Chapter Text
{Chapter 4 illustration by Elena Zambelli}
Crysania shivered. Passing through Shoikan Grove had not been nearly as difficult as the last time she had done it, but it was still no holiday outing, even with her protective charm and the shortcut Raistlin had once shown her. Safely inside the Tower grounds now, she sat down on a stone bench to catch her breath. It was late evening, and the air was perfumed with the strong scent of flowers. She pulled back the hood of her tattered cloak - one of several precautions she had taken to keep her visit secret - and looked around at the vine-covered courtyard. Wild roses of every color trailed over the stone walls. The stars were bright, crickets chirped, and there were fireflies about. This was surely the most dangerously beautiful place on Krynn, and she still marveled that she had ever summoned the courage to come here two years ago.
But she had come willingly, convinced that hers was a mission straight from Paladine himself, and she held to that belief even now. There were many within the Church who still looked at her with suspicion, and probably always would, but she knew she had made the right decision. It mattered little that most of her critics would never understand her reasons. Without her, the black mage Raistlin Majere would have been unable to block Takhisis’ entrance into their world. Such an event would have meant the end of not only the Church, but life as they knew it. There had only been one option, as far as she had been concerned, and so she had taken it.
Never mind that there was still nasty talk being circulated, from the mild disapproval of her willingness to “consort with magic users”, to the wild rumours that she had engaged in lewd acts of dark magic with the infamous wizard. Crysania still laughed to herself over that last notion. Not even in the Church had she met anyone so reserved and disciplined. She certainly had been charmed by the archmage at first, but she soon chalked that up to her relief at finding him human, after all her terrified imaginings. Not only human, but a dedicated and brilliant scholar, with at least a grudging respect for the Gods, though he did not hide his disdain for the Church and its followers.
Of course she wanted nothing to do with most of Raistlin’s work - black magic itself - but she knew that he did live by a strict personal code, different as it might be from her own, and that he never harmed innocents if he could avoid it. And, yes, he was highly ambitious, but then so was she. It was one of the reasons she continued to maintain her side of the unlikely friendship that had grown up between them. They had been useful to each other in defeating Takhisis, and each had been unwilling to give up the advantage of such a powerful alliance. So, in the past two years they had met secretly on a handful of occasions, engaged in lively philosophical conversations, and scorching debates; and they had helped each other a few times, taking great care to ensure that no one knew of their continued contact.
When Crysania had received the cryptic message, two days before, summoning her to the Tower as soon as possible, she had made the arrangements with quiet haste. The information was necessarily vague, but she had surmised that it involved Raistlin’s apprentice, and some sort of injury. She had only met Dalamar once, when she and Raistlin performed the ritual to seal the portal to the Abyss. He had been newly in his master’s service at the time but had been quick to assist when their ordeal had ended with both of them unconscious and dangerously weakened. She would be glad to repay him in kind.
Her heart was beating now at something akin to a normal pace, so she rose and made her way to the heavy, iron-bound wooden door. Knocking, she was was soon met by the housemaid, an elderly half-dwarf female with a large scar over one eye.
Considering Raistlin’s high standards, and his refusal to waste magic on mundane chores, it would have been impossible to maintain the inhabited areas of the Tower without help. Practically no one would have been willing to serve there, aside from gully dwarves (of which there were, in fact, three) but a few otherwise competent individuals in “unique” situations had agreed to the Master’s generous but binding contract: reasonable workload, sumptuous living conditions, as much excellent food as they could eat…and an understanding that they would never again pass the borders of Shoikan Grove...alive. A servant of the Tower was a bound servant for life. This unusual crew maintained the lower floors, the kitchen, and the gardens. No one was allowed on the upper floors except the Master and his apprentice, so those chores necessarily fell to Dalamar.
“Greetings Lady,” bowed the woman. “Terrible place, that forest,” she said sympathetically. “Follow me,” she beckoned, and Crysania was led into a small sitting room off the entrance hall. “You are to rest here and have some refreshment before going up. Master Raistlin bade me tell you to take all the time you need to recover yourself.”
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The archmage met her in the hallway outside his rooms. He was as disheveled as she had ever seen him, which was to say, still rather elegant in his plain dark breeches and beige tunic, an open black cloak over his shoulders. His hair was pulled back out of his face, which was quite worn with an obvious lack of sleep.
But he bowed his head in greeting, clearly relieved to see her. She had never seen him so visibly shaken. “Thank you for coming. I regret that I could not meet you below, but I must stay near him. I -”
Crysania waved away his apology. “Of course. How is he?”
Raistlin sighed. “He has been awake since mid-afternoon, and his physical injuries are much improved. Elves heal quickly, as you know, so it is only the damage inflicted by Magic that still concerns me. He continues to have visions and nightmares, though they have lessened in violence and intensity.” He grimaced. “There is a nasty wound on his chest that I hope you can help with. I have tried…”
He ran a frustrated hand across his forehead, then looked at her once again, and his face burned with anger. There was a hard, dangerous tone in his voice as he continued. “Ladonna did this, Crysania. Ladonna …” he repeated, “ and Par Salian .”
“Dear gods,” she whispered, clutching the medal around her neck. “That explains...” she stopped to think. “Yes…”
“What?” demanded Raistlin sharply.
“The recent rumours that your apprentice is dead...by your hand! That you caught him spying for the Conclave and ripped out his heart! I generally pay little attention to -”
“ Damn them and their cowardice!” he exclaimed in a low growl, then quickly brought his anger under control. He inclined his head toward the door, listening, clearly anxious to return to Dalamar’s side.
Crysania laid a comforting hand on his arm. “We will discuss all of this later. Dalamar is our only concern at the moment. Take me to him.”
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Raistlin felt reasonably refreshed, having slept for several undisturbed hours on the large couch in the library. Making his way back down the hall, he could hear the distinct sound of feminine laughter as he approached the entrance to his own rooms. He paused outside the door for several moments, his heart growing lighter as he listened to Dalamar relating an incident from his childhood. The elf’s rich, melodic voice was stronger than it had been since before the attack, and his Silvanesti accent was faint. Crossing through the study, he entered the bedchamber just as Crysania’s delighted laughter rang out once again.
They were sitting at a small table by the window, finishing breakfast, the morning sun bathing them in warm, golden light. “It seems I have almost slept through the festivities,” said Raistlin dryly, and tried to keep his expression neutral as the elf’s face brightened upon seeing him.
“Shalafi,” said Dalamar, preparing to rise.
“Sit down, you imbecile,” he scolded mildly. “Is it not enough to be out of bed? Do not push yourself too far!” He took a chair beside his apprentice.
“Of course, Shalafi,” he said, sitting back once again. “It is pleasant to be up and about a little more, and to have a visitor.” He gave Crysania a friendly smile, and resumed eating fruit from his plate.
“Dalamar is a most entertaining host,” said their guest brightly, as she poured Raistlin a cup of tea.
“I do not doubt it,” replied Raistlin, with a narrow-eyed look at Dalamar, but there was an amused smile on his lips.
They shared tea, fruit, and a lazy half hour, talking of nothing very important. Then Crysania declared it was her turn for a nap, and started to gather her things. She planned to stay for another day and night, and had been given a room downstairs.
“I should sleep again, too, I think,’ said Dalamar, rising carefully. He looked at Raistlin inquiringly. “Is that all right?”
“Of course -”
Suddenly Dalamar stopped moving, then gave a choked cry and closed his eyes, his breathing heavy. Raistlin was at his side in an instant, putting an arm about his waist and settling them both on the nearby sofa. He then muttered the words of a minor spell, and Dalamar relaxed a little. Raistlin cradled the elf to his chest, speaking in a low, calming tone, completely oblivious to Crysania’s presence.
“Can you hear me, Dark Elf? We are home, and you are safe. Listen to me and stay with my voice.”
“Shalafi?” he whispered, small and desperate, but did not open his eyes.
“Yes, apprentice, I am here.” Raistlin stroked Dalamar’s hair with one hand, rubbing slow circles on his back with the other. “Wherever you are, I am with you... whatever you see, it is illusion...we are home, and perfectly safe...come back into the room now, Dalamar...come back...” He continued, speaking slowly and hypnotically.
Then, just as suddenly as the attack had started, all the tension left the elf’s body, and he sagged against Raistlin, who took a slow, relieved breath. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tenderly wiped Dalamar’s forehead, then dabbed carefully at the moisture around his eyes and the corners of his mouth.
The archmage looked up at Crysania. “It is over,” he told her quietly. “He will wake in a moment.” He continued to caress the elf’s face until Dalamar began to stir and sit up on his own. Then Raistlin shifted over slightly, putting some distance between them.
Dalamar looked around briefly. “Again?” he asked, blinking, then uttered a heavy sigh. “I am sorry-”
“Do not apologize, and do not be disheartened.” Raistlin’s tone was gentle, but once again full of his customary authority. “It was very brief, even compared to yesterday. You may not yet see an improvement, but I do.”
The elf nodded mutely, and allowed Raistlin to help him stand up and be guided to the bed. “So tired….” he whispered, sinking back onto the pillows, nearly asleep already.
“I know,” soothed Raistlin, a corner of his mouth turning up as he gazed warmly at the elf and brushed the dark hair back from his face.
“ Love you , Shalafi…. ” came the faint murmur in his native tongue. “ Always...love you... ”
Raistlin went completely still for several heartbeats, but kept his eyes on the elf. Then he took a slow breath and reached for Dalamar’s hand, which he held for a long moment before releasing it and carefully pulling the covers up around him.
“D-does it always drain him so?” asked Crysania, attempting to cover her astonishment, when Raistlin finally turned back in her direction.
“Not always,” answered Raistlin. “There is no rhyme or reason to it, no pattern that I can discern. Sometimes he has nightmares, other times a waking hallucination, as you saw. Occasionally it is so brief that he never loses consciousness. It -” he paused, running a hand through his hair and pacing the floor a little.
“But this is why I cannot...why I will not leave him, Crysania. The spells he was hit with - he endured enough that night to kill a human ten times over.” He stood across from her now. “Even many of his kinsmen would not have survived. I owe him a great debt, and I would not have him suffer this torment alone, not for a moment.” He glanced back at Dalamar’s sleeping form, as if to make sure he was still there.
“You care for him,” she said simply, trying to keep her voice and expression even.
Raistlin stood straighter, and his face became a mask, his voice harder. “He is essential to my work, and...he nearly died to protect...it. Such loyalty cannot be bought. It is priceless.”
“Priceless, yes,” she agreed, nodding once and holding his gaze meaningfully.
Raistlin looked at her, his eyes narrowed, and shook his head. “He says things, Crysania. Nonsensical things. He is not himself when the visions come, and he does not remember -”
She held up a hand in surrender. “Of course. I meant no disrespect, I assure you.” She gathered up her books and shawl. “I will go to my room now, and I will see you both later this afternoon.”
Raistlin's face was impassive as he watched her walk toward the door. Then she turned back to him with a kind smile. “Do not be overly concerned, my friend. He will recover fully. I will help you make sure of it.”
