twin brother and a group of friends”.

“Well, I am sure your shows were incredible, sequins or not. If you ever want to try out a new trick I’d be happy to be your test subject.”

Raistlin’s smile crept up again. “I’m afraid that time has long gone. Best trick I can conjure up now is a minotaur-frying spell”.

“Well, it was a really good trick”. Magius raised his look to meet Raistlin’s, smiling. Perhaps you have some more of those up your sleeves.”

Raistlin snickered. “None of the good ones anymore, I’m afraid. But I think I can help you prepare for your Dragon Orb act if you’d still like me to.”

Magius looked intently at Raistlin, relieved to see that the awkwardness of a few minutes before had waned.

“Of course I would,” he said, standing up. With a playful hint of a curtsy, he gestured for him to follow. “After you.”

Chapter Text

The room that Magius has been assigned to was warm and welcoming, a relief after the bitter cold of the mess hall. With a snap of his fingers, he started a small flame in the fireplace, and Raistlin stretched out his hands in front of it, waiting for the heat to thaw his fingers. He didn’t dare remove his cloak yet, and the light of the flames sculpted vivid contrasts on the folds of his robes, making him look like he had been carved in marble. The lightly metallic tone of his skin came alive in those blazing lights, and as he slowly moved his long, delicate hands the light scattered over them in small flashes of gold. Magius observed his peculiar appearance with silent curiosity, but Raistlin quickly looked away, focusing instead on his surroundings.

He had been in this very room just two days earlier, when he had found Magius fast asleep on his chair, his spell book still open. On that occasion, he had felt so out of place that he had consciously tried to look around as little as possible, even as he covered Magius with a blanket to ensure he wouldn’t be cold. He had left the room with a lingering shame, feeling as if his concern for his friend had crossed a line. This time, however, he was a guest, and he allowed his eyes to wander about the room freely.

Most of the rooms on the higher levels of the High Clerist’s Tower had been built for the Knights of the Higher Orders, and were furnished pretty much in the same way. Each contained a big canopied bed, a small armchair, a wooden table and a chair, and a small alcove for prayer. The furnishing was comfortable but simple so that a Knight could have the space to rest, study, and contemplate. Raistlin wasn’t sure how long Magius had spent in the Tower, but he could clearly see the mark he had left on the room - the table was covered in books and scrolls, and some of them were stacked on the floor in orderly piles, a failed attempt to make a mess look intentional. Magius had apparently deemed the alcove perfectly fit to host a small mirror, in front of which laid an elaborately adorned comb and a razor in the same style. His temporary grooming station had partially obscured the holy symbol of Paladine carved at the back of the alcove, and Raistlin couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at the subtle yet painfully evident blasphemy of the gesture.

An incense burner at the top of the fireplace explained the room’s specific scent, a warm and sweet fragrance that often lingered around Magius when he moved. On one of the windowsills, Magius had placed a small bunch of flowers into a tankard, re-purposed as a vase. Raistlin drew closer to the window, examining the small bouquet.

“Daisies, poppies and wild carrot,” he muttered.

“Sure, I knew that.” Magius was bustling about near the fireplace, setting up a kettle on the fire.

“Is your sarcastic tone supposed to indicate that you do not, in fact, know what a daisy is?”

“Well, daisies, I know. Poppies too. Wild carrots, never heard of them. They just looked nice”.

Raistlin snickered, caressing the small white flowers intertwined into a beautiful, natural lace.

“You may want to stay clear from this specific pretty flower then, since it’s almost indistinguishable from poison hemlock.”

“Which is, I’m assuming… poisonous,” Magius said.

“Best case scenario you’ll get a painful rash. Worst case scenario, death.”

“Well, sounds like I should stick to the flowers I know the names of, then.” Magius smiled playfully at Raistlin. “I didn’t take you for a flower expert, I’ll admit.”

“I made a study of plants in my youth. Mostly for medicinal purposes.” Raistlin said.

“Maybe one of these days we can take a walk around and you can show me which flowers around the Tower are safe for harvesting. You know, between a fried goblin and another. I’ll watch your back from disgusting monsters and you’ll watch mine from prickly flowers.” Magius’ sardonic smile grew even wider.

“Watch my back from monsters? I have the impression that you’re far more likely to guide me to one of their encampments to ask if your bet on the minotaur fights worked out after all,” Raistlin teased him. Turning towards the window, his smile waned, and he stared outside, lost in thought. His voice grew quieter. “But yes, if you’d like to, I’d love to show you some plants. Someday.”

“I’ll take you up on that.”

Raistlin smiled bitterly, but Magius did not notice as he poured hot water into a mug. He offered it to Raistlin, gesturing towards the armchair as an invitation to make himself comfortable. He had moved the armchair to face the fireplace, and Raistlin accepted his invitation gracefully. Much to his surprise, Magius did not take his seat on the chair in front of him but gathered the fabric of his robes and sat on the carpet, leaning against the side of Raistlin’s armchair. He had taken off his boots, and Raistlin glanced over as Magius stretched his legs, his dark stockings peeking from under the cascade of red wool.

Raistlin brought his attention back to the tea. Though unfamiliar with the blend, he recognized the scent of orange and cinnamon. It was different from the bland herbal tea they had available in the mess hall, and did not come even remotely close to the horrifying mix Raistlin was forced to drink to clear his lungs. It was exquisite. He cradled the cup close to his face so that the smell of citrus could envelop him.

“I took the liberty of getting you something from my private collection.” Magius had turned his head towards Raistlin, eager to observe his reaction.

“It’s incredible. Thanks,” murmured Raistlin.

“You are very welcome.” With a playful wink, Magius turned away. He slipped a hand inside the breast pocket of his jerkin and produced a small, unimpressive booklet bound in nondescript black leather. His golden hair slid lazily to cover his face as he lowered his head to read. “All right. Dragon Orb, Dragon Orb. Introduction. Top secret material… list of the mages that participated in its creation… how to read this book… goddess, they wasted so much parchment, considering how small this is…”

He heard a sudden rustle and the scent of rose petals enveloped him. Raistlin had slid down the armchair and was now sitting on the carpet right next to him, holding his tea with one hand, the other placed on the armchair seat to hold his head up.

Magius was taken aback. They were sitting very close now, and he could clearly hear the sound of Raistlin’s breath and the unnatural heat that his frail body emanated. He tried to hide a shiver. Magius had not spent much time thinking about what he was trying to do, a quality of his that Huma had often described as “irresponsibly clueless”. He liked spending time with Raistlin, and he found him fascinating despite the queerness of his appearance; his attempts to spend as much time as possible with the young mage had been dictated by nothing more than his desire to talk with him, get to know him better, and share his vocation for magic with someone who could understand. He may have come across as a bit more flirtatious than he intended to, but that was not unusual for him - if anything, it was a fun game he’d often play with everybody who seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. But now, feeling Raistlin’s body next to his, he felt acutely conscious of how close they were, alone, in his private room.

Lifting his eyes, he took in Raistlin’s delicate features, still hauntingly beautiful despite the devouring sickness; the thin lips of the young mage betrayed only the hint of a smile, that Magius found hypnotizing. His heartbeat quickened. For a second, he imagined threading his fingers into Raistlin’s pure white hair, pulling him closer…

He snapped out of his fantasy to realize that he had been looking into Raistlin’s eyes for way longer than it would have been appropriate. Raistlin’s expression shifted back into the emotionless mask he hid behind whenever Magius crossed a line. Feeling his face burn, he smiled awkwardly and turned back to his book, trying to hide the redness he suspected was starting to color his cheeks.

“There,” Raistlin pointed to a page marked in red ink. “I think I remember this.”

Magius looked at the page Raistlin had just pointed to, trying to focus on deciphering the words. Raistlin had been friendly to him, but his interest clearly lay in their common pursuit of magic. After all, had it not been for him, Raistlin would have now been helping Huma and Sturm fortify the Tower; he definitely had not spent the night awake, thinking about how to spend more time with him the next day…

“It does look like this is the spell to subjugate the dragon in the Orb,” he muttered, mustering all his self-control to get back on track. “I guess it would have been too much to ask to get a pre-subjugated dragon.”

“I am sure that has to do with the usual philosophy of the Conclave that some objects should only be wielded by those with sufficient power, to minimize the possibility of them being used for the wrong purposes.” Raistlin said.

“As if wisdom came with power,” Magius commented, caustically, making Raistlin smile to himself.

They both leaned forward to take a better look at the spell.

“All right, this looks more straightforward than I thought,” Magius commented. “The spell is not hard to perform, though the power required to cast it will be significant. From the examples they are giving, it should be in line with my current capacity.”

Raistlin nodded, pensive. “The hardest part of this process will be resisting the dragon’s will. I would say that the required willpower is probably the most challenging component of this spell. Unfortunately, there isn’t much to prepare on that front. The only advice I can give is to know when to let go, should the spell fail.”

Raistlin dished out these instructions with the pragmatism and lack of flair of someone so familiar with Dragon Orbs that they had come to see them as mundane trinkets. Even though he was now little more than a novice, the weight of his experience was apparent in his countenance. The confidence he managed to display despite his fragile and sickly frame was so impressive to Magius that he suddenly felt like he was a student again, a young mage just past his Test, trying to prove his worth to the master who had taken him under his wing…

Magius tensed up, pressing his lips into a tight line. He clenched the book tightly and snapped it shut.

“I don’t know, Raistlin. I’m afraid that, given our resources, a Dragon Orb may not be that useful after all”, he said, frowning. “You were right. With just the two of us, no matter how many spells we can cast, we don’t have enough manpower to attack even a single dragon. And the knights will be useless.”

“Won’t the Conclave send their support?”

“As if.” Magius sounded bitter. “They have already decided that this battle is lost and have cooped up at Wayreth. They might be planning something, but not here, not now. We’re alone.”

Raistlin extended a hand towards Magius, then suddenly retracted it, unsure.

“Well. It may not mean much, but I will be here.”

“You’ll fight with me, then?” Magius turned to face Raistlin, a hint of relief emerging on his tired visage.

Raistlin nodded. He felt his heart sink, heavy with the knowledge of the future. Magius would die a painful and inglorious death in just a few days. In all likelihood, with no means to go back to his own time, Raistlin would follow him soon after. They were, indeed, alone - Raistlin was almost a thousand years away from Caramon, from Dalamar, from the Inn of Last Home. He had nowhere else to go but here. He had nothing else to do but live the few days he had left. There was no more power to chase, no desperate plan to enact. But this time he had someone with him, someone he could share his last moments with. Confronted with the thought of his imminent death, the only thing he knew was that he would not spend another afterlife dreaming about the life he could have had.

Something within Raistlin shifted, and he spoke freely, without weighing his words.

“There is nowhere else I’d rather be than next to you during this fight. If these must be our last days, I should count myself lucky to have spent them in your company. I’ll be at your side, if you’ll have me.”

Something tightened in his stomach, and he felt his skin burn with a shame he had been running away from for his whole life. His muscles tensed. The chains that had bound his stomach now tightened around his chest, forcing out a cough. Yet, something else within him had melted and could not be bound anymore: something raw, soft, and so vulnerable…

Raistlin recognized it. His body remembered that sensation clearly, and he did his best to keep the tears at bay as he recalled the last time he had felt it. That time Miranda had picked up one of his books and gifted him a coy smile under the canopy of the vallenwood trees; that time he had fallen sick after his mother’s death, and Sturm had come over to their house to make some soup for him… it had been so long ago. Almost as if it had happened to a different person.

Magius was taken aback. Raistlin’s words were covered in their usual, icy surface, but a slight tremble in them cracked the ice enough to let Magius catch a glimpse of the fire that burned below. It was… unexpected, and Magius hesitated.

Magius longed to see more of that fire. He had longed for it since their first conversation, when he had seen that flame flash briefly behind Raistlin’s eyes. And yet his longing was tainted by unease and hesitation as he remembered another man, not many years before. He had also shown an authoritative demeanor, a seemingly icy disposition, before he melted into sweet, tantalizing words, designed just for Magius. Words that Magius had drunk up with gratitude, on his knees. Words that poisoned him without him even realizing it.

They looked at each other in silence. No one seemed eager to talk.

Magius felt his heart madly throbbing in his throat and forced himself to take longer, deeper breaths. Was he willing to take that sort of risk, again?

He let his gaze linger once again on Raistlin’s face, over his sculpted nose, his well-defined cheekbones, the soft waves of white hair that rippled over his face; over those golden, impossible eyes that didn’t seem to be able to hold his gaze for more than a second before turning away…

Magius gently grasped Raistlin’s hands, looking down while he brushed them with the side of his thumb. His reverent touch followed the contours of his knuckles and joints, tracing the rise and fall of his bones. He half expected Raistlin to pull away, but he didn’t. As they both shivered at that touch, Magius knew that no fear or doubt could stop him from doing what was probably the wrong thing.

Raising his head once more, he locked his eyes onto Raistlin’s visage. Their fingers entwined in a slow dance, delicately brushing against each other. Magius noticed again that Raistlin kept throwing him short, repeated glances, never allowing himself to look at him for longer than a fraction of a second. “Raelanna’s curse,” he thought to himself, and the realization that Raistlin was doing his best to preserve an image of him that wasn’t touched by the curse and the passage of time filled him with tenderness for the young man, further stoking the fire that was already consuming his body.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

Raistlin hesitated for a moment, then obeyed. Magius continued stroking Raistlin’s hands for a few more seconds, as if trying to gather courage. Then he lunged forward, enveloped Raistlin with his arm and drew him closer, while delicately tracing the lines of his jaw and chin with his fingers.

Raistlin opened his eyes for a split second, enough to get an accurate picture of how Magius looked at that moment, then he shut them immediately, trying to hold on to that image with his mind’s eye. Magius’ golden hair, illuminated by the fire behind him, had turned a fiery reddish color, and he could barely stand to match the stare of those piercing blue eyes that, at that moment, were oblivious to everything but Raistlin.

As he clung to that image, he felt Magius’ breath draw closer, and in an instant, Magius’ lips were delicately kissing his skin, following the jawline until he reached the back of his ear. Raistlin’s breath grew shallower, and he laid a hand on Magius’ chest, shifting his weight to lean against him.

Raistlin risked a new glance. The two locked eyes, and immediately folded into darkness as their lips drew closer. Their first kiss was sweet, delicate, and never-ending, as if Time itself had stopped in its tracks to allow them to claim each other. As soon as their lips parted, they were already searching for each other, but shyly, almost afraid to hurt themselves; and yet they kept returning to each other, relentless like the waves crashing on the shoreline. The more they merged into each other, the more their fears washed away with the tide, leaving space to a raw, intense desire. Magius cinched Raistlin by the waist and clung on to him, while Raistlin ran his fingers through Magius’ hair, cradling his head, pulling it closer. Their tongues slid off each other’s, lighting sparks in the blood of the two wizards. The shyness of a few moments before was already a distant memory, and their voices cracked into faint moans of pleasure that stoked their passion with maddening cruelty. At every new kiss, Raistlin felt his lips grow more sensitive, and Magius’ touch felt more and more intense, but he didn’t want to let go, pulling at Magius’ robes with unexpected strength, drawing Magius tighter into him.

Magius’ paused for a moment, catching his breath. His face was flush with redness and he smiled as he saw Raistlin bury his face into his hand and plant delicate, warm kisses on it. He was overwhelmed by an intense need to feel his naked skin against Raistlin’s and started to resent the friction and tugging of his own heavy woolen robes. His eyes lingered over the lace ties that fastened Raistlin’s collar, almost begging to be loosened to reveal more of the young mage’s skin. Just imagining himself slowly undoing the fabric that hid Raistlin’s body sent a shiver down his spine; but he had a feeling that that would mean pushing too hard and too soon. Instead, he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against Rastlin’s neck, savoring the scent of rose petals that lingered on his hair.

Raistlin cradled Magius’ head with almost religious reverence. He weaved his long, slender fingers with Magius’ hair, parting it into smaller strands that glided away like liquid gold. As he absentmindedly stroked the mage’s long hair, he opened his eyes once again, his gaze soft and unfocused. He could still feel the heat of Magius’ breath on his neck, his lips nibbling at him with longing.

He lowered his gaze, mistakenly fixing it upon his own hand that was still tangled into Magius’ hair. He had grown a morbid tolerance to seeing death in all things, especially when it came to his own body. He had seen his own hands wither and decay over and over again and made peace with that - an uneasy, resentful peace, but peace nonetheless. This time, however, the sight of his own hand starting to wrinkle and turn to dark, dried leather was too much to bear. He couldn’t stand seeing it contaminate Magius’ body. He couldn’t stand the incessant reminder that death was all he would ever find in life. He closed his eyes again, but anger was now flashing behind his eyelids, pure, unadulterated hatred for the fool who had cursed him to live among the dead. Cursed to never see life. To never relish the sight of a lover…

He lowered his head, his expression once again a numb, impenetrable mask. Magius’ touch suddenly felt alien, and Raistlin just wished to hide so that Magius would not see how inhuman he was. Doubt and pain flooded over the affection he held for Magius, drowning him with the same morbid thoughts that had accompanied him for most of his adult life. The flood felt even more destructive than usual, now that it finally had something precious to submerge - it crept into every crevice of Raistlin’s mind, contaminating with thick, dark muck the memory of Magius’ snarky smile, the ecstatic pleasure in feeling his touch, the pure yearning he felt towards him. He was left with the memory of a condescending smile, the unnatural and sinful pleasure in feeling another man’s touch, and the gullible, desperate, and pathetic desire to just be loved by someone…

Unaware of the war that was raging in Raistlin’s mind, Magius stamped one last kiss behind his ear and rested on his shoulder.

“It’s been so long since I’ve wanted to kiss someone the way I want to kiss you,” whispered Magius, leaning further against Raistlin’s body. “So long…”

Raistlin did not know how to respond and remained silent. Magius looked up at him, noticing his discomfort. He straightened up.

“Are you all right?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m sorry,” Raistlin replied, turning away to avoid his gaze.

“That sounds more like a no than a yes. What’s going on?”

Magius grabbed Raistlin’s hand, and his expression grew serious as he tried to understand the change in mood of the young wizard.

“It’s fine. Just bad thoughts. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, your bad thoughts have a lot of nerve, intruding on the lovely time we were having together.”

Raistlin curved his lips into a sad smile. “It was lovely, indeed.”

Magius wrapped his arm around Raistlin’s waist while he continued to gently stroke his hand. Raistlin did not pull away, and Magius found that comforting. A thought flashed through his mind.

“Have you ever had… you know…”

“Someone?” Raistlin completed the sentence, curtly. “Not like this. Not with a man.”

Magius nodded in understanding.

“Does it… does it feel good, though?” he asked.

“It’s never felt this good before,” Raistlin replied.

Magius smiled somberly and leaned in to brush his lips against Raistlin’s cheekbone.

“Would you rather I left you alone for a while?”

“Maybe.” Raistlin replied, laconic.

“Listen,” Magius spoke in a low, reassuring tone, hoping to ease Raistlin’s discomfort. “The sun is up in the sky, so it’s probably time to have lunch. I can go downstairs and have a little chat with my best friend in this Tower, Lorik the cook, and get him to make us a meal. In the meantime, you can have a moment to yourself, and after that maybe you’ll have a clearer mind. What do you think?” Magius tucked a strand of white hair behind Raistlin’s ear as he spoke.

Raistlin replied with a tired smile. “I think it’s a good idea.”

“Like all my ideas,” Magius winked. He hesitated for a second, then pressed a light kiss on Raistlin’s cheek. “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he murmured. He stood up, threw Raistlin one last glance, and made his way outside.

A strange comfort washed over Raistlin once he was alone in the room, perhaps a relief in knowing he wouldn’t have to deal with someone else’s concern or worry. He felt nauseous, and his throat tensed up as he desperately tried to swallow whatever rage or anguish was trying to come up. He pointed his blank stare to the crackling fire, curled up with his knees against his chest, and let the heat wash over him, hoping it would soothe the war raging within.

Chapter Text

Magius closed the door behind him and made his way toward the mess hall. A couple of soldiers walked past him, deep in conversation, and spared him only a brief glance before continuing down the stairs — likely heading to the Tower’s fourth level, which provided access to the fortified walls. He walked to one of the embrasures that overlooked the plains and stopped to peek at the enemy camp in the distance. Those black tents seemed to have multiplied overnight, and the encampment now stretched closer to the river than he recalled. His heart sank. In the past few hours, he had managed to distract himself from the thought of the army that was amassing in the plains, preparing to launch the assault on the Tower. But no amount of distraction could change the stark reality - that they had no chance of survival.

He had known for a long time. He had chosen to follow Huma to the High Clerist’s Tower with the full awareness that this might be their last adventure. Magius was at peace with that decision and had felt a tinge of pride in facing his fear of death head-on, that same fear that had held him in its chokehold for so many years. If he had to die, he would at least die protecting something other than himself. And for once, he would not have stayed behind in shame, watching Huma rise to the challenge without hesitation. This time, they would have been side to side. Steel and magic. Just like they dreamed of in their youth.

But things had changed. Now… now he had something to lose.

His old fear slithered into his mind, coiling around him and tightening its grip. Its words were terrible and alluring at the same time. There was no need to stay until the inevitable defeat. There must be some land that was still free from the Dark Queen’s control. Through the ways of magic he had crossed the enemy lines many times before, he could surely do it again. The knights were going to die, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He could teleport himself, Raistlin, and Huma out of there. They could still have a future…

But Huma would never abandon his post out of fear for his own life. Probably not even for Gwyneth’s. As long as there was someone to help, as long as his sword could make a difference, he would have stayed and fulfilled his duty. No matter the odds.
Magius looked away from the embrasure, a lump tightening in his throat.

He carried on down the stairs, gathering his robes so that they wouldn’t hinder his movement. A crowd of soldiers had gathered in the mess hall - their voices weaving into a tapestry of noise that wrapped around Magius as he entered. Amid all those voices, one managed to stand out and caught his ear.

“Magius!”

He turned around to see Huma, a few tables over, trying to attract his attention by waving to him. He had just stood up from his table, where he was sharing a meal with Gwyneth and Tasslehoff, and made his way towards the mage, his long braids swaying with each step as he dodged the other soldiers who crossed his path.

“Hey. I kept calling you but you couldn’t hear me. Do you want to join us? There’s some really nice stew today… what happened to you?” Huma asked, perplexed.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Your face is all red and you look like you’ve been sleeping in a haystack.”

Magius instinctively brought a hand to his hair to smoothen it down.

“It’s nothing,” he replied curtly. “I won’t join you, I’m just here to pick up some food for me and Raistl— ” he broke off mid-sentence, realizing he had said more than he wanted.

Huma tilted his head to the side, a teasing smile creeping up his face.

“So, I guess your study of this magical artifact is going well,” he said. “You must be really hard at work on that.”

“Ah, leave me alone, Huma. We’re working on it, and we require silence, concentration, and solitude, thank you very much. We’ll talk later. Enjoy your lunch.”

Huma’s face twisted into a poorly concealed smirk, making Magius’ cheeks burn even more. Cursing his complexion for being so revealing, he was certain Huma had noticed his deepening blush. Pivoting sharply away from Huma, he headed for the kitchens.
The Warden’s men must have been successful in their hunt, for a delicious smell of venison stew filled the kitchens. Magius filled two bowls to the brim, disregarding the muttering of Lorik the cook - something about mages eating more than their fair share while doing nothing all day - and carried them back with him.

As he entered the corridor leading to the main staircase of the Tower, he was so focused on the bowls he was carrying that he did not notice Huma standing in front of him until they almost collided. Magius flinched, letting some of the stew spill onto his robes. With a faint sizzling sound, the stew magically slid off, leaving the fabric untouched.

“For the love of Lunitari, Huma, you almost gave me a heart attack. What in the Abyss are you doing here lurking in the shadows?”

“I think you know what I’m doing”, said Huma. “I just want to discuss it with you in private. You know how the other soldiers are.”

“Hm-hmm.” Magius scowled at his friend.

“I noticed that you have kind of taken a shine to young Raistlin and that you have barely spent time apart since he arrived. So, well, knowing you, I was wondering…”

“What exactly were you wondering, Huma?”

Huma shot him a knowing look.

“Oh, I see,” Magius went on, his sarcasm evident in his tone. “You just couldn’t keep away from poking your nose in my business, is that it? You want to know if we’re fucking, that’s what. Well, the answer is no. Not yet.” He added, as an afterthought.
Huma was gloating.

“Ah, old friend. You are too much of a misanthrope to pass unnoticed when you like someone. Well. I am glad you found some company too.”

“Thanks,” Magius replied, unable to keep a smile from forming. “It’s… it’s nice. I like him a lot. And look at me now, grabbing food for him like an idiot. It’s been —” he glanced at Huma. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this with someone.”

“Felt like what? Altruistic?”

“Goddess, you are such an asshole.”

“Asshole? Oh, my dear, dear Magius.” Huma walked closer to his friend and grabbed him by the shoulders. “I have barely started. If you think I won’t let you pay for all the times I came to you to talk about my feelings for Gwyneth and you kept grumbling and rolling your eyes…”

“That’s completely different!” Magius protested. “You two are embarrassing. ‘We’ve met in a dream before’ and all that. You deserve to be eye-rolled at. I, on the other hand, was keeping to myself, until you decided to come and ambush me here looking to sate your thirst for tittle-tattle…”

“Keeping to yourself?” A small group of garrison officers was getting closer. Huma cut himself off and saluted them. When they were out of earshot, he added, in a lower voice: “You literally walked in there this morning with a huge ‘Look at me’ painted on your forehead.”

“Listen, you have your techniques, I have mine. Don’t you dare shame me for it. And I thought you were a friend.”

Huma chuckled. “All right, all right, I’ll behave. Jokes aside, I’m happy for you, man. You’ve been alone for too long and it’s nice to see you have that spark again, instead of being generally brooding and insufferable. You should enjoy it, at least for what little time we may have left,” he added, somberly. “Do you know if he reciprocates?”

“I think he does,” replied Magius, his lips curving involuntarily into a smile once again. “But he was a bit distressed. I don’t think he was aware of his… preferences.”

“You should be with him.”

“Yes, it’s where I was going before you ambushed me. I wanted to give him some space. I have the impression that he needs to have a good cry and that he’d rather kill himself rather than do it in front of me.”

Huma smiled, a sad expression washing over his face. He fidgeted distractedly with a pendant hidden below his shirt.

“Just like Greta,” he said.

“Just like Greta.”

The two stood there in silence for a moment, after which Magius inhaled deeply and said:

“Well, I better move or the stew will turn cold. When I have a moment I promise I will tell you everything. I will even allow you ten minutes to talk about Gwyneth, if you really need to. But now I just want to be with him.” Once he voiced his intention out loud, he was struck by how much he meant it.

“What a generous offer,” Huma chuckled. “Go ahead. I’ll see you later, old friend.”

Magius nodded and rushed up the stairs. He had to pause to summon a magic servant to help him carry the food while he gathered the hems of his robes, which length was making his ascent a nightmare. When he had decided to look his best that morning, he had not thought about how insufferable it was to carry out everyday errands in a long ceremonial robe.

Despite the difficulty, he reached his room and gently opened the door.

Raistlin was still sitting on the carpet, curled up against the armchair. He turned around and greeted Magius with a hoarse “Hey.”

“Hey to you,” replied Magius in his most reassuring voice. Handing him a bowl, Magius crouched to sit next to him. “Deer stew today. We got lucky.”

He was now close enough to notice that Raistlin’s eyes were glistening from the tears he must have shed during his absence. His heart softened and he leaned in to touch Raistlin gently on the back.

“Oh, Raistlin,” he said. “I was only gone a few minutes. I didn’t realize you would miss me this much.”

Raistlin let out a chuckle. “You have a weird way of being comforting, brother,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Is it working?”

Raistlin glanced at him with a hint of a smile. “I think it is.”

Magius tilted his head forward to touch Raistlin’s. “Would you like to tell me what happened?” he asked.

“Not really, no,” Raistlin replied curtly.

Magius nodded. Then, lowering his voice, he added:

“Can I still kiss you?”

Raistlin nodded with a tired smile. Magius leaned forward and brushed the point of his nose against Raistlin’s cheek before savoring his lips once again. Their touch felt so addictive that they were soon lost in each other’s arms and they forgot about the food, though Magius noticed that Raistlin felt more withdrawn than before. He was letting Magius lead their dance in its entirety, his hands delicately following Magius’ movements instead of driving them; his lips merely responding instead of asking. Magius did not resent the role, but he toned down his enthusiasm to match, in hopes that Raistlin would feel more comfortable.

“We should get to that stew…” Raistlin said after a while. “It will get cold.”

“I’m afraid to tell you this, but I think it already is.” Magius straightened up, though every fiber of his body resented being torn away from Raistlin.

Magius was right, and they only had a couple of spoonfuls before deciding to waste a bit of magic to heat the stew and make it edible again. As usual, Raistlin only ate a few mouthfuls, but Magius was happy to finish his portion for him.

“So,” Magius started. “What do you want to do now?”

“Well, if you’re not going to use the Orb… you mentioned you might need extra scrolls. We could start working on that.”

Magius chuckled.

“What are you laughing about?” Raistlin asked, confused.

“I mean…”

“What?”

“I love it when people are so smart they’re dumb. What do you think those piles of scrolls all around are?”

Raistlin scoffed with sudden realization, rolling his eyes at the sight of the dozens of scrolls he had noticed — though not enough to understand what was happening. He glanced at Magius, annoyed and amused at the same time. “The sign of a very industrious mage, who spends his days deep in research?”

“No. It’s the sign that you have been fooled. I have been here for weeks with nothing to do but prepare scrolls. I just wanted an excuse to spend time alone with you.” Magius looked like a mischievous kid whose trick had paid off.
“Should I be flattered about the subterfuge or offended at you calling me dumb?”

“I mean… you started it…” Magius leaned in with a conspiratorial expression. “How was it? Only idiots wear robes with embroidered runes? Something like that.”

Raistlin rolled his eyes again, but he was smiling. “That was not referred to you specifically. Obviously.”

“Well, the kender didn’t say ‘Raistlin said that all people who wear robes with runes are idiots except for Magius’, now, did he?”

“Probably because I said it before I even knew you.”

“I’m sorry, logic is logic. You called me an idiot, I’ll call you dumb. It’s only fair. But don’t worry. I love spending time with smart Raistlin, but dumb Raistlin has his charms.”

Raistlin chuckled, the smirk on his face getting wider. Magius was glad to see the gloom progressively fade from Raistlin’s face. Magius had an unfortunate history of saying the wrong thing at the wrong moment - too sarcastic, too dark, too brazen, too blunt. But seeing Raistlin genuinely enjoy his banter, even in a moment of vulnerability, warmed his heart.

“So, back to my original question, what do you want to do now?” he asked. “Yesterday I showed you how to survive a gang of minotaurs. It’s your turn today to impose an activity on me.”

Raistlin glanced at the window. “There’s still a few hours of daylight. Maybe we should go look for those flowers like you said before.”

Magius smiled. “Let’s do it.”

“As long as it stays a calm and relaxing activity with not too much adrenaline involved. Yesterday was more than enough for me.” Raistlin said.

“What a fucking liar,” Magius laughed. “You looked like you were born to sow chaos. Never seen anyone more addicted to adrenaline than that guy from yesterday. I know, because I find it very attractive, and when I saw you gleaming from all that excitement I had half an impulse to pin you against a wall in that dark alley behind the tavern.”

“Ah, shut up,” Raistlin shoved him away playfully. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”

“Am I succeeding?”

Raistlin remained silent, gathered his robes, and stood up, then offered his hand to Magius.

“Get a move on, brother. Don’t make me regret allowing you all this familiarity.”

Magius accepted the hand with a smile, and the two left the room to head towards the Main Gate. The guards were not keen to let them pass, but Raistlin mentioned something about the need to stock the Tower’s infirmary with medicinal herbs and they relented, under the promise that they would be back within a couple of hours. The air was cold, but the sun shone brightly in the sky. The thicket surrounding the tower echoed with the ordinary sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling — an eerie counterpoint to the idea of the enemy army encamped just a few miles away. Magius, who was already somewhat familiar with the surroundings, led Raistlin towards a small glade that he thought might be a nice destination for their walk.

As soon as they had put some distance between them and the Tower, they started walking closer together, their ample sleeves brushing against each other. Magius noticed for the first time that Raistlin was taller than he had originally thought. His usual hunched posture and his tendency to wear large, ill-fitting robes had hidden the fact that he was just a few centimeters shorter than Magius. Now that they were walking outside, Raistlin seemed to have straightened up naturally, perhaps to enjoy the sun on his face.

Their rhythm slowed to a peaceful stroll, the cold air of the early spring biting their skin after the warmth of Magius’ room. They walked in silence, merely enjoying each other’s closeness. Raistlin seemed to have forgotten the distress of a few moments before and looked around intently for interesting plants to show Magius.

“Ah, look here.” Raistlin crouched next to a small group of bright orange flowers. “Do you know these?”

“I do not.”

“It’s calendula. It’s really helpful for skin irritation or burns.” He picked up the small flowers, showing them to Magius.

“How do you prepare it? Can you just… eat it?” Magius asked.

“Normally, you’d make an infusion by steeping the flowers in a base oil, like almond oil. You leave it for long enough to let the properties seep into the oil, then strain out the flowers. After that, it’s ready to use. If you mix it with a vegetable butter, you can also turn it into a balm.”

“How is a balm different from an oil? I mean, why would you choose to use one instead of the other?”

Raistlin frowned slightly.

“You know you don’t have to pretend to be interested, right?” he said.

“What are you talking about? I am interested.” Magius protested.

Raistlin’s expression was still skeptical.

“I am,” insisted Magius. “Why on earth would you think I’m lying?”

“Well…” Raistlin’s raised eyebrows were the only response he needed.

“…all right, all right, I get it. But I’m not lying. I like hearing you talk about things. It’s interesting.”

Raistlin shot him one last suspicious look, then turned to focus on the calendula. “The difference lies mostly in the type of application. Balms are more protective, release their properties more slowly, and stay in place more easily. So it’s more a question of balancing what your needs are.”

“Well, that’s pretty helpful,” said Magius, picking up the flower. “Did you learn about this all by yourself? I know many clerics who would be put to shame by your level of knowledge.”

“An old lady from my village taught me most of what I know. She was your classic weird, unmarried woman that everybody looked upon with suspicion. But, well, let’s just say that clerics were in short supply where I come from. If anybody felt ill, they would call her. I used to help her with her patients, and spent a lot of time making tinctures, salves, balms et cetera.”

“Do you miss it?” Magius asked.

“That type of work? Honestly, I don’t know,” said Raistlin. “I haven’t thought about it in a long time. But back then it was important to me. When I was a teenager the plague decimated our village. My alternatives were between staying at home, waiting for the plague to catch me, or actually doing something. Healing people… It was hard and it put me straight in the line of danger, but it gave me some sense of control over it. Especially if we managed to pull a patient out from days of fever and vomit; especially everyone else had already given up on them. I don’t know if I could have just stood by, blaming destiny. I needed to know I was trying everything.”

Magius sighed, a sad smile on his face. “Yeah. I think I know what you mean.” He briefly looked down at the flowers in his hand, then placed them behind his ear.

Raistlin quickly glanced at Magius as he carefully adjusted the orange blossoms in his hair with the attention of a girl getting ready to celebrate the Spring Dawning festival. He turned away, hiding a smile.

“By the way,” Raistlin said in a low, soft voice. “I wanted to thank you about earlier. For giving me some space.” He hesitated, looking in the distance. “I needed that.”

“Don’t even mention it. I quite literally did nothing.” Magius replied.

“That’s not true,” said Raistlin, taking him by the hand, quickly glancing at Magius’ visage. “You understood.”

Magius smiled, interlacing his fingers with Raistlin’s. He couldn’t help but lean towards him for a kiss. To his surprise, Raistlin tore away with a sudden movement.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Magius asked.

“Didn’t you hear it?” Raistlin was scanning his surroundings, his eyes narrowed.

“No.”

“It was like a low rumbling sound?”

“Can’t say I heard it.” Magius looked confused.

They stood still for a few minutes, listening.

“I don’t hear anything,” Magius said eventually. “Maybe it was just my stomach not agreeing with the deer stew.”

“Yeah, maybe I misheard,” said Raistlin.

“Shall we proceed?”

The two grabbed each other by the waist and continued on their walk until they reached the glade, which was nothing more than a small patch of grass on the north side of the Tower. To Magius’ credit, it did host several wildflowers timidly pushing through the thawing earth. Magius raised his face towards the sun and relished in its warmth. He was acutely conscious of Raistlin’s touch, their shoulders wedged together, their hips occasionally brushing against each other. He tightened his embrace around Raistlin. A sense of peace washed over him, and his usually active mind seemed to have found a moment of reprieve. Raistlin’s presence felt strangely soothing, as if his calm countenance was rubbing off on Magius. He let himself enjoy the sounds and the colors of the glade, forgetting about the impending battle for just a little bit longer.

Raistlin collected a few more blooms of calendula, then the two mages sat down on the grass. Magius sprawled out without ceremony, resting his head on Raistlin’s thigh. Raistlin placed a hand on Magius’ head and absentmindedly stroked his hair, his gaze lost on the horizon lined with trees.

“So, how is flower-picking going for you so far?” Raistlin asked.

“I suppose a few hours of quiet every now and then has its perks,” Magius replied, closing his eyes, enjoying the light burn of the sun on his face.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Raistlin hesitated, and Magius waited patiently for him to find the right words.

“Does Huma know of your… affection for men?” Raistlin asked, stumbling slightly on his words.

“He does,” Magius replied calmly. “I might have tried to kiss him once when we were younger and way too drunk at the Spring Dawning Festival. Later I pretended not to remember a thing, and he’s never missed an opportunity to remind me, that idiot. Why do you ask?”

“I wasn’t sure how… common it is now.”

“Well, if you ask me… unofficially it’s very common. Officially, though, no one is.” Magius’ tone grew more serious. “Especially not in Solamnia. Huma never cared, but he’s different. As for the others… let’s just say I wouldn’t be sitting like this with you in front of them. Though it’s hard to tell which they dislike more, the queerness or the wizardry. Magic scares them enough not to make them too aggressive, at least. Among mages it’s easier. There are people from all over, and nobody cares who you sleep with.” He turned to look at Raistlin. “Do your friends know?”

“I’m not sure I knew myself.”

Magius smiled, reassuringly. “It happens a lot more than you’d think. At least it does now. I was hoping that in a thousand years things might be different.”

Raistlin spoke pensively as if digging deep into his memory. “Well… where I lived it was not exactly frowned upon, not as much as magic was anyway. At least I don’t remember people being openly hostile about it. But it was also… also not talked about if that makes sense. You knew people like that existed somewhere, but you didn’t necessarily know or meet any. You’d only hear about it when talking about people, not with them.”

“Hmm—” Magius nodded. “I recognize that. Though, in my case, I can tell you it was definitely frowned upon. That’s also part of the reason why I got disowned.”

“What happened?”

Magius chuckled sarcastically. “What didn’t happen? My father had only two missions in life—one, to make me a knight, and two, to ensure I spawned a few more knights to inherit the family estate. And I kept failing at both. He thought my failures somehow reflected on him. To save face with his peers, he made sure everyone knew he was very dedicated to my education.”

Raistlin stopped stroking Magius’ hair.

“Did he beat you?” he asked.

“You bet he did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Magius said, hastily. “I left home as soon as I could, Huma and Greta took me in. Then Greta and I got engaged and my father just lost it. He spent years trying to get me interested in women and the moment I fell for one, it was to someone with a murky lineage, and worse, a woman widely known for being part of a bad lot who no respectable man would ever touch with a ten-foot pole.”

“What sort of bad lot are we talking about?”

“Oooh, the worst, Raistlin,” Magius said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A woman with ideas! A woman who refused to bear children to the knighthood for the mere purpose of inheriting a piece of land. Once my father very unceremoniously commented on her unwillingness to preserve my legacy and she told him straight to his face she didn’t see a reason why he couldn’t just give his stupid lands to the tenants who were farming it anyway. At least then he would have finally embodied Paladine’s teachings. He grew so red from screaming that I thought he was going to finally die of a heart attack.” He chuckled at the memory, absent-mindedly twisting a silver ring he wore on his left hand. “But anyway, between that and me leaving the family home to pursue magic formally, my family decided to inform me in writing that I was not their son anymore and should make sure never to return. So, that’s that.” He looked straight at Raistlin. “But maybe we should change topics. Don’t want to freak you out talking about my sappy childhood, dead ex-betrothed, and all that.”

“I don’t mind,” said Raistlin. “It’s all part of you. And I think I see why you loved her.”

Magius’ smirk crept up again on his lips. “Huma always says I have a type. Let’s see if he’s right. Greta loved bullying my father and half the knighthood. She had a great mind for turning the Measure against them and never missed the opportunity to do so. So, what about you? Which jackass’ authority did you challenge?”

Raistlin barely stifled a laugh. “I’m afraid that’s a story I can’t tell you right now.”

“There it is again,” Magius said, suddenly straightening up. “In your eyes. The sparkle of mischief. This must be good. I want to know.”

Raistlin shook his head, trying to keep his smile from going too wide.

“Ah, come on! Was it… I don’t know. Your first master? The Head of the Conclave? Your friend ‘I’ve got the Measure so far up my ass I can’t even sit anymore’ Brightblade?”

Raistlin burst into laughter, unable to contain himself anymore. He laughed so hard that he couldn’t breathe, and started coughing.

“Come on, tell me! I need to know!”

“Stop it,” Raistlin coughed his reply with the little air he had left in his lungs. “You’re going to make me choke.”

“All right, I desist. For now.” Magius watched Raistlin inhale slowly, wiping the tears from his eyes away. “I’m sorry. It’s just… you are really beautiful when you’re a menace.”

Raistlin leaned forward towards Magius, closing his eyes as he seized him by the jerkin, pulling him close. Magius barely had time to worry about the wear and tear on his precious robes from Raistlin’s unexpected vigor. He pushed Raistlin into the meadow’s soft grass, and they slid once again into each other’s arms, lost in their comfortable pocket of darkness.

Chapter Text

Raistlin opened his eyes, awakened by the faint rustling of the sheets. He was not accustomed to sharing his bed with someone, and every small movement or sound was enough to disturb his light sleep. Propping himself up on one elbow, he rubbed his eyes. It was still dark.

Raistlin shuffled around to face Magius, who lay sleeping on his side, his head nestled into the pillow. In his peaceful slumber, he looked younger - like a novice after a long but gratifying day of school. The sharp lines of his visage had softened, and his signature sly, angled smirk had relaxed into a gentle pout. Raistlin moved his head closer to Magius, using their closeness as a shield against his cursed sight. He found comfort in the warmth radiating from their bodies, in the rhythmic, calming sound of Magius’ breath, in the soft rustling of the blankets. He fought the urge to sink his head further into Magius’ chest, unable to shake the awkwardness of initiating contact. He basked in Magius’ warmth for a while, but restlessness soon took over, driving him to reluctantly abandon the comfort of the blankets and pour himself some water.

Lunitari shone brightly that night. Its light, filtering through the windows, enveloped Raistlin with an unusual heaviness, reminding him of the soft brushing of velvet robes against the skin. He turned to see the light pool around Magius, bathing him in a crimson aura as if the Goddess herself was cradling her chosen into her arms.

“You really love him, don’t you, my lady?” Raistlin murmured.

I do.

Inaudible to mortal ears, that ethereal voice burned itself into every fiber of Raistlin’s body. Decades had passed since the goddess last spoke through him. And for the first time since turning his back on Lunitari to pursue a darker path, he was enraptured by a sense of awe he had long forgotten.

He walked closer to the window to bask in the Red Moon’s light and fell to his knees on the stone floor, in prayer.

“My lady,” he murmured. “I have missed your voice.”

And yet, you never sought it.

Raistlin swallowed the reproach without protesting. He didn’t have time for it. There was something more important…

“I have walked away from your path. I know you have no reason to be listening to my pleas. But I have to ask, for him” he exhaled, hesitating. “I implore you. There must… there must be a way to save him.” His voice broke.

There was no answer.

“I made a promise to you when I was but a child. I gave my body and soul to magic, and I have honored that promise every single day of my life, sacrificing family, health, and hope. If there’s anything more I can offer, anything that will convince you to save him, I will promise whatever I have left to give.”

His body once again shivered as the voice of the Goddess coursed through him.

A bold offer. He might still be saved, but you won’t be there to see him live. Do you realize that?

“I do,” said Raistlin. Lowering his head to glance at the stone floor, his whole figure seemed to shrink. Strands of white hair slid forward to hide his face.

And you would still let me take whatever I desire from you, if it meant he could live?

“Yes.” There was no uncertainty in his tone.

A sharp, ticklish sensation coursed through his body. A chuckle.

You are still the same, Raistlin Majere. Gambling everything with no hesitation to get what you want. I see death has not taught you wisdom. But then again… perhaps it has taught you something else.

The voice seemed pensive. Raistlin did not dare move, his knees painful against the cold floor.

There is nothing to offer, Raistlin Majere. Not to me. You are seeking help in the wrong place. I cannot help you.

Raistlin lifted his head, his eyes flashing with sudden anger. “Why? Takhisis is raging the world, and she does not hesitate to protect her beloved if that means tipping the scales in her favor. Why can’t Lunitari of the Red Moon do the same?”

Because the price paid for Takhisis’ protection is freedom. We decided to give you free will. A gift you too possess, my dear Raistlin.

“If I were to make use of my gift,” Raistlin’s voice hardened, “I might change the future. What if my timeline ceases to exist?”

You seek reassurance that I cannot give. Free will comes with consequences. Actions always have ramifications. You know this. But you have grown accustomed to relying on your power to control the outcome. Even now, you think power could solve your predicament. If only you still had your magic. If only a god intervened. If only you knew what would happen.

“My lady, I do not understand what that has to do with…”

You don’t need more power or knowledge to do the right thing, Raistlin. You just need to choose.

The touch of the goddess marked him deeper into the skin, almost burning. He felt lightheaded as Lunitari’s voice echoed through his skull - somehow both terribly distant and unbearably close.

Ah, cheer up, my dear Raistlin. Don’t be mad at me. You have been my champion before - what other help should I offer him?

The voice fell silent.

Raistlin stood up. His jaw clenched as resentment began to build inside him, filling the emptiness left by the waning voice of the goddess. He had asked for help, not for a lecture on life. What could he do in his current state? How could she ask him to take up such responsibility? Should he knowingly allow Magius to walk to his death, haunted by the possibility of a different future? Or should he gamble the lives of thousands, perhaps millions, just to save one man?

His lips curled into a bitter smile. He just had to choose, Lunitari had said. How convenient that he, of all people, was the one stuck with this particularly uncomfortable decision…

He turned his gaze back to Magius, still sound asleep, unaware of the conversation that had just occurred. Raistlin slid back into bed, this time overcoming the awkwardness, and nuzzled against Magius’ body, inhaling the scent of amber that lingered around him. Acting out of pure instinct, Magius wrapped his arm around Raistlin, holding him close. Letting out a deep sigh, Raistlin buried his face against Magius’ neck, trying to drown out the loud cries of his thoughts. Soothed by the sound of Magius’ calm breath, Raistlin’s eyes grew heavy, and as he began to fade into darkness a sudden clarity broke through.

In that moment, Raistlin made his decision.

***

The morning came, inescapable. Magius woke up to see Raistlin still cradled against his body. With a smile, he shifted beneath the sheets, stretching his muscles.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Morning,” replied Raistlin. The alertness in his tone and expression told Magius that he had been awake for a while.

“Don’t tell me you sleep like an elf,” he said, smiling.

Raistlin’s reply sounded pensive. “These days sleep eludes me more than usual.”

“Ah, Raistlin, Raistlin,” commented Magius, curling up next to Raistlin, abandoning a hand on the sharp curve of his hip. “Such a monastic life. No food, no sleep, no sex… well, at least on the last one I might be able to make you change your mind.” He leaned forward, tightening his grasp on Raistlin’s hip, and pressed a delicate kiss on his lips. Raistlin’s response seemed impatient and he spoke as soon as their lips parted.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

“Can it wait after breakfast?” Magius asked. “I have the feeling I am not going to like this.”

“I’m sorry. It’s serious.” Raistlin sat up, hunched over, the white waves of his hair falling forward to cover his eyes. He averted Magius’ gaze.

“The other day you asked me why I wear a small hidden blade in my sleeves. I told you it’s to honor a mage who was captured and killed because he had no more spells left to defend himself. According to the stories that have been passed on, that was you.”

Silence fell over them.

“Me?” Magius asked, still unsure he had heard correctly.

Raistlin nodded. “I don’t know when you will be captured or how or where. As of now, I don’t even know if you will be captured. I don’t know if the myth is true or if it is false and you grow old and die in your sleep. But I could not live with myself if I did not warn you.”

Magius propped himself up, now sitting next to Raistlin. He tried peeking through Raistlin’s curtain of hair, looking for a glimpse of his eyes.

“Even though by telling me you risk changing the future?”

Raistlin gave a faint smile. “What is it you said? The future be damned.”

“I see,” said Magius. He added, frowning, “So what would you have me do to avoid my fate? Crawl under the bed and hide? How long should I cower there? A day? Two days? A year?”

Raistlin shook his head, unable to answer.

Magius saw his friend’s anguish and rested his hand on his shoulder. “I thank you for telling me, Raistlin, but you know I cannot live my life in fear. If we stop living because we fear death, then we have already died.”

The words sounded familiar to Raistlin, but he could not remember where he had heard them. He knew, of course, that they were true.

“I know. You’re right.”

“Is this why you were so upset yesterday?” asked Magius.

“I’m sorry. Everything you said kept reminding me of it, and I wasn’t sure if I should tell you…” Raistlin looked away, his hands clasped.

“Well, I’m glad you told me. While the idea of my own death is not very exciting, knowing you’re so tormented over my passing makes me feel pretty irresistible.” His attempt to lighten the mood fell into a tense silence. He gave a faint laugh, but it quickly died on his lips, as if he had found his own joke ridiculous given the circumstances.

Magius took in a deep breath, then another, without saying a word. There was no trace of his usual playfulness on his face. Raistlin touched Magius’s hand gently, unsure of what to say.

“You know what’s funny?” Magius said, breaking the silence. “When I took my Test, the Conclave decided they needed to teach me a lesson. Apparently, I was too arrogant for their liking. They showed me my death. They thought that it would make me more aware of my vanity.” He scoffed. “It was an illusion, but I didn’t know. I wasted so many years trying to avoid the destiny I’d been shown. I did terrible things. Ended up with people I’d have avoided otherwise. Endured things I would have never tolerated. All because I was so scared of dying. And now,” he glanced at Raistlin, his gaze softening. “A stranger from the future comes to tell me that all my fears were justified. And yet, somehow… I’m not as afraid anymore.”

Raistlin intensified his grip over Magius’ hand.

“I have this feeling that this time, no matter what happens, I won’t be alone.” Magius smiled, but his eyes were glistening; he turned away to wipe them with his sleeve, muttering to himself. “Well, I guess I’m getting all sappy after all…”

Raistlin quickly glanced at Magius’ face. The redness around his eyes accentuated the intensity of his blue irises, like flowers blooming in the scorched earth of his desperation; his hair falling messily to the side of his face, the furrowing of his brow as he kept himself from tearing up, the resigned expression on his face - his beauty at that moment was so intense, so fragile, that Raistlin was overwhelmed by a desire to fall to his knees and offer him his life, his soul, his undying devotion. He, who had never felt any loyalty for anyone besides himself, would now allow Takhisis to tear his body apart for another eternity, rather than let Magius be harmed - he felt his resolve harden as he silently vowed to protect the man who had become his mentor, his inspiration, his… his only friend…

Raistlin looked at Magius in the eyes, keeping his stare focused in spite of Raelanna’s curse.

“No, you won’t be alone,” he whispered. Only a small tremble betrayed the storm of emotions that was raging inside. “We’ll find a way.”

A faint smile touched Magius’ face as he lay his head on Raistlin’s shoulder, golden strands of hair sliding down to cover his features. Raistlin’s lips brushed delicately against Magius’ forehead, while his fingers gently wiped away a bitter tear - an act of tenderness that felt almost foreign to Raistlin, yet undeniably right. Magius held on to Raistlin’s hand, tracing the profile of his knuckles with his thumb.

“So what do we do now?” asked Magius.

“Getting up would be a start,” Raistlin whispered as he gently tried to move.

“No… please.” Magius pulled Raistlin towards him again. His expression was serious, dignified, but the pleading note in his voice struck Raistlin with the same force of an arrow driving straight into his heart. He looked so different from the confident, mocking wizard Raistlin had known. “Just a little longer.”

Outside that room, the world remained its usual chaotic, frightening mess - but they needn’t open that door yet. Raistlin wrapped Magius in his arms, holding him tight. The two sank into each other without speaking, finding refuge in their embrace.

***

Raistlin hurried down the stairs to the fourth level of the Tower, heading for the walls. Magius had decided to send the Dragon Orb to a secure location to prevent it from falling into enemy hands, and they agreed that Raistlin would inform Huma about their decision not to use it. Raistlin realized how much harder it was to leave Magius’ side now that they had talked about his likely imminent death. He knew it would be unreasonable to watch over him constantly, and part of him longed to be alone to sort through his thoughts. And yet, he couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding that urged him to return to Magius as quickly as possible. Raistlin tried to push aside his unease. He would not be gone long, and after all, they were still in a fortified tower, surrounded by allies. Even so, his pace quickened.

As he arrived at the garrison stationed on the fourth level, a sergeant informed him that Huma was not there. Someone had seen him heading towards the lower levels, but others had overheard him say he wanted to inspect the condition of the upper turrets. No one really knew for sure where he was. Cursing his bad luck and the ungrateful task of searching the entire tower for a man as if he were looking for a needle in a haystack, he decided to head to the lower levels first.

He was still descending the stairs when he heard it - a deafening rumble. The whole tower vibrated with such force that Raistlin almost lost his balance. The rumble was soon followed by the sound of soldiers shouting orders and people screaming in terror. Then, at last, a loud, terrifying roar shattered the air. Raistlin had heard it before.

“A dragon,” he thought.

As storms of soldiers rushed past him, heading towards the lower levels, his first thought was of Magius. The sense of foreboding he’d been feeling grew stronger. Gathering the hem of his robes, he began climbing the stairs two at a time, eager to reach the sixth level as quickly as possible. When he approached Magius’ room, the door was open. A large streak of red painted the floor, leading out of the room. Raistlin touched it with his boot.

Blood. Still fresh.

With a spell ready on his lips, he entered the room cautiously. Three men, dressed in unfamiliar colors, lay motionless on the floor, their hair and armor burnt in several places. The contents of the table had been scattered across the floor, stained with blood. The chair was overturned, marked by the signs of a struggle - burns and deep indentations from powerful blows. Raistlin covered his nose with his sleeve, trying to protect his nostrils from the pungent smell of burnt flesh that hung in the air.

There was no trace of Magius.

Raistlin’s heart thudded in his chest with the strength of a thousand drums. He scanned the scene, trying to make sense of what had happened. The men wore leather armor, devoid of any identifying symbols - mercenaries, perhaps. There must have been more. The signs of a magic struggle were unmistakeable, and Raistlin guessed that there must have been at least one other magic user in the room, aside from Magius.

He rushed outside, hoping to see Magius turn a corner, a sly smirk of satisfaction on his face, ready to recount his feats against the would-be kidnappers. But no one was there. Below, the sound of the dragon’s roars still reverberated through the tower, mingling with the shouts of battle. He tried to focus. The streak of blood seemed to indicate someone had been dragged away, wounded. The trail stopped abruptly, as if the injured had been lifted on something - a stretcher, maybe. He searched for more traces of blood, or anything that could help him reconstruct the aggressors’ moves, but found nothing. They must have carried him away - unconscious, likely through magic. He turned back inside. Magius’ staff was also gone.

This must be it - the capture.

Raistlin’s heart pounded in his throat, but there was no time for that. He blocked out the noise from downstairs, the screams - no one else knew Magius was missing, and every passing hour could mean the difference between his death and his life.

You don’t need power or knowledge to do the right thing. You just need to choose, Lunitari had said.

He scoffed, recalling her words. He didn’t know if this was the right thing - only that any choice he seemed to have wasn’t a choice at all. But he knew what he would do. And if the gods disagreed, they would have to stop him themselves.

He drew in a deep breath and made his decision with the same resolve with which he had once sacrificed his life to magic.

“The future be damned.”

Clenching his jaw, he rushed down the stairs. Whatever happened, Magius would not face it alone.

Chapter Text

Entering the enemy camp turned out to be easier than Raistlin expected. A heavy black cape, found in one of the Tower’s closets, and a couple of well-rehearsed lies were enough to convince the two tired goblins standing guard that he was none other than a holy priest of Morgion, the god of illness and disease. Whatever suspicion the two guards might have harbored vanished when the mage showed them a glimpse of his golden, emaciated face. Afraid of being infected by whatever illness that was, the goblins were more than happy to get rid of their new guest by revealing the location of the captive wizard. The Gudlose mercenaries were holding him for interrogation.

The Gudlose seemed to occupy one of the quietest parts of the encampment, and Raistlin found the silence disturbing. He hoped they were busy with some reconnaissance or training exercise elsewhere. He looked around, unsure how to find Magius.

As if the goddess herself had decided to send him a sign, Raistlin overheard voices emerging from one of the tents behind him.

“Finally a damn break. That Red is fucking stubborn.”

Raistlin raised his ears. Red. He’d been called that too, due to the color of his robes. He dove into the gap between two tents, trying to listen without being noticed.

“You’re going too hard on him,” another voice said. “He’s not talking because he’s in shock all the time. At this rate you’re going to kill him before he has a chance to spit out anything of value.”

“Hey, I’m doing what the creepy mage orders.” The other shrugged. “At this point I’m not even sure it’s information he’s after. I think he just enjoys the screams. Want some?”

Raistlin heard a swallow as the two soldiers shared a flask. Mage? Could be the person who ordered Magius’ kidnapping. The thought made Raistlin shiver. The last thing he needed at this moment was to face another magic user.

“Should we go back in? Start with the other hand?”

“I’m not doing jackshit until the mage is back. I’ve been up and about since yesterday and haven’t had a moment to rest. Also, it’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

From the shadows, Raistlin whispered the words to a spell. Small magical darts shot from his fingers, hitting the two soldiers in the back. They slumped down, without even realizing what had happened. Emerging from his hiding spot, Raistlin decided not to waste time trying to hide the bodies. Instead he picked up the flask from one of the men’s belts and poured the contents over the bodies, hoping that the smell of alcohol would discourage anyone from taking a closer look.

He murmured a soft prayer. Hopefully this was the right place.

Raistlin raised the flap of the tent and entered. The smell was stinging, the air asphyxiating. In the poorly lit interior of the tent he recognized Magius, tied to a chair, his face obscured by a curtain of reddish hair, stiff and caked with blood. His robes had been torn at the sleeves and on the chest, showing numerous cuts and a large bruised area. Magius did not give any sign to have heard anyone come in. His head hang loose, motionless.

Raistlin looked around one last time. He had to hurry. The two dead soldiers would have eventually attracted some attention.

“Magius,” Raistlin whispered, getting closer. Magius replied with a moan and a weak movement of the head.

Raistlin crouched down next to him, trying to spy his visage from below the cascade of once-golden hair. He reached out a delicate hand to touch the mage’s face. It was wet, drenched in cold sweat. Magius suddenly retracted to that gentle touch, raising his head to show a broken and swollen lip, and the trails left by tears in the paste of blood and grime that covered his face.

“It’s you,” Magius said feebly. Tears started rolling down his cheeks. He was trembling, shaking out of fear and pain. His breath, already labored and shallow, was interrupted by moans of pain as he choked on his own sobs, his chest spasming. Broken ribs, likely. Raistlin felt a lump growing in his throat, a sensation he promptly choked down as his old training as a healer took over.

“I’ll get you out of here,” he said, feigning a calmness he did not really feel. He turned to the ropes tied around Magius’ wrists and recoiled in horror at the sight of the wizard’s right hand. Raw skin pulsated, swollen and red, where his nails should have been.

Years of tending to the sick and injured — and even more spent experimenting and operating on live creatures — had not prepared Raistlin for that moment of sheer horror. He turned his gaze away and inhaled deeply. He found that no matter how much he tried to avoid it, he couldn’t help but picture that soldier grabbing Magius’ hand, ignoring his screams, while the other readied a pair of pincers…

No. Focus, he needed to focus. Mustering all his composure, he reached for the ropes around Magius’ wrists, making sure the fabric of his sleeves didn’t touch the exposed skin. No matter how gently he moved, even the faintest stir of air made Magius gasp in pain. Raistlin began fumbling at the knots with sharp, jerky movements. His fingers had grown stiff and grated against each other like pieces of chalk.

“Raistlin, leave me,” said Magius, faintly. “I can’t move.”

“Yes, I am leaving, and you are coming with me.”

“No… my legs…” Magius whispered.

Raistlin glanced towards the wizard’s legs, and a new, disturbing detail emerged in the nauseating picture of Magius’ agony. Magius’ legs were bruised and swollen, as though they had been repeatedly battered by a heavy bludgeon. Blood-soaked strips of cloth clung to his skin, tracing the twisted, broken line of his limb. The dirty white of the bone flashed vividly, unnaturally poking out of an open wound.

It’s not like he’s going anywhere… the echo of the mercenaries’ words still rang in Raistlin’s head. His hands started to tremble. He maintained a stern but brittle control over himself and focused. They had to get out. He could cast the teleportation spell that Magius taught him and make it outside safely, as long as the broken bone didn’t tear through an artery. He ripped off a few strips of cloth from Magius’ robes, using them to tie his leg securely to the chair.

“I need to stabilize your leg,” he explained with an eerie calm. “It’s not ideal, but will do until we reach the Tower”.

Now, the spell. He looked around for an instrument to trace a circle on the ground, and saw Magius’ staff lying on a table at the far end of the tent. As he grasped it, a warm sensation tingled through his hands, the reassuring contact with the staff that had been his support since his Test. He knew every crevice, every knot in the wood; and as he relaxed in the comforting familiarity of the staff, a small flicker of hope lit inside him.

He turned to check on Magius. He was conscious, but barely. His breath was shallow and he was still trembling.

“Raistlin…” he murmured.

“Shh. Don’t exert yourself. We’ll be out of here soon.” Raistlin replied, placing a gentle hand over Magius’ shoulder.

“If we had had more time…” Magius muttered, blood staining his lips. Each word seemed to come out of him as if pulled through his teeth. “I would have wanted to… be yours… and… I…” his eyes went blank, and his head fell lifeless to the side.

“Magius?” Raistlin quickly pressed his fingers to the side of Magius’ neck. His heart was beating, maddeningly so. He was still alive, but wouldn’t be for long. He had to be quick.

“Well. This is a sight I was not expecting.”

Raistlin froze at the sound of that voice. He turned around to meet the intense stare of a lean figure clad in brown robes who was standing at the entrance of the tent. A mage, judging by the component bags at his belt. He must once have been human, but his appearance was disfigured by patches of scaly skin that grew from his neck and reached around the frame of his face. It had spread to his head to the point where he only had a few strands of dark gray hair left, which tapered into a widow’s peak on the forehead. Next to him, a wolf padded into the tent with a light, if somewhat mechanical, step, its eyes burning red. This was no living animal, nor an illusion conjured by Raistlin’s cursed sight. Patches of its fur were missing, exposing layers of decayed skin and even glimpses of bone. As the wolf sat still at the mage’s feet, Raistlin shivered. A dreadwolf. An animal raised from the dead to do the bidding of its master, someone who could only be a practitioner of necromancy, and a powerful one at that. Raistlin focused his gaze on the mage, who was watching him with curiosity through slit, reptilian eyes. His heart sank. He had a pretty good idea who this man was. And there was nothing he could do against him.

Raistlin straightened up and raised his head proudly. As far as everyone in the Dark Queen’s camp knew, he was a cleric of Morgion on some important mission. If he sounded convincing enough, maybe his cover would hold, and the mage would just turn around and leave…

“I gave orders not to be disturbed. What is your role, here, mage?” he said in a harsh tone.

The figure scoffed, then murmured a few words. A sudden surge of magical power forced Raistlin to his knees, head bowed. The staff, which had brought him comfort just moments before, dropped to the ground next to him with a dry clunk that almost brought tears of frustration to Raistlin’s eyes.

“I do not allow novices to address me in this guise. I see Magius here did not teach you basic etiquette, did he? I want to say, Raistlin?”

“You have me at a disadvantage,” said Raistlin, mustering all of his self control to keep his voice steady. His vision blurred with unshed, angry tears. “You seem to know my name, but I do not know yours.”

The man replied in an almost amused voice. “Galan Dracos”, he said. “Magius here must have told you that he used to be my… favorite apprentice.” He lingered on that word as if he were tasting it. Raistlin’s skin crawled.

“He must have forgotten to inform me,” Raistlin commented, a note of sarcasm slipping into his words. The wolf growled in response, and Raistlin felt the magical grip on his body intensify.

“Barking like a cornered dog,” Dracos commented, ice running through his words.

Raistlin knew of Galan Dracos well enough to realize his rescue plan was doomed. History remembered the so-called Consort to the Dark Queen as a ruthless heretic who had not hesitated to plunge his own world into destruction, as long as he could be the one to rule over the rubble. Raistlin clenched his jaw in desperation and powerlessness. Future Raistlin would have challenged him without hesitation, but present Raistlin had no chance against him.

“But I have to say, Raistlin, I’m quite curious about you.” Galan Dracos stepped closer. “I heard from the guards a cleric of Morgion was sniffing around our mutual friend, Magius. I am surprised a little novice like you made it this far. It was a clever stunt. But you’re no cleric. Are you Magius’ apprentice?”

Raistlin thought quickly.

“I am,” he lied, his heart racing.

“That’s very interesting. I never expected Magius to take an apprentice. He’s far too taken with himself to bother with teaching. And has no patience or talent when it comes to guiding others. But then again, he’s always been very interested in the master-student relationship. Pushing limits there too, little Magius. Always the experimenter. I guess I wasn’t surprised to see you two have gotten… close.”

“You’ve… seen it?” Raistlin didn’t have the time to feel embarrassed at Dracos’ comment. He heard a light chuckle in response, and the wolf growled — a low, guttural sound that chilled his blood. Raistlin shuddered in recognition — he had heard that same sound the day before, while they were walking outside, in the glade. The wolf must have followed them on their walk… the thought made Raistlin feel sick.

“These puppies are my eyes. I’ve kept an eye on Magius over time. Out of concern, I guess.” Galan Dracos sighed. “As you can see, he has a tendency to get himself in the worst situations.”

“Concern?” Raistlin blurted, confused. How could the man who was holding Magius captive feel concern for him?

“Of course. We’ve always shared a special bond. I know the Conclave likes to paint me as a soulless demon, but that’s not the case.” He paused. “I think you can look at me, now,” he said.

Raistlin felt the magic pressure on his head disappear, allowing him to look up. The rest of his body, however, was still pinned in place by the spell. Galan Dracos stood in front of him, observing him with curiosity.

“So, let me understand, Raistlin. You disguised yourself as a cleric of Morgion and came here, alone, right into your enemies’ camp. You were trying to save him. Why would you risk your life so foolishly, I wonder?”

Raistlin desperately tried to think of an answer. No apprentice would care so much for their Master to risk their life for them in this way, would they? No, Dracos seemed to be intrigued enough to be asking questions - if he could feed that curiosity, maybe he could find a way to talk his way out of this.

He paused long enough for Dracos to snap with a harsh “Well?”

Raistlin’s mind was racing. His attention was being pulled in all directions, overloaded by Dracos’ demanding look, by the wolf’s heavy breathing, by the sound of his own heartbeat thumping relentlessly in his chest. He felt his grip over his thoughts slip. Magius’ ragged breath in the background seemed so incredibly loud. Every gasping breath was an unforgiving reminder that time was inexorably moving toward Magius’ end. He couldn’t fail now… he had to say something.

“Well, it was my duty…” he started, his lips almost moving of their own accord. His throat dried up, gasping for words that he couldn’t find. Suddenly, the image of a young dark haired elf flashed into his mind.

Ah, yes. He knew what to say.

“…The Conclave asked me to”, he continued, his voice now steady. “I have been sent to him as an apprentice, but my true task is to keep him under observation and report his behavior to the Conclave. They think he’s still working with you.”

Dracos raised his eyebrows. He seemed genuinely taken aback.

“Well, this is fascinating. That’s a terribly dangerous task they’ve given you.” He leaned closer to Raistlin’s face, observing him with those unnerving slit eyes. “Had he found out, he might have killed you.”

Raistlin’s eyes flashed at Dracos in response. “I would do anything to study with one of the greats. I don’t care how dangerous.”

Dracos smiled.

“So you became his apprentice and… seduced him, even.”

Raistlin looked at Dracos straight in the eye, a new determination in his expression. “If it gets him to talk,” he said coolly.

Dracos’ smile widened. “That’s quite impressive. Especially with an appearance as unusual as yours. As ours, maybe I should say.” He chuckled softly. “You have Raelanna’s eyes. How did you come by them?”

Dracos’ amusement was not lost on Raistlin. He had noticed Dracos’s eyes gleam with recognition as soon as he had shown himself as an ambitious student. A flicker of hope lit up in his chest. That was a card he knew how to play.

Raistlin let out a deep, calculated sigh. His reply was carefully worded. “It was a gift given to me after the Test. The Conclave thought I might use a lesson in humility to temper my arrogance and disrespect.”

Dracos’s lips stretched unnaturally into a smile that was too too wide compared to his narrow visage, an uncanny mix of eeriness and warmth. He crouched in front of Raistlin, their eyes now level.

“That’s what the Conclave does to the very promising, I’m afraid,” he said. His voice had softened, colored by a note of fondness. “They like to break us. They see their own mediocrity reflected in us and accuse us of arrogance when in reality, we’re just holding up a mirror.” He watched Raistlin closely, as if he was trying to read his mind. After a pause, he stood up, his robes softly rustling.

“I sense a lot of potential in you, Raistlin.” He continued. “Magic, but not only. You’re smart. Brave. And clearly resourceful. You found a way to infiltrate our camp. And had you not run into me, your plan might have worked after all.” He glanced at Magius. “I’m afraid I cannot allow you to just take him away. But the Dark Queen has no qualm with you, and I have too much respect for talent to want to eradicate it.”

Dracos’ eyes turned to Raistlin again, a soft smile coloring his visage. “There’s so few of us in this world. I’m sure that’s what attracted Magius to you - he must have sensed your potential. I do too. You are free to go, if you wish it. No one knows you were inside. They don’t need to know you ever were. Though I’m not sure I would be doing you a favor. I wonder how the Conclave will take your failure…”

Dracos’ tone was innocent enough, but Raistlin perceived the intention behind his words. He could feel Dracos spinning doubt around him like a spider’s web.

“I don’t think I can go back,” he retorted, his eyes cast down. “No one wanted to train me. This was my only occasion to study with someone of actual power…”

Galan Dracos smiled to himself. Raistlin realized in that moment that he had given him exactly what he was looking for.

Dracos let out a benevolent sigh. “That is not true, Raistlin. There’s power and freedom to be had outside of the Conclave’s rules. I could give you the opportunity to study with the greatest. In a place where your ambition will be seen as passion, not arrogance.”

Raistlin hesitated. “You don’t mean…”

“Yes. I would gladly take you under my patronage, if you’d like. The choice is yours.”

The choice is yours… perfectly said by someone who had just reminded him how few choices he actually had. Raistlin shivered. They were playing an elaborate game of khas, one in which Raistlin himself was a master — but in that moment Dracos sounded so much like Fistandantilus that it turned his stomach. The ragged sound of Magius’ breath had accompanied their entire conversation, almost inaudible, yet impossible to ignore. Yet, Dracos hadn’t shown the slightest interest in the dying wizard. His words sounded caring, concerned, even fond. But his coldness at Magius’ agony told a different story entirely.

“Wait.” Galan Dracos snapped his fingers, cutting off Raistlin’s train of thought. The spell that bound him vanished. “I don’t trust the word of a man who agrees to something while he’s on his knees. You are free now. You can come with me, or leave.”

Raistlin hesitated. Never before had he felt his soul so split. One part of him was still playing khas with Dracos, analyzing his every expression, trying to guess his next step. Cool, calculating, distant, it cared for nothing but survival. But another part of him was pounding his fists, screaming, against the invisible wall Raistlin had built around it with years of practice and discipline. It burned like a sacrificial pyre, hammering against his calm facade with rage, disgust and a scorching need to tear Dracos away from Magius with all the ferocity of a wolf protecting its mate. But when he finally opened his mouth, the khas player was once again leading the dance.

“Really?” he asked with the practiced ease of someone who knew the value of being underestimated. Only a small tremble in his voice betrayed the fire still raging inside. “You, Galan Dracos, would ask me to be your apprentice?”

“Why not?” and the figure smiled. “That’s why I have created my Citadel. It’s a school, a refuge for those who don’t fit in. I don’t look for dull mages who waste their time locked in their towers, Raistlin. I admire grit, passion, bravery, cunning. And you have shown all of them just by coming here. If you want, I’ll take you with me.”

Raistlin straightened, meeting Dracos’ eyes. His ears were burning.

“The Conclave was really wrong about you, weren’t they?” he said. “You really are not at all the monster they make you out to be.”

Dracos smiled softly. “I may look like one. But no, dear Raistlin. I am not.”

Raistlin inhaled deeply, ignoring the screams inside his own mind. He lowered his gaze, hoping to hide the sudden stiffening of his jaw.

“If I accept,” Raistlin said, “Will you let Magius go?”

For a split second, something gleamed in Dracos’ eyes. It was just a flicker, immediately overshadowed by a sad, mournful look.

“Raistlin. I really wish that were possible. But I’m afraid my hands are tied.” His gaze softened even more. “And what sort of a mentor would I be, if I used Magius to pressure you into joining me? No. As I said, you’re free, and I hope you will join of your own free will.”

“But you said you cared about Magius,” Raistlin insisted. “Then why this?”

Dracos paused, his eyes lingering for a moment on Magius’ broken body. He let out a deep sigh before turning his gaze back to Raistlin, wearing the sad smile of a disappointed mentor.

“Why did you pretend to be his lover while you were spying on him, Raistlin?” Dracos retorted. “Sometimes we have higher reasons, and we cannot indulge our own feelings for a single person when the fate of the world is at stake. No matter how much we may want to.”

Galan Dracos’ voice betrayed a sadness Raistlin could clearly perceive. Sadness, maybe regret. He sounded more humane than he ever had. His eyes, however, were a cold, eerie mirror. Nothing of that emotion extended to those reptilian pupils.

“Although maybe we could…” Dracos reprised, teasing. He seemed pensive. “Hm. No, I shouldn’t.”

Raistlin knew he was being played with. He knew it just like he knew Fistandantilus had played with him, so many years before. But that flicker of hope was impossible to ignore. If not for him, at least for Magius.

His gaze fell again on Magius’ broken body. He was still breathing, shivering, refusing to let go. He had endured so much, and still he fought even while unconscious. If he could convince Dracos to release him, he could still live - go back to the Tower, find refuge in some safe place, heal, grow again into the smirking idiot that had made him laugh so hard only the day before. He could live to make someone else happy, if not Raistlin.

He might still be saved, but you won’t be there to see him live. Do you realize that? Lunitari had asked.

The self-control Raistlin had maintained so far crumbled. A terrible sadness seeped through the cracks in his composure, tears welling hot in his eyes.

No, the truth was that he wanted to carry Magius out of there, hold him in his arms and bury his face in his hair, surrounded by the comforting scent of amber; he wanted to feel the crackling electricity of Magius’ magic as they fought side by side, see him curve his lips into his signature smirk, and kiss him a hundred times as the magic roared around them; he wanted to bask in his warmth at night, to lose himself in his body, once, forever, it didn’t matter.

Even if I won’t be there to see him live…

“I accept,” Raistlin said abruptly. “I’ll come with you. But please, do not leave him like this. Whatever he did, he’s had enough. And if it’s information you want, I’ll give it up freely.”

Dracos smiled. “Ah, you are really tempting me to disobey the Dark Queen’s orders, Raistlin,” he said with a honeyed tone. He grabbed Raistlin’s shoulder, just slightly harder than normal. Raistlin felt Dracos’ long, sharp nails scrape against his skin through the fabric of his robe. “Very well. I won’t let him suffer further.”

Galan Dracos approached Magius’ battered body, still unconscious, rising and falling at every ragged breath. He placed a hand on his shoulder, clawing at his exposed skin. Magius groaned, suddenly torn from his restless sleep.

As he saw Dracos, his eyes widened. He gulped, choking on his own blood, and jerked away, recoiling at the touch.

“Shhh, Magius, everything is fine,” Galan Dracos whispered in a sweet honeyed tone. “I just wanted you to know that your Raistlin, here, will be taken care of. He’s coming with me to the Citadel.”

“No, no,” were the only words that Magius managed to pronounce, his eyes wide in terror. He glanced over at Raistlin with a supplicating look.

“Rest easy, Magius. Raistlin asked me to end your suffering. His loyalty to you is very moving. I can only hope to deserve the same from him at some point. Don’t worry. You’ll be in Lunitari’s arms soon.”

Raistlin’s heart stopped. You’ll be in Lunitari’s arms… of course. Dracos had never inteded to set Magius free…

Dracos started muttering the words to a spell, and a small flame formed in his hand, pulled from the ether strand by strand.

There were no more games to play here. Raistlin only had a few cantrips he could use against Dracos, but at this point it didn’t matter. Magius would die anyway, and he couldn’t let him die alone and scared, thinking Raistlin a traitor. Paying attention not to be seen, he readied a spell on his lips.

Raistlin felt a warm touch on his shoulder. There was no one else in the tent, but Raistlin recognised the burning feeling of his goddess’ presence. Something slipped in his hand, something heavy, but small and compact. For a second, he felt the cool freshness of metal against his skin, immediately swallowed by the warmth of his shaking hands.

My lady… he thought.

He knew what to do.

Raistlin’s heart pounded against his eardrums. There was no guarantee of success, but he had to risk it. For Magius.

He focused on Galan Dracos’ muttering. The spell was one he had known in his previous life. He followed the chanting of the wizard, his ears accustomed to the melody of the words. He sensed the magic shifting and gathering around Dracos. He tuned into that shift, feeling it with his body like he had as a child, when magic was only a thrill he couldn’t name. The energy grew denser, muffling the world around them. A few strands of matter began to volatilize as flames. He waited. For the critical mass. For the tipping point.

Galan Dracos recited his spell with clear words, his gaze fixed on Magius. As the magic surged around them, he pointed his clawed fingers at the young wizard’s broken body. As he met Magius’ terrified eyes, he curved his thin lips into a secret, amused smile.

A flash of silver appeared before his eyes, and the words of the spell died on his lips. He stared down in horror at his chest.

A small, silver dagger protruded from his throat, just above the collarbone. Dracos gagged, blood pooling in his mouth. Stunned, he watched as Raistlin drove the dagger deeper into his throat and twisted it, blood spurting through the wound. Raistlin’s fingers gripped the handle of the dagger with so much strength that his knuckles turned white, tightening as blood slicked the hilt.

Dracos looked at Raistlin with widened eyes, choking on his own blood. His surprise betrayed the hubris that had made him so certain Raistlin could never be a threat. The shock was still etched on his face as he staggered towards Raistlin, the blade still protruding from his flesh. A small silver blade… the kind mages would one day wear to honor Magius’ sacrifice. A tradition unknowingly started by Dracos himself, and one that would now be his end.

Raistlin felt a rush of emotions wash over him. He had been so convinced he was too weak to stand up to Dracos that he had forgotten about the small blade he carried. Compared to the sky-shattering spells Raistlin once mastered, the dagger felt as small and insignificant as Raistlin had thought himself just moments before. But now, as Dracos’ blood stained his hands, Raistlin felt everything but insignificant. He was not afraid anymore. The distant, sly, cunning Raistlin vanished, consumed by the full, unbridled intensity of his rage, love, and grief. For the first time after a long time, he felt whole. In protecting Magius, he found that power he had chased through many long, lonely years.

Grasping Dracos’ robes with his free hand, Raistlin extracted the dagger and drove it back into his flesh with brutal force. He buried the dagger deeper into Dracos’ throat, using the momentum to push him away. Galan Dracos lost his balance, and staggered back. With a flick of his fingers, he imparted a command to the dreadwolf, which lunged forward towards Raistlin.

But it was too late. The spell had been interrupted. The magic had been summoned, and had nowhere to go.

Raistlin hurled himself over Magius, frantically summoning a magical shield. He could feel the air vibrate as the magic slipped free of control. He gripped Magius’ shoulders, bracing for impact.

The tent exploded.

Jagged beams of wood the size of lances shattered against the surface of the shield. A raging ball of fire roared skyward, engulfing everything around them. Dracos and the dreadwolf disappeared, enveloped by flames and smoke. The roar of the blazing inferno was swallowed by a high-pitched ring in their ears. Objects were flying in all directions, slamming into the shield. Raistlin looked with horror as his magic shield grew thinner, consumed by the sheer force of the blast. He pushed himself to keep it up, the veins in his neck visible with the effort.

“Fucking work, goddammit!” he screamed as he poured every single ounce of magical power into keeping the shield up. Small patches of the surface were now gone, and a thick mix of smoke and dust seeped in. The heat was unbearable.

He felt Magius’ hand on his arm. He turned around to look at the wizard, who was smiling.

“One… last… spell…” he murmured. Magius moved his mangled hand in a stiff gesture, wincing. A golden surface wrapped around the remnants of Raistlin’s shield, protecting them from the wailing fire that whipped and searched for a way in.

Raistlin began to cough from the smoke that had entered his lungs.

“We have to — go —,” he said, interrupting himself to cough. To his immense relief, Magius’ staff had fallen close enough to be enveloped in their shield. He leaned over to grab it and quickly traced a circle around them.

“Triga bulan ber satuan/Seluran asil…”

He recited the words to the travel spell, visualizing the interior of the High Clerist’s Tower. The smoke had irritated his lungs and he felt his throat starting to close. He coughed again, feeling his chest tightening. He sped up his spell.

“…tempat samah terus-menarus/Walktun jalanil!”

The world blurred. Raistlin realised the spell had worked when he collapsed to his knees on the cold stone floor of the High Clerist’s Tower. His lungs closed off, causing violent coughing fits that left him gasping for air. He heard voices, and what sounded like Sturm shouting orders. Someone knelt next to him, fumbling for a pouch on his belt.

“Raistlin…” It was Magius’ voice, but he couldn’t reply. He kept wheezing, each breath like dragging air through a straw. He spat some blood on the floor.

After a few endless minutes of agony, Sturm’s rough hands grabbed his shoulders and hauled him upright. The horrifying smell of the tea he drank to clear his lungs seared his nostrils. Sturm brought a cup to his lips, and Raistlin drank desperately, ignoring the burning sensation of the hot liquid on his tongue and throat.

His lungs opened. He drew a salvific breath.

“Get a cleric… Magius…” he muttered, before exhaustion claimed him and he passed out on the cold floor.

Chapter Text

Raistlin woke up in the middle of the night. Someone had carried him to his room and tucked him into bed, leaving a pitcher of fresh water at his side. He propped himself up against the headrest, coughing. The magic shield had protected him from most of the fumes and debris of the explosion, but the smoke had left its mark on Raistlin’s sensitive lungs.

“Raistlin!”

Tasslehoff’s way too enthusiastic voice startled him. In the darkness, he had not noticed the small kender sitting beside him, intent on reviewing the contents of several pockets. He was examining a few white feathers and small polished quartz stones that Raistlin found suspiciously familiar. Raistlin coughed again. Normally, he would have mumbled a scathing remark and ripped the objects from the kender’s hands, but this time he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Raistlin!” the kender repeated. “Are you all right? Sturm said I have to watch you inter-ntly to see if you are doing all right or need help. Like, he told me to check if you’re coughing, and if you’re coughing, if you’re just simply coughing or coughing blood, and if you’re not coughing then to see if you could be coughing at any time soon, like if you stop breathing and so on. And I did watch you inter-ntly but then you were asleep so I also fell asleep. But now you’re awake, so I think it’s best if you just tell me if you’re coughing. I mean, I guess you can’t talk if you are, but you know, before or slightly after? Sturm gave me” and he raised a pouch in both hands, holding it as if he were holding the Hammer of Kharas, “your tea and said I have to make you the tea if you’re coughing… Oh! You’re coughing now, I guess. I’ll make the tea!”

He scurried off to the fireplace. Raistlin asked himself why on earth Sturm had thought to leave him in the care of Tasslehoff Burrfoot of all people, who was just as likely to finish him as he was to help him. Raistlin was shaken by another fit of coughing that left his back muscles burning from the strain. He lay down against the cushions, too exhausted to try to dissuade Tasslehoff from doing whatever it was he was doing.

“Tas. Leave the tea. Where’s Magius?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Oh.” At the sight of Tasslehoff’s face darkening, Raistlin shivered. He abruptly moved the blankets aside and stood up, ignoring the pain.

“I mean,” Tas continued, “they carried him to the infirmary on the third floor with the others. Huma’s face was… uh…” the kender hesitated, rocking his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. “You know, when like tall people get all serious and scream and cry at the same time and you know something awful is going on…”

Raistlin stopped listening. He dressed hastily and noticed Magius’ staff leaning against the wall beside his bed. He picked it up with renewed familiarity and, without a word, used it to propel himself out of the room.

“Hey, Raistlin, wait! I’m coming too!” Raistlin could barely hear Tasslehoff’s hurried steps, muffled beneath the fog of worry that hung over him.

He hastened toward the lower levels, lips pressed into a thin line, heart pounding in his chest. Magius’ words kept haunting him.

“If we had had more time…”

What if he had been too late? What if he had slept through Magius’ last moments? What if — and his throat closed at the thought — it had all been for nothing?

He reached the third level, the kender trotting behind him. The infirmary was a large room with high, imposing ceilings, painted white and red by moonlight filtering in through tall, narrow windows. Most of the beds were covered by small canopies for privacy, but a dozen cots had been added beside them in preparation for the siege. The room was mostly silent, though Raistlin could occasionally hear the faint moans of the wounded. One of the canopies shone with a flickering light. He moved closer, whispering Magius’ name.

The flaps of the canopy parted, and Huma stood before them, partially illuminated by a lamp that painted deep shadows across his sharp Solamnic features. His eyes were red and swollen. He had been crying.

“Tasslehoff. Raistlin,” he murmured, a note of relief in his voice. Without hesitating, the knight drew closer and pulled Raistlin into a tight hug. Raistlin stiffened, a puzzled frown crossing his face. After a moment of uncertainty, he relaxed against Huma’s shoulders in a gesture of camaraderie that felt terribly alien, and yet oddly comforting.

“Thanks,” said Huma, releasing Raistlin. “Thank you. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him…” His voice broke. He cleared his throat, trying to suppress the tears. “He must be in so much pain…”

“Is he…” Raistlin asked, hesitantly.

“He’s resting now,” Huma said. “If you can call it rest. The pain keeps waking him up.”

Raistlin shot a last glance at Huma before rushing to the canopied bed, Tasslehoff close behind him.

Magius lay quietly in bed, eyes closed. His chest rose and fell with each shaky but steady breath. Most of the blood and grime had been cleaned from his skin, though whoever had cared for Magius seemed to have given up on his hair. Its original wheat-like color was barely visible beneath the caked blood, which left brownish stains on the pillow. His tortured hand had been bandaged, and a rigid cast had been set to support his leg, its shape faintly visible beneath the sheets.

At the sound of Magius’ regular breathing, Raistlin let out a sigh of relief that shook his whole body. He leaned heavily against the staff, suddenly feeling himself falter.

Magius was alive. He was alive…

“Is he still in danger?” he whispered to Huma.

The knight guided Tas and Raistlin away from the sickbed, so that they could talk without disturbing Magius.

“The cleric did as much as he could, but many were injured in the attack, and his help is stretched thin. He healed one of his legs and made sure none of the vital organs were affected. He’s not in immediate danger, but a lot could still go wrong. From now on, he will need more traditional care.”

“Raistlin’s been a healer before,” intervened Tasslehoff. “I’m sure he can help.”

Raistlin nodded. “Yes. Was he given anything to manage the pain?”

“I’m afraid not,” replied Huma. “Our cleric is more versed in the paths of divine healing than those of practical medicine. And we are not well-stocked on medical supplies.”

“I will need access to whatever you have available, and a mortar and pestle,” Raistlin said in his customary dry, practical tone. His face, however, had lost color.

“They’re in the small cupboard at the entrance,” intervened Tas. Both Raistlin and Huma decided not to ask how he knew that.

“Tas,” Raistlin said, kneeling to meet Tasslehoff’s eyes. “I need your help. I need you to go down by the kitchens and fetch some honey and a bottle of liquor, the strongest you can find. It’s very important, so don’t get distracted along the way.”

“Of course, Raistlin. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Or three, though it could be four. When you think about it, it’s an odd saying…”

Raistlin’s icy gaze convinced the kender to continue his musings alone on the way down.

As Tasslehoff scurried away, Raistlin made his way towards the medicine cabinet. Huma had not overstated their lack of resources: most of the available items were a few unlabeled old tinctures and several rolls of bandages. After a quick search, Raistlin located a mortar and proceeded to grind a few twigs of lavender and willow bark from his own pouches into a fine paste.

Working with herbs had a soothing effect on Raistlin’s soul. He ached to run back to Magius’ sickbed, but there was something strangely comforting about the repeated motion of mashing herbs. The smell of crushed lavender brought him back to his days working with Weird Meggin, in Solace. This… this felt strangely like home. He didn’t have to question himself here.

He kept grinding herbs with force. His arm, still sore from the altercation of the day before, now burned with renewed pain.

“You said you were attacked. What happened?” Raistlin asked.

Huma sighed, gazing at the rows of beds and cots where the injured soldiers lay. He told Raistlin the whole story: about the attack by the red dragon, and about the Dragonlances that saved them. He told him about the valiant contribution of both Sturm and Tasslehoff, who had not hesitated to launch themselves into the fray, and about Gwyneth’s transformation into a silver dragon. Raistlin noticed Huma’s voice crack a little as he spoke about Gwyneth, and decided not to pry further. Unfortunately for Huma, his tale was interrupted by the return of Tasslehoff, who was juggling several bottles in his tiny arms and had clearly not picked up on the knight’s discomfort.

“You should have seen her, Raistlin!” Tasslehoff whispered, full of excitement. “One moment she was standing there all elflike and ladylike and the next second— bam! She was a huge silver dragon! She was massive and scary but also wonderful and majestic! And I realized I should have known because she looked a lot like Silvara— I mean in elf form, not in dragon form— I mean she does look similar in dragon form too, but that’s because all dragons look a bit similar if you ask me— please don’t tell Gwyneth,” he added, glancing at Huma. “I don’t want her to think I’m some sort of racist, but they do look kind of similar… anyway, I’m glad you did not faint like Gilthanas, Sir Huma, that would not have been handy in combat…”

“She was indeed majestic,” Huma murmured, lowering his head to hide a timid smile.

“Tas, the alcohol?” Raistlin intervened, hoping to steer the conversation away from Silvara, Gilthanas and all the anachronisms that Tas so generously peppered into every conversation.

“It’s here!” Tas replied. “I wasn’t sure which one would be the strongest, so I brought all I could,” he said, clearly proud of himself. Raistlin opted for a bottle of Dwarven spirit, and poured it into a cup together with the mixture of herbs and honey.

“Get some rest,” Raistlin said, turning to Huma. “They’ll need you in case of a new offensive. I will stay here with Magius.”

Huma nodded. “Should you need me, I’ll be in my room. I’ll come back in the morning.” He was halfway through the door when he paused abruptly and turned back to speak.

“You know,” he said quietly, his pale blue eyes fixed on Raistlin. “Magius always makes a joke out of it, but I know he thinks he’s done too many dark things to deserve anyone’s love or care. And I’m afraid that our fellow Solamnics have done everything in their power to make sure he believes it. What I’m trying to say is,” he said, a sad smile crossing his face, “No one else here would have done what you did for him. He’s lucky to have met you, I think. He’s been miserable and lonely for too long.”

Raistlin was taken aback. He was not sure what to say, and he could feel Tasslehoff’s curious gaze fixed on him. His face was burning.

“That’s very kind of you to say, Sir Huma. I have done my share of dark things. Perhaps we are both lucky to have found each other.”

Huma smiled.

“Go to him,” he whispered to Raistlin. Then, nodding in salute, he left.

Raistlin watched the knight leave the room, gripping the cup, an uneasy feeling washing over him.

“What did he mean by that?” Tasslehoff asked, interrupting Raistlin’s thoughts. “What does he mean people like him? It is because he’s a mage? Are you best friends now? I mean, no offense, Raistlin, but you could really use a best friend, you know. I’m sure if you had one, they would have told you not to kill Gnimsh— and also to kiss Crysania. I still don’t understand why you didn’t, I really thought you were about to and I know she wanted it. I meant to ask you, but then the Mountain of Fire fell, and I didn’t get the chance…”

“Yes, we’re friends,” Raistlin replied, exhausted, hoping it would end the conversation.

“You should go be roommates… like me and Flint!” Tas continued without losing a beat. “Or… towermates? I guess mages have different architech… architentural tastes. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. But it’s great because you can always be around your best friend, and he can cook for you, call you a stupid doorknob, light a nice fire, and start telling tales about all the goblins he killed when he was young…” Tas stopped, suddenly realizing there was an annoying lump in his throat. Raistlin’s grip on the cup tightened, as he felt a similar lump choking him.

“Let’s go, Tas. Magius will need his medicine,” he said coarsely.

They rushed to Magius’ bed, in silence.

Magius was asleep, and Raistlin did not have the heart to wake him. Leaning the staff against the wall, Raistlin placed the herbal mixture on a small bedside table and drew nearer. The last time Raistlin had seen his friend sleep, he had thought him embraced by the red moon herself, so peaceful had he looked, lost in the softness of the blankets, kissed by the red light. But Solinari was full tonight, and the cold white light of the moon seemed to accentuate the tension in Magius’ face, his jaw clenched shut, his brows furrowed. Softening his gaze, Raistlin placed a gentle hand on Magius’ forehead. No fever, luckily. Raistlin found himself running his fingers through Magius’ hair, brushing a thumb softly against his forehead. The distinctive smell of sweat and blood that lingered around him was intense, and yet Raistlin longed to be enveloped by it, to take Magius in his arms and soothe him until he could see the harsh lines on his face disappear.

He withdrew his hand. Magius was wounded and in pain, but looked otherwise stable. Relieved, Raistlin let out a long sigh. He felt some of the worry he had been carrying for the past few days melt and dissipate with his breath. As his body relaxed, the lump in his throat somehow became bigger, and he felt his eyes prickle and burn, aching to release the madness of the last days in a flood of tears. He slumped onto the chair beside Magius’ bed, visibly shaking, his gaze lost in the distance.

“Raistlin?” Tasslehoff said, his voice tinged with both concern and curiosity. Raistlin’s lips tightened, a sudden surge of anger finding its way through his carefully constructed walls. Why, why did Tas always have to get involved? Couldn’t he just have a few moments alone with Magius? Raistlin could not even hear his own thoughts, distracted by the lumbering presence of the kender and his godsdamned curiosity. He was ready to snarl at Tasslehoff, a few cutting words already on his lips, and yet no sound came out. His throat closed in a last desperate attempt to maintain control of the tears that rose uninvited to cloud Raistlin’s vision. But it was too late, and Tas’ features started to blur.

Tears poured down Raistlin’s face, tracing his cheeks with shining gold lines where the salt water met metallic skin. He buried his face in his hands, unable to stop the flow, trying to hide from Tasslehoff’s gaze. He knew that his fingers would not be enough to hide his shame, just as he knew that he had to keep fighting that flood, that terrifying maelstrom of grief, fear, and rage he could now so clearly perceive roaring beneath the surface. He guided it into a small stream, through soft sobs that shook his whole body, leaving him disgusted with himself and furious at everyone else.

A small hand touched his shoulder. He raised his eyes to meet Tas’ big, brown eyes, filled with uncharacteristic gravity. The touch both moved and repulsed Raistlin. His first instinct was to tear himself away, but something held him still.

“You don’t have to worry, Raistlin,” Tas said softly. “He’s safe now.”

Raistlin wiped his face with the sleeve of his robes, trying to regain his composure.

“And I promise I won’t tell anyone you were all worried for your best friend,” Tas continued. “I know you have a repetition to maintain. Though I would surely like to tell Caramon. He’s gonna make that surprised face of his…”

To his own surprise, Raistlin chuckled. The image of his twin brother’s notorious dumbfounded expression materialized vividly in his mind. He could almost see Caramon’s mouth drop open, wide-eyed, making that stupid sound he always did…

“Reputation, Tas,” he said in a quiet voice, just a hint of a tired smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

Tas smiled. With one last, awkward squeeze of Raistlin’s shoulder, he straightened up.

“Can I help?” Tas asked, glancing at Magius.

Raistlin shook his head, his eyes still red with tears.

“I’ll wait until he wakes up and give him his medicine. Thanks, Tas, I don’t think there’s anything else he needs right now.”

“Then I’ll leave,” said Tas. “Sturm still wanted to be on guard even though he was all beaten up from the dragon attack. He probably needs me. Might fall from the wall if he’s not careful!”

Raistlin smiled. “Sounds like you’re on full duty tonight.”

“I know. Tall people always need so much looking after,” he sighed like an old matron grumbling about her unruly children. “I don’t know how you carry on without me.”

After casting one last glance at Magius, Tas left, his step uncharacteristically somber.

Silence fell over Raistlin. For the first time in days, he was alone. He let the stillness wash over him and took a deep breath, the deepest he had taken in what felt like forever, as the last of the tears dried on his face.

He leaned over to Magius, who was now twitching and mumbling in his sleep. He reached out to stroke his hair with slow, calm movements. His fingers caught in clumps of dried blood. Murmuring a few words, he snapped softly, letting the magic lift the dirt from Magius’ hair.

How did it come to this? This adventure defied all sense of reason. Not only had he been torn away from his eternal sleep just to be thrown back in time— but he happened to land right in the arms of his childhood hero. He was not one to feel intimidated by fame, and they had known each other for merely a few days. He should have been an acquaintance, at best. So why had Raistlin immediately felt such a fierce devotion for this stranger he barely knew? How could he have come to risk his own life and the future of the world just to give him a few more days to live? He let his gaze linger on Magius’ face, still terribly beautiful despite the bruises, the cuts, the swelling. Affection had always felt alien to him. Too… restrictive, smothering. Conditional. But what he felt for Magius was easy. Easy, comfortable, and terribly addictive…

His chest contracted as a new fit of coughing shook him. He pressed a folded handkerchief to his lips, less concerned about the bloodstains than about muffling the sound to avoid waking Magius. The hacking sounds seemed so loud in the quiet infirmary. After a few moments, the spasms calmed down, and Raistlin reached out to Magius, who was now moaning in his sleep. With careful movements, he adjusted the blankets over Magius’ shoulders, smoothing them down until his breathing quieted.

Silence settled around them once more, and Raistlin’s thoughts drifted to the future, to the thorny issue of the timeline. He still did not know what consequences his actions might have. Saving Magius might have been inconsequential in the grand order of things. Or it might undermine Huma’s final stand against Takhisis. Or — and Raistlin shuddered, thinking about it — the River of Time might find a way to bring Magius back to the dead. Even just an infection would do, in these conditions. Raistlin wondered if this was why the gods chose not to intervene in mortal matters. Maybe even they could not bear the maddening knowledge that their actions could be inconsequential or catastrophic. But what were the chances that he had not already altered time in some significant way? Tasslehoff’s mere presence might have already done much more damage to the timeline than he ever could. And surely, the suffering of one living soul now had to weigh more than the possibility of future disaster…

Raistlin scoffed. There was no need to rationalize his actions. He had not paused to weigh outcomes when he ran down the stairs of the Tower to Magius’ rescue. The truth was that he was selfish, and he couldn’t stand the idea of losing the man who had made his bleak days so much brighter. And if that meant having to fight destiny itself over it, then he would.

The sound of Magius stirring in his bed brought Raistlin back to reality. Magius was breathing quickly, making loud, incoherent sounds as if caught in a nightmare. Then, a sudden movement pulled at his broken leg, tearing him from his sleep. Magius opened his eyes, gasping for air.

Raistlin lunged forward and, with a surprising amount of strength, helped Magius into a sitting position.

“Magius. We’re in the Tower. You’re safe. I made you something for the pain. Here,” he said, offering him the cup.

Magius slumped on Raistlin and let him pour the brownish liquid into his mouth. He drank cautiously, wincing at every sip.

“Water,” Magius said in a parched voice after finishing the mixture. He was still shaking, his breath shallow. Raistlin quickly reached for a cup and held it to his lips.

“You’re with me, now, Magius. You’re safe,” Raistlin repeated.

Magius met Raistlin’s gaze, noticing his tired, red eyes.

“Are you… are you hurt?” Magius asked. He grabbed Raistlin’s arm with his good hand, urgently clawing at his sleeve. His eyes widened. He looked just as terrified as if he had seen Galan Dracos again.

“I am fine,” Raistlin replied in his most soothing voice, placing a calming hand over Magius’. “Only a bit sore. My lungs are more irritated than usual, but that’s nothing new.”

Magius looked straight at Raistlin, tears welling in his eyes.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Magius said. His voice broke.

Raistlin was taken aback. “Sorry? Sorry about what?”

Magius did not reply. He slumped forward, sobbing, each gasp of air pulling at his injured ribs and making him wince in pain.

Suddenly, Raistlin didn’t know what to do. He knew how to ease physical pain, but no one had ever turned to him to soothe the pain of the soul. He had no balm for what Magius was going through. He searched his mind, hoping to find words that could offer even the smallest comfort— but what could he possibly say to someone who had been so viciously violated, stripped of all power and dignity, left to wait for death as his only escape?

He had no answer. His silence felt incredibly loud against Magius’ cries.

His thoughts turned to Caramon, to all those nights he had been there for him, making funny shadows on the wall…

Raistlin delicately sat on the bed next to Magius, and after a brief hesitation, pulled him gently into his arms. His discomfort evaporated as soon as he felt the warm weight of the other against his chest, the familiar scent of amber still perceivable underneath the notes of sweat and blood. It was Magius, and he was back. Magius’ tears ran down his cheeks and onto Raistlin’s shoulder, where the fabric of his robe had turned wet and cold. Raistlin’s eyes prickled, begging to join that quiet symphony of cries. He didn’t trust himself to join Magius’ grief, so he simply held him close, running a hand slowly through his hair. He touched him with the same care one might give a porcelain doll, afraid he might break. Raistlin brushed his lips against Magius’ head in a heartbroken kiss, hoping that Magius would understand what he did not have the words to say.

He kept holding him in his arms until Magius’ breath grew slower and his sobs calmed down. Still stroking him delicately, he helped him lie back against the pillow.

“I thought I would die there,” Magius whispered, at last. His voice was hoarse from crying. “I didn’t think anyone would come… why did you come? They could have killed you…”

“I couldn’t just leave you there,” replied Raistlin.

“He could have taken you too…” the tears returned, flowing silently down Magius’ cheeks.

Raistlin took Magius’ hand and held it firmly. “Don’t worry about me, Magius. He’s gone now. Let’s think about getting you back on your feet.”

Magius gave him a bitter smile.

“Is Huma here?” he asked.

“He was with you while the cleric treated you. I sent him to bed, but he’ll be back in the morning.”

“There was a cleric?” Magius asked. His voice was barely more than a wheeze. “Then why in the Abyss do I still feel like shit?”

Raistlin smiled. Seeing his friend recover even just a fraction of his irreverent spirit gave him immense relief.

“You might not have noticed, but now you only have one smashed leg, instead of two,” he replied with gentle sarcasm.

“Right,” Magius sniffled. He inhaled sharply as a small movement set off more pain in his ribs. His face turned bleak. “I…” he started, a pained expression on his face. But he never finished his sentence, and his eyes, now dry, turned blank, lost in the distance. It was as if every muscle in Magius’ face had suddenly stopped working. Every trace of emotion disappeared, leaving behind a blank, eerie mask.

Raistlin felt something change. It seemed to him that Magius, who was now avoiding his gaze, had suddenly shrunk. The Magius he had been holding in his arms melted away like sugar into hot water, replaced by a distant, empty husk. A knot tightened in Raistlin’s stomach.

“You should rest,” he said. “Let me help you back to bed.”

Magius hesitated, his gaze fixed ahead, as if he were thinking about what to say next.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me,” he finally said. His tone was surprisingly distant. Cold, even.

“Thank you for your concern, but I am taking care of you of my own free will,” Raistlin replied. He tilted his head and looked intently at Magius’ expression, not sure how to interpret it. Was that… remorse? Something was weighing on him, but Magius remained silent.

“Try to rest a bit more. Sleeping should be easier now,” he said, trying to control the unpleasant sensation that was gnawing at him. He had always been a master at reading what people hid between the lines, in the unsaid. Yet Magius’ sudden distance left him feeling as illiterate as a child. Finding himself for the first time on the other side of a wall of silence, Raistlin felt lost at the thought of Magius going somewhere he couldn’t reach.

Magius nodded. He took Raistlin’s hand and whispered a meek “Thanks,” before letting himself fall onto the pillow and closing his eyes. Raistlin sat on the chair, watching over him, until he fell asleep, still holding Magius’ hand in his own.

————

The following morning Huma found them both asleep, still holding hands. Magius seemed to be resting peacefully. Huma carefully lifted the flaps of the canopy, holding a plate of warm bread and fruit. Raistlin heard some movement and flinched, retracting his hand from Magius’ grasp.

Huma gestured at the food, offering it to Raistlin. Silently, not to wake Magius, Raistlin took a piece of bread. He stood, stretching his stiffened limbs.

“I’ll be with him for a while,” murmured Huma. Raistlin nodded, grateful, and headed outside the infirmary to take a walk and get some fresh air.

As he left, Huma took his place on the chair, leaning forward to check on Magius. Raistlin lingered, his stomach tightening at the idea that Magius would wake up next to Huma. The two had been each other’s support for their entire lives, their bond so strong it had become legend. Huma would probably know what to say to comfort his friend in a moment like this. Magius would probably find it easier to open up to the man who had been his companion for decades. In the shadow of Huma’s reassuring presence, Raistlin suddenly felt like he was an intruder in their friendship, a fleeting interest that would pale and lose its charm in the face of the intimacy that those two must have shared for so long. He felt himself shrivel and resolved to leave the room without looking back, a fog of unpleasant emotions whirling around him.

He headed for the battlements. The day was warm, the sky clear. The clean air made Raistlin think more clearly after hours breathing in the stench of blood, sweat and alcohol. He took a deep breath and sat on the parapet to admire the landscape, chewing absently at his piece of bread.

He coughed, his lungs still irritated by the smoke. In the distance, the encampment of the Dragon Armies was streaked by several pillars of smoke. The same wind that had kept the sky clear had also fueled the explosion’s flames, and the enemy forces must still be trying to control the fires. Raistlin could imagine the rage of the Dark Queen at the thought that her main camp had been compromised. He smiled bitterly— something good had come out of that reckless rescue after all.

He took another bite of his bread, his thoughts drifting back to Magius. The knot in his stomach tightened at the thought of Magius’ stare going blank. He was grateful for the moment of reprieve, but found himself wanting to get back to his friend just to see how he was doing, in case he needed him…

“I thought you were supposed to be resting.” Raistlin’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice that was as familiar to him as his own brother’s.

Sturm Brightblade was walking slowly towards him across the battlement, probably just off guard duty. He sported his usual grave expression, accentuated by the drooping dark mustache that deepened the lines on his face. He had aged quickly beyond his years, his youth sacrificed to duty and the Oath. He stopped close to Raistlin, removing his visored helmet with a sigh, and laid it on the parapet in front of them. Raistlin noticed a couple of fresh bruises and cuts on Sturm’s cheekbone.

Since this time travelling adventure had started, Raistlin had paid the young Solamnic little attention, apart from the usual annoyance he felt at, well, almost everything Sturm said or did. But something felt different now— whether in Sturm or himself, Raistlin could not tell. For the first time in what seemed like decades, Raistlin allowed himself to actually look at his former childhood friend.

Friend? In truth, Sturm had always been Caramon’s friend, like most of the people in Raistlin’s life back then. They deserved each other, young Raistlin had thought while burying himself in his books, trying to drown out the laughter that echoed around him but never included him. And yet Sturm was the only person who shared some of his melancholic temperament, who loved the old songs as much as Raistlin did. He would have rather died than admit it, but Raistlin had often felt a reluctant admiration for the young Solamnic refugee; he had imagined spending time with him, reading together that stupid Solamnic poetry he loved so much in a shadowy glade, away from the crass noises and laughter of the other youths of Solace.

Of course nothing of the sort had ever happened. Sturm had been careful never to draw attention to his sensitive, intellectual side. Raistlin, for his part, would have eaten a live frog rather than show any interest in spending time with him. After all, there was nothing that special about Sturm. Young Raistlin was certain that he only wanted a friend, someone to feel close to when the rest of the world seemed so hellbent on misunderstanding him. As shameful a desire as it was, that’s all it was. Nothing more.

This Raistlin, however, couldn’t help but wonder. The Raistlin that had felt the thrill and fire of Magius’ touch remembered too well the glances that his young self had stolen at Sturm’s timid smile, the way his gaze used to linger on Sturm’s elegant movements when he and Caramon sparred. He remembered the half smiles he’d hidden in those rare moments when Sturm’s infuriating sense of honor led him to come to Raistlin’s defense, and the burning hatred he’d felt toward the village girls he was sometimes seen with…

What if…?

He dragged himself back to the present, refusing to finish the thought. But when he spoke, the sharpness he usually reserved for Sturm had softened into a quieter, almost gentle tone.

“Sturm,” he said. “I’m well rested, thank you. I understood you went to some trouble to make sure I was looked after. You saved my life. I…” he hesitated. “I would not have expected that. You have my thanks.”

Sturm, unmoved, turned his stony gaze to Raistlin.

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “I’m just as surprised as you are. And I am not entirely sure I have made the right choice.”

There it was. The jab. The usual note of disdain and superiority. Raistlin grimaced. The temperature dropped, and any trace of warmth between them vanished like snow in the sun as their old antagonism resurfaced.

“Well, I’m glad you were feeling generous, then,” Raistlin replied. “Do you have anything else to say, sir knight, or were you just hoping to figure out whether you should have let me choke to death instead?”

“I honestly don’t know what to say, Raistlin,” Sturm’s face had grown to the same hardness as granite. “Other than wonder why the man who has left his friends for dead so many times suddenly decides to be selfless right when that means putting the world’s future on the line.”

Raistlin scoffed. “Oh, is that what this is? A lesson in timeline coherence by the man who ran off to help Huma five minutes after we landed in this time?”

“You know perfectly well that’s different.”

“Excuse me, my dear knight, but no, I do not.” Raistlin scowled. “What would you have me do? Sit in my room while they tortured him to death?” without realizing it, he raised his voice on the last words. “I didn’t think a knight of Solamnia would be against saving an innocent, but the more you know…”

“It’s not that!” Sturm snapped.

“Then what?” Raistlin hissed.

“We’re stuck a thousand years in the past, and instead of figuring out how to get us back home, you’ve been completely erratic. For the Abyss, I feel like I’ve been babysitting two kenders!”

“Well, don’t worry, sir knight, I’m not a kender and I can take care of myself. Maybe you should feel free to just go your own way.”

“I just wish you’d start using your brain again instead of whatever it is you’re doing now.” Sturm’s words dripped with bitterness.

“Oh, I see,” Raistlin added resentfully. “That’s rich, considering that you have never listened to, respected or followed anything I said when I was using my brain. Apparently there’s no winning when it comes to your strict moral code, is there, knight?”

“I just don’t understand you!” Sturm burst out. “I don’t, all right? I can’t tell why you do the things you do, or whether your advice is given in good or bad faith. I’ve been doing my best not to interfere these past days. I held back, even when I wanted to help, because I trusted you to at least know what in the Abyss would happen if we tampered with the timeline. Then I turn around and see you’ve gone and interfered directly, without saying a word to anyone, and…”

“Oh, sorry I wasn’t predictable enough for you, Sturm! My apologies for not leaving proper instructions while I tried to save the only person I’ve ever loved from certain de— ”

Raistlin cut himself off, suddenly conscious of the weight of what he had just said. Sturm froze, staring at him, his expression blank with surprise.

“Wait… what do you— ” he said, lowering his voice.

“Yes, you heard correctly,” Raistlin said, his lips curling into a grimace. “I know perfectly well what your stupid knightly code says on the matter, so don’t bother preaching the Measure to me, good sir Knight.” Raistlin sneered. “I’ll keep indulging in my blasphemous affections as I please, if you don’t mind.”

“I… I wasn’t going to. I’m just…” Sturm said, uncertain.

“Right.” Raistlin felt his face burn from anger. Gods, why was Sturm just standing there? Why coax him into sharing something so private, only to stare like he was a freak in a traveling show? And why did Raistlin suddenly feel himself writhe in shame at the idea of Sturm scrutinizing every word, every touch Raistlin and Magius shared?

Raistlin felt nauseous. His resentment towards the knight grew. Whatever sympathy he might have once harbored for Sturm had long melted against the fire of constant misunderstanding and prejudice. It would have been foolish to think that things might have turned out differently.

“I shall go make myself useful elsewhere,” he said, pushing himself off the parapet.

“Raistlin, wait…” Sturm reached out to Raistlin, as if to stop him. “I’m just… I didn’t think…”

“No. You never do,” Raistlin replied. With one last venomous glance at Sturm he turned around and marched towards the stairs, his robes rustling violently around him.