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Chapter Text

{Chapter 1 artwork by Elena Zambelli}

CHAPTER 1

The elf lay on the stone floor, drifting in and out of consciousness, his head carefully pillowed on his master’s folded cloak. Though the subterranean corridor was uncomfortably damp, Raistlin found himself grateful for the clean water leaking from one of the overhead pipes. His apprentice was badly wounded, and had already vomited far past the point of dehydration. He was resting a little now, though, and no longer hallucinating, at least for the moment.

“Dalamar,” he urged hoarsely, kneeling down to hold a small flask to the bruised lips. “You must drink...at least a little.” Normally so polished and vibrant, the elf was an almost unrecognizable mess, despite Raistlin’s best efforts to clean off some of the blood and filth.

The archmage flinched anew at the sight of Dalamar’s injuries. He was covered in bruises and cuts, some of them quite severe, and his right wrist was badly fractured, but none of this was life-threatening. It was the brutal damage to his chest that had Raistlin extremely worried. Somehow, a few hours before, he had used the last of his remaining strength to close the five deceptively small wounds above Dalamar's heart and stop the dangerous bleeding.

Now, for the first time since leaving the Tower to follow his apprentice into town, he had a moment to think. Par Salian and Ladonna. Damn them! He had thwarted their cowardly intentions, but just barely. Seconds more and he’d have been too late. “I will destroy you for this!” he had sworn before casting the only spell he dared - a damaging but comparatively mild attack that would buy him enough time to get Dalamar to safety. Revenge would be sweet, and more than just, but it could wait. His apprentice was hovering on the edge of death, and he needed to conserve his own strength for vital healing work.

Stirring weakly, the elf opened his mouth to take an obliging sip of the water, barely enough to wet his lips. “Shalafi,” he managed to whisper, his accent thick, “I am sorry…” There was despair in his fevered eyes as he looked up at Raistlin. “I do not deserve to die in your arms...yet I would ask it of you.” He drew a labored breath. “Please...I failed you, but I tried...I wanted...” He closed his eyes in exhausted anguish. “...wanted so much…”

Raistlin bent over him, his voice commanding but gentle. “Stop wasting your energy, apprentice.” He combed back the damp hair with his fingers. “You shall not die, and the pain will subside. Aside from your physical injuries, you are still feeling the effects of several very powerful spells. It will get better, I promise.” Caressing Dalamar’s head, he continued wearily. “I have done what I can for now, but my efforts have taken all my strength. I need sleep - badly.”

“Please,” begged the elf in a choked whisper, unable to open his eyes again. “Shalafi...don’t leave me!”

“Rest easy now. Tonight you have earned my lasting respect - and my full protection. I will not leave your side.” He spoke soothingly as he settled into the corner with his back against the wall, gently shifting Dalamar’s head onto his lap, then partially covering him with the cloak. Trembling with weariness, he took the elf’s unbroken hand in his own and, just before succumbing to exhaustion, his lips moved in a soundless whisper. “I will never leave you.”

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Not two hours later, Dalamar woke with a cry, startling Raistlin out of an uneasy sleep. “It’s alright,” he muttered instinctively. “You are safe now.”

Semi-conscious and entirely confused, the elf looked up at his master. “Shalafi, how…?” he asked weakly. “Where are we?”

“We are below the city. I will explain later. You need rest now.”

“Are they dead?” inquired Dalamar, faint hope in his voice. Raistlin could not hold back a bitter chuckle.

“You overestimate me, apprentice. I wounded them both, of course, but your life was my priority, and so I chose not to spend all of my energy on revenge this night. No, they both live still, but rest assured they will pay for everything in time,” he finished, helping the elf to sit up a little and offering the water again. “ Everything .”

Dalamar, though still extremely weak, drank eagerly now, eventually draining the entire flask, much to Raistlin’s satisfaction. “Are you not angry with me?” he asked, with some trepidation.

“Only at your inability to close your mouth and allow us both a bit of sleep!” Raistlin’s words were harsh, but relief shone plainly on his face. “Now, do shut up!” He closed his eyes and lay a hand on the tangled raven hair. Dalamar sighed contentedly and leaned his head into the gentle touch. Despite the damp cold and his own considerable pain, being so close to Raistlin brought him more peace than he could remember feeling in a very long time.

art by Greenedera - IG - DA - Tumblr 

“We have given you ample time, Dalamar Argent, and that time has long since run out. You must make a decision.” The man sounded tired, but resolute.

The elf took a steadying breath. “I have told you - I shall not betray him, and if you would only listen to -”

“ENOUGH!” The woman’s voice was like frozen silk. “So...this is how you repay our trust in you?” She began to walk toward him. “You would throw away this opportunity?”

“I cannot do otherwise. He is the greatest wizard in history, and you know it full well!” His voice was low, almost a growl. His defiant eyes blazed with hatred in the dim candlelight of the basement room. “His loyalty is to the Magic, first and always, as is mine. I realize what you are, now...what you all are.” He glanced at the man sitting in the shadowy corner.

Dalamar had been thoroughly unprepared for this encounter, and he no longer held any hope that it would end well for him. He was highly accomplished, yes, but hardly a match for these two seasoned archmages. If they could not see reason, then he would accept his fate. His Master’s work must be protected at all costs.

Shaking, but resolved, he continued. “I will NOT be the pawn of your corruption, and I will NEVER give him up to you! If you served the Magic instead of yourselves, you -” but he was suddenly writhing in agony on the floor, blinded by Ladonna’s spell.

“How dare you,” she stood over him, furious. “We had hoped you would prove more useful...but at least I shall have the pleasure of breaking you!”

“Ladonna,” admonished Par Salian calmly. “There is no need for such drastic measures. I realize that he must die. There is no other way, but we should make it quick. We are not savages.”

“Oh, yes!” snarled Dalamar, as he rose to his feet in an act of pure will. Blood poured from his nose and mouth, and he clutched his broken right hand to his chest. “The benevolent White Robe! You pretend to show mercy, but you will turn your head and allow her to have her way, as you’ve always done. Call me a traitor if you like. YOUR treachery is against Magic itself, and your soul is far blacker than my Master’s robes! I know what you did to him, out of fear and cowardice, so do what you like to me! I will suffer it gladly, knowing you will NEVER defeat him!”

A second attack, and he collapsed instantly, trying vainly to catch his breath, to regain some measure of control over the electric pain coursing through him. Twisting her face into a malicious smile, Ladonna dragged him by the hair into a sitting position, then shoved his back against the wall. He could feel her soft breath in his ear as she crouched beside him. “Your beauty is exquisite, Silvanesti.” She traced her fingers through the blood on the side of his face. “Too bad I haven’t the opportunity for a few moments’ pleasure…” she said, glancing sidelong at Par Salian, “before I tear out your treacherous heart!”

Her hand was on his chest now, and the burning pain now spreading through him made the earlier spells seem like the work of a novice. He couldn’t move, nor scream, and he knew, somehow, that he was also being prevented from losing consciousness. But he would endure it. For his Master he would endure it. Yes, Raistlin. Focus on Raistlin, and on the Magic.

Ladonna’s cruel pleasure was evident in her face and in her low laughter as her fingertips slowly burnt themselves into his flesh, and her spells worked their way into his mind.

The pain!! Gods, there was nothing now but searing agony in body and mind, and, through a fog of hallucination, Dalamar could only hope that it would be over soon, that he could escape into the cool, placid quiet of death; and that he was not sorry to have exchanged his life for Raistlin's. But the impossible pain continued for what seemed like an eternity.

Then, suddenly, from a great distance it seemed, he heard shouting, and finally felt himself released - free to collapse, helpless, onto the floor. Barely conscious, caught between horrifying visions and brutal reality, he soon sensed a familiar presence. Warm, thin fingers touched his face, and he heard a soft, commanding voice mutter “sleep,” as he slipped into senseless oblivion.

Chapter 1 artwork by Elena Zambelli.

Chapter Text

{Chapter 2 illustrations by Elena Zambelli}

The large, curtained bed was warm and luxurious, and Dalamar was finally awoken by the unfamiliar feeling of being in it. Opening his eyes, his gaze fell instinctively on his master’s luminous hair, radiant in the light of the two visible moons, as he slumbered peacefully on the small sofa nearby. Despite his aching body, Dalamar sighed with relief; they were back in the Tower. Upon looking around, he then realized exactly where they were - not his own room, but Raistlin’s. Dalamar had spent many nights on that settee during his master’s bouts of illness which, thankfully, had become far less frequent of late. Being here confirmed the severity of his own present condition, though. His master was likely afraid to leave him, and possibly too weak himself to travel between their separate quarters.

The elf grew concerned. Raistlin had indeed seemed a bit healthier and more energetic in recent months, but he would never be physically robust. Dalamar knew full well that the events of - how many nights ago? - must surely have taken their toll. Sitting up, he steeled himself against the onslaught of pain, and let the expected dizziness subside. Then he slowly used his good arm to pull back the blankets and, with some effort, moved quietly to the edge of the bed.

“Where, precisely, are you planning to go, Dark Elf?” came the irritated whisper.

Dalamar cursed under his breath! “I only wished to know that you were alright, Shalafi,” he replied, crumpling in a flood of nausea and pain.

“Gods, apprentice!” swore Raistlin, without any real aggravation, as he rose and crossed smoothly over to the bed. “You finally wake during the first night’s sleep I’ve had in a week!”

“A week!” whispered Dalamar, leaning heavily on his master, allowing himself to be helped back onto the pillows.

“Almost,” conceded Raistlin as he lit the bedside lamp. “It happened five nights ago. This is our third night back here.”

“Still…” marveled Dalamar. How had he lost so much time?

Raistlin’s tone became serious. “Clearly you do not realize the extent of your injuries,” he said gravely, brushing back the elf’s long black hair and studying the grey eyes intently. He felt the pulse in his neck for a moment, muttering to himself with a distinct note of relief in his voice. After checking several of the more superficial wounds, he continued. “The wounds on your chest... I need to clean them again, but not yet. It will go better for you if you are unconscious.”

Dalamar drew in a surprised breath, then started to protest as he tried to look down at the bandage. “Gods, Shalafi! Surely -”

“Surely you will trust me and do as I say!” His master’s tone was low, but brooked no argument, and the elf fell silent, then closed his eyes against a fresh wave of weariness. Memories, horrible nightmarish images lurking just below the surface of his thoughts, threatened to break through. He gasped, helpless against a mounting surge of despair.

“Look at me, apprentice!" came the swift command, and he obeyed, allowing his gaze to be held by his master's dazzling eyes, as Raistlin lay a hand on his chest, carefully avoiding the bandaged wound. A tranquil feeling swept through his soul, and he knew Raistlin was using Magic to calm him.

"We have much work ahead of us, you and I, to repair the damage you have suffered in body and mind. I do not know how much time will be required, but...I will see you through this, apprentice,” continued Raistlin, and his voice was gentle . He shifted his hand to clasp the elf's shoulder. “You have shown me great loyalty - more than I had a right to expect…”

Dalamar's grey eyes glistened with tears. “Shalafi, no. You -”

“We will not discuss it tonight,” commanded Raistlin with quiet firmness. “I only wanted to assure you that I am...devoted to...to your well-being.” His voice faltered, barely perceptible, and he turned away purposefully, moving toward the fire.

Dalamar struggled against his desire to continue the conversation. He wanted - needed - to fill in the blank spots in his memory, and to find out how his master wished to deal with their enemies. But he kept silent, as ordered. On the one hand, it was nice to just lie there, more comfortable, despite his various aches, than he had been in many days.

The archmage was soon beside him again, this time holding a small bowl, which he placed on the table beside the bed. “It is time for you to eat something,” he said, arranging the pillows and helping him to sit up. “I insist that you try,” Raistlin said, quelling the unspoken argument. “I know you do not feel hunger, but a little broth will strengthen you and help you to regain your appetite.”

“As you wish,” Dalamar conceded, reaching out a shaky hand for the bowl, but Raistlin waved him off, settling beside him on the bed. Their eyes met for a long moment, then Raistlin’s mouth curled in a small, cryptic smile. “How many times have you done this for me, Dark Elf?”

(Illustration by Elena Zambelli)

Raistlin sat behind the desk in his study, watching the elf closely as he spoke. “That you were given certain -’duties’- by the Conclave, I have no doubt. Par Salian would not simply send me an apprentice, free and clear,” he chuckled mirthlessly, then stifled a small coughing fit. He must not appear weak in front of this newcomer.

Dalamar swallowed. “Master, I -” he began slowly, but he was abruptly cut off.

“Silence,” ordered the young archmage, his voice low and even. “I advise you to think most carefully before you speak. You are not my friend, ‘dark elf’...” He paused, the golden eyes unblinking, and Dalamar accepted the intended insult with an impassive face. “...but the instant you lie to me you become my enemy. And, while I do not shrink from adding to my growing list of adversaries, I would not needlessly waste an opportunity to advance my work. I do not deny that an assistant may prove useful to me.”

He sipped a mug of warm, spiced wine to soothe his throat, as he continued to silently observe his new apprentice. The elf had courage, he would give him that, and seemed to have a genuine desire to learn. And, gods, he was the loveliest thing that Raistlin had beheld in many long, lonely months. He was grudgingly grateful to the Conclave for that small gift, though they most likely thought of the gesture as more akin to rubbing salt in a wound, to remind him of his cursed vision. Par Salian would surely be vexed to learn that Raistlin was finally learning to overcome that particular obstacle, though at present he could only hold it off for mere seconds at a time.

Yes, having someone to assist him would be useful and, all the better if that someone, being an elf, did not fade and wither before his eyes.

He resumed speaking. “I am certain that the Conclave would have chosen no less than a highly promising student for this...assignment.” His eyes narrowed. “Because I assume you to be exceptionally talented, and because you profess to serve the Magic above all else, I wish to give you a fair chance to prove yourself, as well as time to decide - truly - which path you wish to take. For the time being, you may report back to the Conclave on anything I allow you to see or do here. That should satisfy them for the present.”

Dalamar said nothing, and his expression didn’t change, but Raistlin sensed his tension lessen slightly.

“However,” he continued, and here his expression turned soft ly malevolent, “if you seek to betray me in earnest, I WILL kill you - without a second thought. And I will cheerfully have your head delivered to Par Salian.”

Dalamar nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He couldn’t readily imagine his new master doing anything ‘cheerfully’, but he understood his meaning well enough. He hadn’t expected Raistlin to address the issue so directly, either, but he respected him for being so forthright. His power was unmistakable, and there was Magic emanating from the very walls of this place, but he felt no specific influence on himself. The archmage had made no attempt, at least that Dalamar could ascertain, to delve into his mind.

Raistlin stood up, and his voice returned to its former tone, commanding but not threatening. “I have no immediate plans to harm you, so you may rest your mind on that point. Of course I will not divulge to you anything of crucial importance, but…” he began moving toward the entrance, “there is much I am willing to teach you that will be to your benefit.” He opened the door and ushered his apprentice into the hallway. “And we will see, after a time, where your loyalties truly lie - with that bunch of fools in Wayreth…” he looked pointedly at Dalamar before closing the door between them “...or with the Magic.”

(Chapter 2 Illustrations by Elena Zambelli)

Chapter Text

{Chapter 3 illustration by Elena Zambelli}

Dalamar had fallen back asleep, having dutifully swallowed almost half a bowl of broth, one slow spoonful at a time. Now, fully under a powerful sleep spell, his breathing was steady and serene. The low firelight illuminated his sleeping face, and Raistlin watched him with a sorrowful smile.

It had been a little over a year ago that the elf had come into his study,  knelt before him, pale and trembling, and revealed the full extent of the mission given to him by Par Salian. He could not continue to betray his loyalty to the Magic, he said, and wished to swear complete allegiance to Raistlin. The archmage had taken him at his word and exacted no punishment. They had commenced working methodically against the Conclave, and Raistlin kept his eyes open and his suspicions to himself.

Despite Dalamar’s faithful service in the months that followed, that tiny grain of doubt had caused Raistlin to follow his apprentice into Palanthas that disastrous night. Perhaps the elf was working against him after all? His instinct told him "no", but something was not right, and he intended to find out the truth for himself.

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Wearing a tattered cloak and using a mild glamour spell in order to remain inconspicuous, he entered the tavern a few minutes after Dalamar had slipped in by a side entrance. Sensing Magical energy below him, he furtively made his way down the cellar stairs. It took several long minutes to work through the potent warding spells surrounding the small room by the stairwell, and as he peeled away their layers, he began to perceive voices within.

“ I will not be the pawn of your corruption, and I will NEVER give him up to you!”

“I realize he must die… ”

Dear gods, they had him! Raistlin worked faster, willing himself to stay calm, despite Dalamar’s agonized cries, and the ominous silence that followed them. Finally, mere moments later, he had broken through, disabled his enemies, and transported himself and his mortally injured apprentice to an abandoned area of the sewer system.

(Illustration by Elena Zambelli)

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Raistlin shuddered at the memory of what Dalamar had endured for him, only to then be subjected to more pain at his own hands . But he had seen no other way to save his apprentice, no other way to staunch the dangerous flow of blood pouring from the five small wounds above his heart; a flow that had seemed only to come faster as the seconds passed. The damage had been inflicted by Magic, and only Magic could have closed it.

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Confident in the protective enchantments he had hurriedly cast on the small underground alcove, Raistlin felt safe from pursuit for the time being. And so, supporting Dalamar’s near-lifeless form with his left arm, he summoned the iron focus of his will, then forced the fingers of his right hand into the bloody holes. The elf, thrust into partial consciousness by the undoubtedly excruciating pain, squirmed and whimpered in agony, too exhausted and weak to cry out.

The archmage held on, the Magical words flowing smoothly from his throat despite the acrid smell of burning flesh. After a seeming eternity, he felt a slight firmness under his fingertips, and the elf went limp in his arms. Drawing back his hand, he quickly examined the injury, still fierce but no longer bleeding, then turned his attention to Dalamar’s face, deathly white beneath the many swollen bruises and lacerations.

“Dalamar, open your eyes,” he ordered sharply, but the elf’s too-shallow breathing was his only movement, and even that had begun to slow. His own heart clenched. “Damn you, apprentice! You are NOT to leave me!” Raistlin’s voice was rough and desperate now. He swiftly lowered Dalamar’s body onto the damp floor, then commenced firmly massaging his neck and upper arms, attempting to keep his blood flowing. “Stay with me, Dark Elf!” His growl of command ended in a choked sob as he bent over the lifeless body, caressing the abused face, and his eyes filled with hot, bitter tears.

“I cannot lose you, not now...,” he whispered. Then his hands were cradling the elf’s head and his mouth closed on the battered lips in a gentle kiss. “Please,” he begged silently, pressing their foreheads together as he poured the last vestiges of his strength and will into one final effort at healing.

A heartbeat, then two, three...finally Dalamar moaned low in his throat, and Raistlin felt warm breath on his face. “Oh gods, Dalamar,” he gasped with relief, his tears flowing freely now.

“Shalafi…”

His master felt more than heard the faint whisper, but the elf’s chest started to rise and fall somewhat normally, and a bit of color had returned to his skin. Still, his eyes remained closed. Raistlin, certain the immediate danger had passed, and severely drained by Magic, physical exertion, and strong emotions, lay down at Dalamar’s side. “Yes, I am here...must rest a moment…” he placed a protective hand on the elf’s stomach, then closed his eyes. A brief respite would allow him to better care for them both, and there was so much more to do before he could even think of getting them home...

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Raistlin still marveled that anyone, much less the precious creature lying there in his bed, could have ever shown him such extreme loyalty.

“ I will NEVER give him up to you! ” Utterly dejected and heartsick, he ran both hands through his hair in frustration. Still exhausted from their ordeal, and from frequent healing and constant care giving, he now forced the issue to the back of his mind, to be dealt with at a later time. It was entirely too much to contemplate at the moment.

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Dalamar’s eyes fluttered open, the scent of wood fire, incense, and mulling spices enveloping him. He inhaled deeply, gradually remembering where he was as the room came into focus. The now-familiar pain was certainly there, but so was the delicious tranquility of waking from one of his Master’s sleep spells. He sighed with relief. It meant he had at least two hours, maybe three, before the visions would begin to invade his mind once again. There was no guarantee that they would continue to plague him, of course, but whatever spells Ladonna had inflicted on him were not easily undone, and their effects were proving more brutal and lasting than even his more substantial physical wounds.

Only direct Magic could grant him several hours of uninterrupted rest, though Raistlin used the sleep spell sparingly, concerned with keeping him too deeply sedated. He had also been given various sleeping draughts in an attempt to find temporary relief, but these did little against the night terrors and violent hallucinations that seemed to come out of nowhere, and for no particular reason.

His apprentice knew that Raistlin himself had been sleeping as little as possible, using every free moment to research a possible remedy, a way to reverse the Magic that bound his mind. Dalamar could see him through the partially open doorway to the study, sitting at his ornate desk and making notes in a large, leather-bound volume. After a short while he closed the book, opened a smaller one, and began reading. Occasionally he sipped mulled wine from a chalice.

Dalamar smiled to himself, and a warm feeling swept over him. His Master was the most graceful human he had ever beheld. His movements carried the cool confidence of nobility - efficient and unhurried - and the elf adored watching him perform even the simplest of tasks.

From the moment of his arrival at the Tower, two years before, Dalamar had begun to respect the strictly disciplined, highly accomplished archmage. Despite his original purpose - that of making a name for himself by spying for the Conclave - he soon realized his error. His devotion and duty to Magic were more important than the worldly approval of the Conclave, and his new Master was quite different from the man Par Salian had described. Yes, Raistlin Majere was stern and demanding, sharp-tongued and critical, but he was also fair-minded, and far wiser than his years would suggest. It quickly became apparent that this Tower, not the one in Wayreth, was the true future of Magic on Krynn, and that its Master had much to teach him.

He knew now, though, and had for many months, that his regard for Raistlin had grown into more than professional admiration. So very much more. He loved this serious, frail-seeming young human; loved him as he loved the forests of his homeland...as he had never loved another living creature. This feeling was only surpassed by his commitment to the Magic, but it was inextricably bound to it, as well. And so, he had resolved to serve his Master faithfully, with his very best efforts, and to love him silently, and in secret.

For Dalamar knew that he could never reveal these feelings. Since his confession and their subsequent conversations about his involvement with the Conclave, Raistlin had begun to gradually put more faith in him, to involve him in actual rituals and spellwork. He would not jeopardize that trust with an emotional declaration which would surely be looked upon with disapproval, if not outright contempt.

He knew it was only a matter of time before he would be called upon to explain his actions at the tavern, and the thought chilled him straight through. How could Dalamar convincingly disclose what had happened that night, without revealing his deepest feelings?

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Raistlin did not turn around immediately, though he knew Dalamar was awake and starting to move slowly about the adjoining bed chamber. He would give him a few moments to himself, and some measure of privacy now that he was strong enough to do a few things on his own. He glanced at the window and chided himself for working so late into the afternoon, when he had intended to close his eyes and rest his mind for a precious half hour. He had finally acknowledged to himself that he could not continue at this pace for many more days, not without help. Rolling up a small piece of parchment, he sealed it with both wax and Magic before slipping it into an enchanted scroll case and placing it back on the desk.

Standing up only served to accentuate his extreme fatigue, but his apprentice needed him now. This heartbreakingly beautiful, astoundingly talented young Silvanesti, who had bravely - albeit foolishly - faced up to the Conclave, had put his own life on the line for the sake of the Magic. And for Raistlin’s sake. He owed Dalamar no less than the very best care he could now devise. He would find a way to heal all his wounds and return him to health, no matter what it took or how long the task required. Then, with the elf at his side, they would bring Wayreth to its knees.

 {Chapter 3 illustration by Elena Zambelli}

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.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.”

(Illustration by Elena Zambelli)

Chapter Text

Dalamar had been awake for a quarter of an hour. Though it had been almost a fortnight since her last visit, he knew it was Crysania's presence he sensed in the room, but he lay still and basked in the beautiful images and feelings that currently enveloped his heart and mind. In stark contrast to the cursed nightmares and hallucinations of recent weeks, fragments of lovely dreams had been dancing through his head for several days now. This had occurred at different times of the day, but especially just before waking.  Dreams, hallucinations, or... memories? No! Impossible!

But Dalamar couldn’t be sure. He doubted such thoughts could be a side effect of Ladonna’s curses, but perhaps his own mind had created them as a means of counteracting some of the poisonous visions. At any rate, they felt extremely real, much more so than even his strongest imaginings. They were like snippets of rich, vivid memories, and he would cherish them always, regardless of their origin. How else could he feel Raistlin holding him, kissing his forehead, his mouth, promising to never leave him?

After a few more delightful moments, he opened his eyes, and soon met Crysania’s smiling gaze as she looked up from her reading.

“You seemed so peaceful, I didn’t want to bother you,” she remarked.

He slowly sat up and wrapped his black silk dressing gown over his nightclothes. “Mornings have been much easier for me since you were here last.”

“Oh?” she asked, clearly pleased at this change.

“The visions still come sometimes,” he explained, carefully moving to sit at the edge of the bed, “but I am growing stronger. Shalafi has been so patient in teaching me to overcome them. Most times I can let them pass without much distress. There have been two or three bad ones recently, but I no longer feel so helpless.”

“That is wonderful, my friend!” said Crysania, moving toward the door. “Would you like anything in particular this morning?”

The upstairs pantry was always well stocked. “No, whatever we have will be fine,” he answered, making his way to the adjoining washroom.

She was setting the table when he reappeared, still in his dressing gown, but with his hair neatly brushed.

“And how are your wounds?” she asked.

“Much improved, as well. Shalafi believes the visions were connected to the wound above my heart. I can never thank you enough for your help in getting us those spellbooks. I still can’t believe…” He broke off, slowly shaking his head, his eyes full of wonder.

“It is simple. There are those among the White Robes who believe, as Raistlin does, in working together purely for the sake of Magic. As trying as this ordeal has been for you - and for him - I believe you can use it to advance your cause.”

“There is much work ahead,” said Dalamar, “and I welcome it!”

Crysania laughed lightly. “I’m sure you do, but you are still not at your full strength, in body or mind. That is your work for the present. It is crucial that you not overburden yourself. You have come so far, and you must allow the healing to continue, slow though it may seem.”

“I know,” he sighed, walking to the casement and pulling back the heavy drapes. “But it is quite frustrating to sit or lie around all the time, unable to fully contribute. I know Shalafi is impatient to make more progress...” He stared out the window, down into the gardens far below.

“And you are indispensable to his work, so your well-being is his primary concern at present. Come now,” she commanded cheerfully, beckoning him to the table.  “Have some breakfast. If you don’t it is I who shall be called to account for it!”

Dalamar chuckled at the absurdity of her words. His large appetite had returned quite early on in his convalescence, and Crysania knew it.

They ate quietly for awhile, then Crysania’s face became serious. “Your devotion - to your work - is most admirable,” she said, a slight edge in her voice as she handed him a second cup of tea.

“I am fortunate to be here,” said Dalamar earnestly. “I would do anything for the Magic - to strengthen my knowledge, my skills…”

Crysania’s reply was blunt, but gentle. “And there is nothing you would not do for your master, I think.”

He closed his eyes, and it seemed that his heart grew suddenly heavy. “I would gladly die for him,” he said simply.

“And you nearly did!”

His expression became grim. “I did not set out that night to lay my life on the line, but I would do it again, if necessary, without hesitation. I made a dangerous error by underestimating the Conclave. But now I believe Shalafi recognizes the depth of my own loyalty, to the Magic, and to him. That is more than I ever hoped for.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her brow furrowed. Finally she gave voice to her thoughts.

“Forgive me, Dalamar, if I speak out of turn, but...I would wager that you have hoped, and dreamt, of a great deal more.”

Her words were intrusive but her face was warm and compassionate.

He laughed low and caustically, turning toward the window. “Well, you know what the Dwarves say…. ‘Spit in one hand, hope in the other, and see which one fills up!’”

“How... charming!” said Crysania with a distasteful look.

Dalamar, sighing again, leaned his elbows on the table, head propped on his hands. “Have I been terribly obvious?!”

“Not at all,” she assured him. “Do not trouble yourself. I see more than most. And I am not so close to the situation, therefore I have a more objective view.”

He looked thoughtful.

“May I ask you, Lady...”

She raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

“Crysania,” he corrected sheepishly. “I do not know how to ask this…” He paused. “Did you not...was there never…?”

“Something between Raistlin and me?” she finished for him. “ Aside from our mission and eventual friendship?”

He nodded, cringing a little to be making such a personal inquiry.

“No, Dalamar,” she assured him, with a slight shake of her head. “I believe he considered the possibility, briefly, and I very much hoped at one time, early on. But, no.”

She smiled warmly at him.

“ And now I am fervently glad,” she continued, and he could feel her sincerity. “Such a union could have only ended in turmoil. Our current relationship is satisfying to both of us, and is a much more productive arrangement.”

“But he must have desired you…? You’re so -” He broke off, afraid of giving offense.

“Indeed?” A giggle escaped her lips. “Well, the most notorious lover in Palanthas can surely judge desirability!”

He laughed, only a little self-conscious. “No doubt my reputation is greatly exaggerated, but I am not ashamed of it.” Then his expression changed. HIs eyes were wistful and his words almost melancholy. “Truthfully? I have not visited the city for - companionship - in well over a year! Such frivolity no longer holds my interest.”

“Then you are now content to sleep alone?”  challenged Crysania.

He stared blankly at the floor. “If I cannot have...what I desire...then, yes!” he said, almost defiantly, his native accent creeping in.

She continued her assault. “And you desire Raistlin?”

The elf lifted his head and swallowed hard. “Gods help me, yes!” He buried his face in his hands. “And that is its own curse! He would never...he sees such things as a distraction, a weakness of will…”

“Are you in love with him, Dalamar?” she asked with quiet compassion.

Slowly, he looked up, his face woeful, then sat back against the chair as if overcome by a wave of exhaustion. “ In love ...with him?” He paused, his breath ragged, his grey eyes gleaming. He held out his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Crysania, I belong to him! He is my life...my world. He is the Magic. He is everything! We could accomplish so much, if only he could see-” he broke off with a sigh.

Twisting a frustrated hand in his long hair, he continued. “There have been moments...there are times when I would swear , on everything that I am, that he feels something; is about to speak, or reach out his hand to me. Then, an instant later I am equally certain that I am nothing more than a lovesick fool.”

Here he muttered something in Silvanesti as slow tears began to flow over his porcelain skin. He leaned toward her, and his voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I live for him, Crysania. Whatever his wishes me to be, that I will be for him. Friend, lover, companion….apprentice, servant...whatever he needs, and will allow, that is what I am, what I shall be...for him.”

Crysania’s tearful smile answered his desperate look. “Oh, Dalamar…” She took his hands, sighing sympathetically.  “Now, to answer your earlier question...did Raistlin desire me? Perhaps. But I think it more likely that he desired, after a lifetime of loneliness, to be close to someone...someone he held in high esteem. You know, more than most, that his life has been one of bitter isolation.”

Dalamar spoke half aloud, half to himself. “If only I could ease that loneliness...prove to him..show him that growing closer will only make us that much stronger. If only he would allow me a chance... “

“You,” began Crysania, nodding. “Yes, I believe you are the only one who could ever have such a chance.”

The elf’s grey eyes sparkled with sudden hope. “Do you truly believe he could come to care for me?”

“Dalamar,” she began, “I cannot speak for Raistlin, nor can I know his mind, but…” She paused, cautiously choosing her words.

“Has he said something?” asked Dalamar, suddenly very alert and tense. “Anything at all that might-?”

“Calm yourself!” Crysania nearly hissed as she placed a firm hand around the elf’s wrist. “Raistlin will have my head for getting you into such a state!” she admonished in a low voice, though her eyes held a tiny smile.

He settled back into his chair, though his face was a study of impatience. Crysania took his hand, and held his gaze firmly with her own.

“All I can tell you, Dalamar, is what I have witnessed. You know that Raistlin and I once faced unimaginable terror together. And I had never seen him so shaken, never truly seen fear in his eyes...until this incident. When you were lying unconscious, each time the curses took hold of you...Raistlin was beside himself!”

She clasped his hand in both her own, drawing closer as she continued, her voice even lower now. “And after the danger had passed, and you were sleeping peacefully…” Her smile was radiant, her heart in her eyes as she continued, “the way he looked at you...I am no wizard, Dalamar, but I can sense things. There was no mistaking that look. And I saw it on multiple occasions.”

“Raistlin is unquestionably fond of you, at the very least. And, I -” Here she broke off, standing abruptly. “No, I cannot -. I have said too much already. I will not venture into guesswork...”

The elf rose slowly, and pulled her into a strong embrace. Then he stepped back, and his beautiful face was alight. “You have given me immeasurable hope. I had convinced myself to remain content with serving him, being near him...”

Crysania shrugged. “And perhaps that is best. I do not know if he will ever allow himself to accept more. Had it not been for recent events, I would have much more doubt. But I am encouraged to learn the depth of your feelings. It is my dearest wish to see him happy...to see both of you happy.”

She took his hands again, and looked deeply into his eyes. “I can only suggest that you move slowly. Slowly and carefully. Bide your time and have patience. Raistlin does not trust his own heart, Dalamar...but you must trust yours. ”

Chapter Text

Dalamar sank carefully down into the bathtub, then slowly released his hold on Raistlin’s hands.

“Oh, Shalafi, this is wonderful,” he breathed, as delectable warmth enveloped his body to the middle of his chest.

He knew it was considerably more trouble for Raistlin to help him into the bath, and then attend him, than it was to simply wipe him down in bed, but he appreciated the small measure of independence it gave him. Not to mention the utter luxury of lying in the large enameled tub, reveling in the hot water and relaxing scents.

“Remain sitting up for a moment; do not get the bandage wet,” ordered Raistlin, as he twisted the elf’s long dark hair into a loose knot.

“You may as well leave it down, Shalafi,” protested the elf. “It desperately needs washing.”

“Patience, apprentice. I shall do a proper job of it when you have finished bathing.” He laid a new cake of soap and a fresh cloth on the side of the tub.

“But I-”

“You cannot think to do it yourself, not with the condition of your arm,” stated Raistlin with finality, and Dalamar nodded his acquiescence.

Kneeling beside the large enameled tub, Raistlin carefully removed the bandage on Dalamar’s chest, then briefly studied the wound. He filled a cupped hand with water and poured it slowly over the healing skin.

“Ooooh,” hissed the elf. “Still, it is nothing compared to what it was,” he hastened to add.

The archmage nodded. “The salt water will be highly beneficial for all of your injuries,” he said, lathering the washcloth.

“Gods, yes!” said Dalamar, leaning forward as Raistlin slowly moved the soapy cloth over his shoulders and back. “I feel a thousand times better already!”

“Excellent!” said Raistlin approvingly. He stood and moved toward the doorway, then turned and fixed his gaze on his apprentice.

“I will return in ten minutes. Call out if you need assistance before then. Do not tax yourself,” came the gentle order. “Promise me, Dark Elf!”

“I do promise, Shalafi,” he answered sincerely.

Then he smiled and began rubbing the washcloth over his face.

‘Dark Elf’. The term had long ago lost its original scathing bite, and had gradually become an odd sort of nickname. Now, though...the past three weeks had been so strange, and Dalamar dared not fully trust his own recent judgement, yet there had been a subtle, but definite, change in the way his Master addressed him.

Raistlin, his strangely beautiful human master, the man who had become his whole world. He glanced cautiously toward the doorway before sliding his hand longingly down the length of his torso ...then stopped. There was no time to relieve the delicious ache, and no possibility of hiding either the physical or energetic evidence of such an indulgence. Besides, he chuckled under his breath, such activity would likely fall under the currently forbidden category of “taxing himself!” So he washed his body slowly, eyes half-closed, envisioning Raistlin’s fine, golden fingers wrapping tightly around him, caressing... Oh, gods…

He took a deep breath, steadied his gaze, and moved the cloth down his leg, drawing his foot up a little, then proceeded methodically to the other side. Raistlin could return at any moment, and Dalamar would die of embarrassment to be caught in the act of touching himself, or even with a hint of lingering lust on his face - or on his mind, for that matter. The archmage was so damned perceptive. Using controlled breathing and his well-developed powers of focus, he quickly calmed his unruly body and mind. Fantasizing would have to wait for a later time.

Returning, Raistlin carefully added a kettle of near-boiling water to the bath. Then he folded a thick towel and laid it along the edge of the tub. Cradling the base of Dalamar’s head in his hand, he placed the other on his shoulder.

“Lie back now,” he ordered softly, and guided the elf into a comfortable position, then loosened his hair to fall freely over the side of the tub. He moved a large, empty basin into position on the floor, and settled himself onto a low stool.

“You have such lovely hair, apprentice. It pained me, having to cut it,” he said quietly, a note of bitterness making its way into his voice as he worked an ornate comb through the thick, lustrous strands, gently untangling them.

The sentimental remark caught Dalamar by surprise, but he somehow managed to reply. “Nonetheless, you did an excellent job, Shalafi, and I thank you for taking such care. It must have been a mess to work through.”

“It kept me busy for several hours, but I know it is one of your vanities. And after everything you had endured…” He paused, seemingly still determined to avoid discussing the details of the attack. “No matter...the cut areas are hardly noticeable, and the hair will grow quickly.”

He then poured a pitcher of heated water over Dalamar’s hair until it was completely saturated. Dalamar closed his eyes while Raistlin slowly worked the soap into a rich lather, then rinsed it out completely. He did this twice more, working in his customary unhurried manner, the water and soap running off into the basin below.  Finally he lifted the elf’s head slightly and began to dry it with a thick towel.

“Shalafi?” asked Dalamar finally, opening his eyes and looking up.

“Yes, apprentice?” answered the archmage, eyes narrowing slightly at the guarded note in the elf’s voice.

“When may I explain - everything?” He bit the inside of his lip and looked away from his Master’s face.

Raistlin drew in a slow, deep breath. He said nothing, but continued drying the long, dark hair, working leisurely down toward the ends. Several long moments passed, and Dalamar began to assume that Raistlin’s silence was a continuing refusal to discuss the subject at all. Finally, the archmage laid the towel aside and opened a bottle of light, scented oil, which he began methodically working into the ebony tresses.

“We will take supper in the library this evening, provided you are feeling well enough,”  he began at length, his golden gaze suddenly shifting from the task at hand onto the elf’s wide grey eyes. Dalamar held his breath and did not blink.

“Perhaps we will devote a few moments to a short discussion of recent events, if you wish.” His mouth turned up at the corner, almost imperceptibly, as he stared down into the elf’s rapt face. Then he smiled in earnest and passed his hand over Dalamar’s forehead and down over his eyes, gently closing them. “But now I ask that you put it out of your mind, and enjoy your bath.” He poured more oil into his hands, wove them into the hair on Dalamar’s scalp, and began a gentle massage.

“Feels so good,” sighed the elf, doing his best to obey by concentrating on his Master’s touch. “Even my wrist aches less when you do that.”

“Good,” answered Raistlin, and his voice was low but uncharacteristically rough. He sprinkled some dried herbs into the bath, and Dalamar nearly melted at the rush of calming scents. “Being fully relaxed will help you immeasurably,” he said soothingly. “Do not hesitate to fall asleep. I will make sure the water stays hot.” He began massaging the elf’s temples, his forehead, then his jaw.

Though his eyes remained closed, Dalamar could not have fallen asleep for all the gold on Krynn. Raistlin’s touch was gentle, verging on tender, but it sent small shocks throughout his body. The skilled fingers moved down his neck, then along his collarbone and chest. Dalamar quickly found a narrow place in his mind which allowed him to control his physical reactions while thoroughly enjoying the contact.

“Mmm, Shalafi...nice…” he murmured aloud. “ So sweet… ” he sighed to himself.

(Illustration by Elena Zambelli)

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Hours later, as he stood before the large looking glass in Raistlin’s room, it seemed an eternity to Dalamar since he had studied his own reflection. Fearing to add to his distress, Raistlin had up until tonight only allowed him an occasional glance in a small hand mirror. But now, wearing a midnight blue velvet doublet over a plain black silk tunic, and with his hair brushed and braided back on the sides, the elf felt pleased, overall, at his appearance. The dark smudges under his eyes had faded considerably, and only a few nearly-healed cuts and some very faint bruising remained on his face.

Aaah...he would never again take for granted the delicious pleasure of being freshly bathed! His black hair fairly shone, thanks to Raistlin’s attentions. After the bath he had sat for over an hour, wrapped in blankets in front of the fire, while his Master dried it and combed it out again; behaving for all the world like a devoted servant, and not the most powerful man on Krynn. He would hear none of Dalamar’s protests that he could do these things for himself.

In truth, the elf had never enjoyed anything more than being coddled by Raistlin, but it seemed so strange and wrong, somehow. So much had changed in so short a time, and Dalamar was, by turns, confused, delighted, and distressed at Raistlin’s frequently solicitous behavior, as well as his uncharacteristic silence and comparative lack of temper. The coming evening was a perfect example, and the elf’s mind was a stew pot of mixed emotions. Terror and relief gripped him, in equal measure, at the thought of the upcoming discussion.

Then there was a different kind of terror, mingled with eager anticipation at the prospect of dining with Raistlin on something akin to an equal level. At least Dalamar doubted that he would be filling his accustomed role of servant. He could almost, for a moment, entertain the thought that he and his Master were merely good friends who were meeting to share a meal and conversation. In his wildest imaginings, of course, he saw them as a pair of devoted lovers spending a delectable evening together. He allowed himself a mischievous smile at his reflection. “Oh, Shalafi…” he whispered. “Such sweet pleasures I would show you, if only you would allow it.”

Dalamar freely admitted to himself that he wished to be attractive to Raistlin, even if his Master never indicated by word or deed that such an attraction existed. Merely the knowledge that he was pleasing to the eye gave the elf a measure of satisfaction. His own needs were secondary to Raistlin’s, and if he could provide even a small amount of pleasure by enhancing his own natural beauty, then he would gladly do so.

Surveying his attire, he hoped he wasn’t overdressed, though his choices could be easily justified by his enthusiasm at having an opportunity to wear something other than robes and sleeping clothes. And, after all, Raistlin had brought a sizeable portion of Dalamar’s wardrobe from his smaller rooms at the other end of the long hallway. Surely he considered all of it at least somewhat suitable.

The faint sound of footsteps far down the hallway caused the elf to turn, abruptly, to face the door. His preternatural hearing gave him several minutes’ warning, but it would likely take that long to steer his features and thoughts into more neutral territory. He quickly took a book from the nearby shelf and sat down on a chair near the fire, doing his best to concentrate on reading, and on giving the impression that his stomach most certainly did NOT feel as if he had swallowed a jar of dragonflies.

Chapter Text

With the exception of Raistlin’s private suite, the small sitting room off the upstairs library was the warmest of the Tower’s upper-floor rooms. Raistlin spent a fair amount of time here, and Dalamar had served him quite a few meals at the heavy, ornate table near the window. On a handful of occasions they had dined here together, the large table nearly overrun with ancient volumes, as they worked late into the night researching some elusive bit of vital information.

That his Master now kept to anything resembling a regular schedule was entirely due to Dalamar, and the elf privately considered it one of his finest achievements. Shortly after entering Raistlin’s service he had begun a slow, calculated campaign to restore, as far as possible, the young archmage’s infamously shattered health. As expected, this had proved to be an uphill struggle. Aside from a near-obsession with cleanliness, Raistlin had long paid little heed to his body’s physical requirements, and it had taken all of Dalamar’s considerable efforts and a fair bit of subtle charm to convince him that reasonable amounts of food and rest were not, in fact, a waste of valuable time, but would instead be of great benefit to his work.

Watching him now, across the table, the elf felt his heart swell. Though not completely recovered from the past weeks' tribulations, Raistlin nevertheless looked far better than he had during Dalamar’s first months at the Tower. He was still quite thin, but no longer gaunt, and the hard lines of his face had softened considerably. Were it not for his strange eyes and odd coloring, some might now consider him almost handsome in the classical sense. Dalamar thought him exceptionally beautiful, of course, and, throughout the delicious meal, had been hard put to keep his attention on his food. To him, Raistlin was nothing short of dazzling tonight, the glow of the candles and the firelight accentuating the faint golden hue of his skin. His tunic was plain, but fashioned of the finest blood red silk. His close-fitting black breeches had subtle lacing down the sides, and disappeared into a pair of buttery soft dark brown doeskin boots that hugged his slim but well-formed calves.

And his hair - dear gods, such beautiful hair! It hung loosely down to the middle of his back, a few shorter locks curling gently about his shoulders. Dalamar had rarely seen it completely unbound, and then only in his early days here, when he had cared for Raistlin during illness. Tonight it had almost been his undoing. Though popular rumour painted the legendary color as merely “white,” “grey,” or “silver, in reality it was an almost iridescent white, with no hint of grey or any other hue. “Ice” had been Dalamar’s immediate thought upon seeing his Master for the first time. He had never beheld such a shade, even among his own people.

Unaccustomed to dining together in this way, most of their conversation had revolved around the details of the meal itself. The elf finished the last of his cake as Raistlin poured them each a second glass of wine.

“Thank you, Shalafi,” said Dalamar quietly.

Raistlin lifted an eyebrow as he set down the bottle.

“The meal - it was lovely. And…” Overtaken by a sudden wave of shyness, his eyes moved quickly over Raistlin, then he gestured at his own attire, and received a small, crooked smile in return.

“I thought you might benefit from some semblance of a social occasion,” said Raistlin, clearly warmed by his apprentice’s delight and gratitude.

“It has been a welcome change,” confirmed Dalamar with an answering smile.

“For the both of us,” said Raistlin, fixing the elf with a long look. “Shall we sit by the fire?” he asked softly, taking a silver chalice in each hand as he rose to his feet.

Dalamar followed obligingly, settling himself at one end of the plush velvet sofa. Raistlin set the cups on a low table, then moved about the room, extinguishing most of the candles. Returning, he joined his apprentice on the large sofa, sitting far closer than Dalamar would have expected. He could have easily reached out a hand and touched his Master. If only such a thing were possible…

Raistlin sat patiently, his face calm as he looked at Dalamar. “You do not owe me any explanation, Dark Elf, and there is no need to speak about your ordeal at this time.” His voice was warm and reassuring. He sipped his wine, then slowly continued.

“Of course we will need to discuss the details, once we begin to plan our strategy, but I am quite satisfied to wait until you are stronger.” He fixed the impatient Dalamar with a long look before he resumed speaking. “However, it seems as though you have a need to talk about it, which I will not discourage. Perhaps it will help you.”

Dalamar nodded, seemingly undecided as to how to begin.

“You may speak freely,” prompted Raistlin gently.

“Shalafi, I…” the elf began, shaking his head in frustration. Tears sprang, unbidden and unwelcome, into his eyes as he looked up into Raistlin’s. “I am sorry!” he finally whispered. “I have cost you so much time, have become such a burden to you-”

“No!” commanded the archmage, a bit harshly, though his apprentice knew the anger in his Master’s voice was not directed at him. “I want no apologies from you.”

But, having finally begun, Dalamar could no longer hold back. “I did not know, Shalafi,” he continued, his voice almost desperate. “ They weren’t supposed to be there! I had no idea they would come to Palanthas.” He shivered at the memory, but pressed on. “I was sure we had satisfied them for the present, that we had months, at the least, before they would increase their demands. Otherwise I would have certainly asked for your help. I was merely to meet with one of Ladonna’s apprentices. An hour of my time, I assumed, and then I would report to you afterward. I did not think it worth bothering you with beforehand. I was unprepared, I…” He stopped again and looked helplessly at Raistlin.

Raistlin’s face grew harder, an almost pained expression twisting his features. “This was not your fault, apprentice! You were deliberately deceived, then tortured, and nearly killed, by the Conclave because you refused to give them access to me. Has it not occurred to you that I owe you my life?”

“No, Sha-” began Dalamar, with a bleak expression, but his Master held up a hand against any arguments.

“More than that, even,” continued Raistlin, “for you know what my work means to me. You stood against the Conclave of Mages - alone, I remind you - to protect me, and my Magic!”

“And I would do it again, Shalafi,” whispered the elf, his native accent strong and his breathing heavy as tears streamed freely from his glistening grey eyes. “I serve the Magic above all things, and you are the greatest wizard ever born. It is my honor to serve you, to die for you if called upon. My life is nothing compared to -”

“There you are wrong!” There was a hitch in Raistlin’s voice as he issued the reprimand. “Dark Elf, look at me...”

Dalamar obeyed, raising his eyes to meet Raistlin’s.

“Your death would have cost me dearly. You must understand-”

His choked out these last words, then clutched at his chest, overcome by a long fit of coughing.

The elf closed the distance between them, pulling a fresh handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it into his Master’s hand. Such intense coughing had, thank the gods, become a rarity in recent months, though it never failed to frighten Dalamar. However, there was no blood on the cloth when Raistlin lowered it, so the elf breathed deeply in relief and handed Raistlin his wine before moving back to his original seat.

Raistlin’s voice was noticeably weaker when he resumed speaking.

“As you well know, this,” he began, gesturing at his chest, “was one of Par Salian’s ‘gifts’ to me. One of several, each of which you have been instrumental in helping me overcome.”

He stared into the fire for a long moment, then looked back at Dalamar. “I once vowed revenge for the Conclave’s treatment of me, but over the years I had slowly begun to soften on that point. Par Salian is merely what he is, and I had almost convinced myself that our plan to overthrow the Conclave would be punishment enough for him. As long as the Magic is served, personal revenge is generally of little consequence, and the required time and energy best used elsewhere.”

Raistlin’s eyes grew harder and his voice acidic as he continued. “But what he did to you, Dalamar…what he allowed Ladonna to do. I cannot forgive these things, and I have no wish to try. They almost took you from me, and they will pay! Your suffering will be avenged!”

Dalamar shrank back into the cushions a little, shocked at his Master’s suddenly venomous tone. But soon Raistlin closed his eyes and drew a long deep breath, then opened them and fixed Dalamar with a much calmer expression. “As I have said, Dark Elf...none of this is your fault.” He spoke in a soothing, comforting tone now.”You have done me a great service, and you deserve a great deal of loyalty in return. So, no more foolish talk about burdens and wasted time. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Shalafi,” he whispered, feeling very weak now.

“I fear this is still too distressing for you. Drink,” he ordered, passing him the cup, and the elf obliged with a long sip. His Master was right. He was swept with a wave of fatigue.

Handing back the chalice, he began trembling helplessly. Raistlin quickly crossed the room, retrieved his thick velvet cloak from a hook by the door, and laid it over his apprentice like a blanket. He sat very close now, and put his hands on the elf’s shoulders, his face was filled with a familiar concern. “It isn’t -?”

“Not the visions, no. Only memories…” He shuddered. “You were right, Shalafi. I need more time...”

“It will get easier, Dark Elf. I promise you that.”

Dalamar nodded almost imperceptibly, but he was sobbing softly and didn’t speak.

“Damn it all,” muttered Raistlin after a second’s hesitation, and then quietly pulled the elf into his arms, wrapping the cloak around both of them.

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Dalamar, exhausted and drained, sighed contentedly now as he lay his head on Raistlin’s shoulder. Oh, the sweet comfort of his Master’s embrace! The heat of his skin, the spicy, Magical smell of him, his luscious hair silky-soft against Dalamar’s cheek. All so strange, yet so familiar...and so like his lovely dreams.

No! Oh - not dreams at all! The realization was like a lightning bolt through his heart as a soft gasp of astonishment took the air from his lungs. At the same moment, he felt an answering jolt of comprehension from Raistlin, who stiffened slightly and began to pull away. Surely he had surmised the cause of Dalamar’s sudden reaction, and now it would all be over.

Fresh tears welled up in the elf’s soul, for he knew that this was to be the first - and last - time that Raistlin would embrace him like this, while he was fully conscious. Yet how many times had he held him during these last weeks, when excruciating pain and torturous visions had gripped him so mercilessly?

“Please, Shalafi...no,” he begged, his voice a desperate whisper against the warm skin of his Master’s neck. “Not just yet...please!” He held tighter, deepening their embrace, and felt Raistlin gradually settle back against the cushions, pulling the cloak more securely about them both.

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Raistlin’s mind was a vortex of conflicting emotion. Well, why shouldn’t he allow himself this? Just this once? This sweet, slow moment of closeness after the horror and exhaustion of recent weeks. Of course, it could never go any further...he could never allow himself to be so vulnerable. Nor could he risk a failed, foolish attempt at love. The elf was young for one of his race, extremely devoted to him, and very much in love with Magic. Surely that was the source of his confusion, and it was Raistlin’s responsiblilty to guide him in the proper direction.

By risking his life as he had done, Dalamar had both proven his loyalty and become an indispensable part of Raistlin’s work and his plans. Such devotion was a most unexpected advantage, and Raistlin would not squander it. He must put the work first, as always; above himself and his own heart, no matter how that heart might cry out for him to take his beautiful apprentice into his arms and claim him as his own. To obey his soul’s longing for the only being who could ever truly fill its lifelong emptiness.

The elf grew heavier aginst him, nearly asleep now as he whispered something in his native tongue, then sighed peacefully against his Master’s chest. Raistlin twined his fingers in the soft hair and lightly brushed his lips over the black strands. “ Oh, Dalamar,” he thought, closing his own eyes for a precious moment as he held the sleeping form. “ My heart’s treasure .”

There would be no more of this after tonight. He knew that. The elf’s health was so much improved that there would be no further need for the physical closeness that Raistlin had too quickly become accustomed to. He must henceforth be satisfied to have Dalamar work by his side, and be content with their companionship. But he would always have these priceless memories...would keep them and cherish them until he drew his last breath.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

An afternoon fog lay thick over the gardens as Dalamar gazed out the library window to the grounds below. His Master had departed the Tower only a short while before, but the elf already grew impatient for his return. He had assured Raistlin that he was quite well enough to be left alone for the day, and he was making a concerted effort to push back the inevitable cloud of anxiety and live up to that promise, but it was proving most difficult.

The icy hand of fear that had gripped him that morning, when Raistlin had announced his intention to attend the Council session, had now relaxed its hold somewhat; at least enough that he been able to hide his trepidations and help his Master prepare for the trip into Palanthas. Dalamar understood that Raistlin must continue his customary activities in order to protect them both, and to advance their plans. Though his visits to town were infrequent, too long an absence could raise bothersome questions.

The important citizens of Palanthas would never advertise the fact that they had connections to the Tower, but a growing number of them did, nonetheless. Many considered the presence of a black mage amongst them to be a distasteful but potentially useful turn of events, and a small contingent even held a grudging admiration for the enigmatic young archmage. His power was growing in the world, and they were willing to form almost any alliance that might be to their benefit. Raistlin Majere could be swift and ruthless when crossed, but among those who played by his rules he had gained a reputation for being surprisingly fair in his financial and political alliances.

So, Raistlin had chosen to attend the meeting, as he had often done in the past, and make his first public appearance in many weeks. It was crucial that everyone believe the rapidly spreading rumour that Dalamar was dead, and Raistlin’s presence in Palanthas without his apprentice of nearly two and a half years would be quite telling. Dalamar had always dutifully awaited the conclusion of the meetings in the servants’ area of the Council chambers, and had never been present during the actual proceedings, but he was acutely aware of the respect and deference with which the leaders of Palanthas viewed his Master. No matter their personal opinion of Raistlin, they all feared him unconditionally, as they had always feared Magic itself, even those who did not hesitate to regularly employ it to their advantage.

Dalamar exhaled slowly, hoping to calm his agitation. Despite his ever present concern for Raistlin’s well-being, he had to acknowledge to himself that there really was very little reason to worry for his safety. His Master was, after all, an extremely powerful man, and fully capable of looking out for himself. And, while it was true that the the heads of the Conclave would love nothing more than to see him dead, Raistlin was the first wizard in millenia to learn the secrets of the Tower, with its vast library and legendary stock of ancient Magical artifacts. They would not move against him without a likelihood of gaining access to these treasures. Dalamar understood the logic of the matter, and it all made sense. The gnawing disquiet, however, did not completely leave him, and he well knew that he could not argue with the feeling. It never helped.

He returned to his seat at the table and resumed his attempt to work through a very tedious but important translation. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples, unwilling to concede defeat. Though the visions themselves had not plagued him in almost a month, he was repeatedly filled with varying levels of this now-familiar anxiety. It was quite mild in most instances, especially if Raistlin was nearby, and only lasted a few seconds; at other times it was almost paralyzing. He had been fighting it, off and on, all day. In addition, he frequently found himself habitually touching his nearly healed chest wound, and this seemed to increase the feelings of foreboding; yet he couldn't manage to stop, and this was maddening. These residual effects of Ladonna's curses were beginning to wear on him, though Raistlin was confident that they would all pass, in time, and bade him not to give them too much thought.

Still unable to focus on his current task, Dalamar placed a marker in the book and walked into the adjacent sitting room. He sank gracefully onto the plush velvet sofa and let his mind wander to the only subject that could fully distract him when he was alone.

“They almost took you from me,” his Master had said. Enraged and with his guard lowered, Raistlin’s face had, for a sliver of a moment, shone plainly with raw emotion. Then, a short time later, he had gently taken the overwrought Dalamar into his arms, cradling him like a child, and held him until he slept.

Feeling a bit like a foolish schoolgirl, the elf nonetheless closed his eyes and basked in the precious memory, no less vivid for being three weeks old. Here, on this sofa, in that soul-soothing embrace, the truth had become clear and his doubts had been forever dispelled. Raistlin loved him!

He had been suddenly sure of it that night and he was even more so now. In these last weeks, more and more of his lost memories had come back to him, and he knew now that Raistlin’s affectionate behavior during the time of his recovery had been neither imagined nor dreamt. He had collected a vast treasure trove of remembrances now, and the crown jewel was that astonishing night on the sofa, wrapped in Raistlin’s cloak and nestled in his arms.

Dalamar had awoken the following morning alone and in Raistlin's bed, where he had continued to sleep since the attack. His first glimmer of consciousness had brought with it a warmth in his soul such as he had never imagined, closely followed by the certain knowledge that he must keep his emotions well hidden, now more than ever before. He could not indicate, by word or manner, the sheer delight that now danced through his soul. He must be utterly circumspect, and go forward as if the events of the previous evening had indeed been a dream.

Of course Raistlin could, at any time, choose to know Dalamar’s thoughts, but the elf believed this possibility to be highly unlikely, since his Master seemed so keen to ignore the growing emotional bond between them. He also believed strongly in the rules of common courtesy amongst mages, and would not pry into the mind of an associate unless that person was a potential threat.

Shaking off these musings, Dalamar made his way to the door, threw his cloak over his shoulders, and stepped out into the drafty hallway. A few hours in the laboratory would keep his hands occupied and, hopefully, his mind as well. He was determined to please Raistlin by having something substantial to show that he had made good use of his time; that he had not wasted the day with needless worrying.

________________________________________

“Thank you for your kind invitation,” said Raistlin, standing, and the other half dozen inhabitants of the room hastened to follow suit. “But I must return to my work.”

The door was opened and servants filed in.

“Don’t you ever sleep, Archmage?” asked a richly dressed older woman, almost teasingly, as her attendant helped her into an ornate velvet mantle.

“Sometimes,” he answered cryptically, fixing her with an unblinking gaze and a rare ghost of a smile. Her skittish expression almost masked her blush, but not quite. Raistlin kept his amusement to himself.

He leisurely put on his own cloak as he watched the Council members take their leave. The meeting had been productive, and he had seamlessly accomplished everything he had set out to do. These people were quite easy to maneuver; almost eager to be manipulated, though his dealings with them were generally to the benefit of everyone involved. Raistlin would always keep the upper hand, but he did not believe in abusing his tools.

Walking outside to his private carriage, he shivered a little in the foggy night air. “The stables,” he ordered, and the driver nodded curtly while assisting him to enter the sumptuous interior. Before the carriage could make the short journey to the stables in town, Raistlin would already be back at the Tower. He preferred to travel the traditional way, but Magic would enable him to arrive home as swiftly as possible, and he was eager to do so tonight. Though he had given Dalamar the means to contact him if necessary, he wished to personally confirm that the elf was well and had not passed the day in too much distress. And, to be completely honest with himself, he had to admit that he had missed Dalamar’s presence at his side; missed being near him, talking with him, silently watching him as he worked or read or slept. Raistlin smiled to himself, then closed his eyes, focused his mind, and prepared to return to the Tower; to the warm, quiet comforts of home.

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“I am perfectly fine,” snapped Dalamar, picking up the kettle. He turned and began to pour steaming tea into two cups. Raistlin had returned from town a short while before to find his apprentice in a state of high agitation.

“Today has been difficult for you, I know,” said Raistlin in a tired but patient voice.

“I am not a child, Shalafi, in need of constant supervision.” He sipped at his tea, almost relishing the pain from the burning water.

“No, you are not.” Raistlin’s voice was firm now. “But you are still recovering from a trying ordeal and severe damage to both body and mind. It seems to me that you accomplished plenty in my absence, considering -”

“An adolescent human could have finished all of it in half the time! I should be doing much more important work, otherwise I am no use to you.”

“Do not interrupt me! You have made remarkable progress in less than three months, Dark Elf. A few more weeks and you will be working at your previous level. You would not be here if I believed you to be permanently damaged.”

Dalamar nearly dropped his teacup, looking suddenly sick. “You would have sent me away? The Conclave would have had me killed on sight!”

Raistlin set down his own cup and passed both hands over his face. “No, apprentice. I would not turn you out of the Tower. I was referring to here, ” he said, with an impatient sweep of his hand, “in my rooms, with access to my study and my books. I am saying that I trust you, you obstinate fool!”

Raistlin snatched up the kettle and walked toward the fireplace, where he took his time refilling it from a pitcher on the mantel, then hung it back on its hook above the flames. Dalamar watched him all the while, feeling a bit guilty, but not quite ready to let the argument die. For some perverse reason it was the most enjoyable thing that had happened all day, though not so long ago he would never have dared display such childish petulance with his Master.

Raistlin returned and took a seat beside him, speaking far more gently than the elf knew he deserved. “Had you come out of it a raving lunatic, Dalamar, I would never have sent you away. You would have been cared for here, and allowed to work in whatever capacity you were able. But, happily, you will soon be fully recovered, and we have much work to do.”

“I keep telling you I will move back into my own rooms,” said the elf in a much more subdued voice, as he stood and walked toward to the bookshelf by the fireplace.

“Damn it, Dark Elf, you are being deliberately contrary!” Eyes blazing, he pointed at the nearest chair. “Sit. Down.”

Dalamar obeyed at once, as it was obvious that his Master would no longer indulge him.

“Close your eyes,” ordered Raistlin, standing before him, “and breathe...”

The elf followed Raistlin’s voice as he guided him to relax, more and more deeply as the minutes passed. Finally the voice faded away and the elf felt a light touch on his forehead. Dalamar gradually blinked open his eyes.

“How do you feel now?” Raistlin asked.

“Much calmer, more myself,” he said quietly.

His Master’s smile was warm. “That was your own doing. I only guided your thoughts until you could take hold of them. I did not use Magic at all that time. ”

The elf nodded, eyes downcast in a show of contrition. “I apologize for being difficult, Shalafi. Only...I feel so weak and helpless these days.”

“You are far from being either, but you must give yourself more time. These anxious feelings will eventually fade, just as the visions did, but your impatience is of no benefit, to either of us or to the Work.”

“I understand,” said Dalamar.

“We will slowly resume basic energy work and see how you handle it. However, I still strongly advise you against practicing deep meditation on your own. I wish to be near you anytime you are not fully conscious. This is only a precaution, as I don’t expect the visions to return, but neither will I risk a setback in your progress. Is that clear?”

“Of course.”

“And that is why you will continue to sleep here until I decide otherwise,” said Raistlin.

“Of course, Shalafi,” repeated Dalamar. “But you should have your bed back. I am perfectly capable of sleeping on the settee. I’ve done it before.”

Raistlin scoffed. “And I have slept on the ground before, in all manner of weather, so the settee is fine. Your full recovery is our utmost priority,” he said, as the elf stood and began to clear the table. Then, almost as an afterthought, he softly added, “You are more important than you know.”  

art by Greenedera - IG - DA - Tumblr 

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(AUTHOR'S NOTE 1/27/17: If you have read this far, I assume you’re enjoying the story. Thank you for reading, and PLEASE let me know what you think, by either a comment,  a review, or a private message. This story is very dear to me, and I have at least six more chapters planned. I will also continue to edit existing chapters periodically.  If you have suggestions or something seems confusing, I would LOVE to hear from you! I am writing this story because it warms my heart. I am sharing it for the select few of you who feel the same way!)

Chapter Text

Par Salian,

I hope this message finds you well, and thus able to fully reflect upon the latest of your many crimes against our Art. My life continues to be dedicated, as ever, to the study and practice of Magic, whereas you and your associates seem to be treading ever further down a different path.

Whether you feel any remorse regarding your cowardly decision to murder a highly gifted mage is your own affair, though I harbor no doubts as to your comprehension of the vast amount of time and effort you have cost me.  

Though I have attempted to work unaided in recent weeks, I have come to realize what an inconvenience it truly is, having now fallen out of the habit of performing the more mundane aspects of my Work. It will require many months of my time to properly train another apprentice, therefore I shall soon be making my own choice in the matter without any, shall we say, ‘outside guidance’.

My tolerance for your childish games is at an end, and you would be wise to stay well out of my way henceforth.

---   R.M

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Raistlin turned away from the window and walked to a tall cabinet behind his desk, carefully placing the long silver and brass cylinder back in its handsome case on the shelf. The kaleidoscope was an especially fine work of art, featuring intricately carved gemstones in place of the usual cut glass. It had been a gift from Dalamar last Yule and since then hardly a day had passed that Raistlin did not indulge in the dazzling array of colors for at least a few moments. He often did this to help clear his mind between long stretches of work or study, and the respite had been especially welcome during the worst days of Dalamar’s illness. In those harrowing hours when he could not spare the strength or the will to hold off the effects of his cursed vision, the timeless beauty of the stones had been a soothing balm to his soul.  

“You needn’t knock, apprentice,” he called, hearing Dalamar approach the door to his study. The elf swept in, as graceful as ever, and smiled when his eyes met Raistlin’s. He had a vague air of excitement about him, and he smelled of flowers and late-morning sunshine. Raistlin sat back in his chair, gesturing for Dalamar to sit opposite him.

“Everything is well under way, Shalafi. All the furniture is in place, and every room on that floor is being cleaned and dusted as we speak. The servants seem pleased to have something more to do,” he laughed.

“There will be ample work for them soon enough. Thank you for seeing to the living arrangements.” He pointed to one of the scrolls on his desk. “Crysania has spoken with Andreyis, and their plan is set. He and Zielle will meet me at the Great Library in five days’ time. I will ensure that there are several witnesses to our conversation, as I would prefer to avoid the inconvenient accusation that I took them by force.”

Dalamar nodded. “No doubt. There will be enough scandalous talk as it is!”

“Indeed.” Raistlin raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth turned up. “It seems you have also made time to visit the gardens this morning.”

“I could hardly stay away! The weather is perfect, and there are blooms everywhere. Surely you could spare an hour outside,” he coaxed.

Raistlin narrowed his eyes. The elf knew his weak spot, and he also knew that a trip to the gardens would last far longer than an hour.

“Alright, Dark Elf,” he conceded. “I’ll meet you downstairs as soon as I finish these notes.”

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Dalamar knew very well that Raistlin’s roses had long been his private obsession, but he was pleased when, several months previously, his Master had also begun to spend time in this smaller, walled section of the garden. Raistlin had never expressed the least dismay at the many hours Dalamar had invested here, perhaps attributing them to the elf’s need to recapture a small piece of his lost homeland. Now that many of his exotic Silvanesti flowers had begun to bloom, the place was nothing short of breathtaking. The many layers of fragrance, the delicate chimes dancing in the trees, the soothing sound of the ancient marble fountain; all of these elements came together to create an otherworldly paradise.

Raistlin rarely sat idle, however, and had set up a work table in a corner where the garden wall intersected with the side of the Tower. There were several gardeners on staff who saw to the more mundane chores, as well as the kitchen garden, but Raistlin himself handled the propagation of most of the herbs, as well as his treasured rose bushes. Dalamar, under pretense of pruning a berry vine, watched him come through the gate leading from the main garden and lay an armful of long, thorny stems onto the table. This dark purple rose variety was one of the rarest in the world, and also a valuable spell component.

“Come here, Dark Elf,” called Raistlin, “and help me with these cuttings.”

The elf moved to the table and settled himself on the bench across from Raistlin. His Master always seemed happy, almost carefree, when absorbed in this work, and Dalamar fully understood. His own elvish nature was rarely so prevalent as when he was working in the gardens. He was eternally fascinated by the endless diversity, even amongst flowers of the same species. Their beauty was so majestic, yet so fleeting, at once both strong and fragile. Rather like a precious human life, though this was something he had only recently come to cherish.

Dalamar took one of the stems and began looking for the best place to cut it, but his heart had grown heavy. He turned his gaze to Raistlin again, and the sudden moisture in his eyes threatened to spill over. Even under the best of conditions, his Master’s life would be far shorter than his own, and this knowledge increasingly tore at Dalamar’s heart. Days were so priceless, minutes even. And they were passing, passing so swiftly, so needlessly devoid of...of what might have been. Of what could still be, perhaps, if only…

Gods, what was wrong with him? He must reign in this melancholy before-

“...don’t you agree?” Raistlin’s quiet voice cut through Dalamar’s thoughts. Had his Master asked him a question? He sat silently, attempting to collect himself.

When the elf did not answer, Raistlin raised his head from his work. “Are you quite well?” he asked, dropping his knife and hastening to the other side of the table.

Dalamar gasped softly as Raistlin placed a hand on his arm and bent to look into his face. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, he trembled like a leaf at his Master’s touch, his nearness.

“Dark Elf, tell me what is -”

“I am sorry, Shalafi, I…” He stopped. He couldn’t say it, shouldn’t even consider it.

Raistlin only seemed to grow more alarmed. He sat on the bench, his arm around the elf’s shoulders. “Is it -”

“I love you.” Dalamar felt a stirring of relief as the words left his lips; a growing calm beneath the terror that now gripped him as firmly as his Master’s shocked expression.

Raistlin released his hold, but the elf caught his wrist as he stood up and took a step backward.

“Shalafi…” he pleaded, clasping Raistlin’s hand in both of his, his voice rapidly gaining strength. “I love you,” he repeated, “with all that I am...and I -”

“Don’t do this, Dalamar!”

“- and I cannot continue to pretend otherwise,” he finished, eyes alight and jaw set with determination.

Finally extricating himself, the archmage slowly moved back several paces. ”Are you mad, apprentice? This is -”

“Hear me out, Shalafi!” He sank to his knees but kept his eyes on Raistlin. “Please!”

Raistlin’s face remained stormy, but he eventually gave a slight nod for Dalamar to continue.

The elf swallowed hard, then began to speak, his voice low but firm. “I am sorry if I have distressed you, but I could not go on as I have, not indefinitely. The Work would have suffered, and I hope you know that I would never allow that, no matter the consequences to me. It is for the sake of the Magic that I must speak my heart, even if you cast me out for it.”

He closed his eyes for a moment before once again meeting his Master’s gaze. He slowly stood up again and took a hesitant step toward Raistlin, palms up in a gesture of supplication.

“I have tried to keep my silence; and I...please know that I would have kept it, and taken it to my grave long years hence, but for this: I believe that you feel the same for me. If I am mistaken then tell me so, and we will leave it at that. But I can no longer waste -”

“Damn you, Dark Elf!” Raistlin whispered, a look of deep distress hardening his features.

But Dalamar shook his head, undaunted, though his fists and his jaw were now clenched in frustration and despair. “I know that you love me, Shalafi! No one holds another the way you have held me, or speaks the way you have spoken to me, not without - “  

“Dalamar,” came Raistlin’s anguished plea, “it is not that simple!” He turned away and started to slowly pace the ground.

“Isn’t it?” asked the elf with a desperate little laugh.

“That is to say, it could be that simple, if you would only allow it to be! Or you could tell me how wrong I am; that you do not love me! Nothing could be simpler than that, and there would be the end of it!”

Several agonizing moments passed before Raistlin turned back around. “If I am capable of loving anyone…,” he began, then stopped, seeming to carefully consider his next words.

He sighed deeply, settling onto a stone bench built into the garden wall, absentmindedly tearing at a large oak leaf.

“Dark Elf, you have become very...important to me, without question...and we have developed a bond of friendship, which you must know is no small thing to me. We work very well together, and I do not wish to be without you…but, Dalamar, you are asking...” He trailed off, looking lost, and the tiny shreds of the leaf floated up from his palm for a moment before cascading to the ground.

The elf, moving slowly, came to sit beside him on the bench. He raised a trembling hand and smoothed back a lock of his Master’s hair, lightly caressing his cheek in the process.

“Please, Shalafi,” he whispered, his voice coaxing yet reverent, before he leaned up and softly brushed Raistlin’s lips with his own. It was a chaste little kiss but it sent a lightning bolt through his soul and brought the faintest sound from Raistlin; more of a startled exhale than a sound, really.

“Oh,” breathed the elf, more than a little worshipful. His eyes searched Raistlin’s for the expected rejection but saw only stunned curiosity.  Dalamar brought his hand to rest lightly on Raistlin’s shoulder and met with very little resistance as he pressed their mouths together once more. This time there was no mistaking the soft moan in Raistlin’s throat, nor the arms that slowly wound their way around the elf’s back in a tentative gesture of possession.

Dalamar gently moved his lips, deepening the kiss, and was met with the faint taste of lemongrass as Raistlin opened to him, ever so slightly.

Then it was over, far too soon, as Raistlin broke the embrace and turned his head away.

“This is madness,” he hissed, rising from the bench and turning to face Dalamar, wearing his most sarcastic expression. “You have no shortage of willing bedmates, Dark Elf.”

“Damn it, Shalafi!” he cried, stricken. “That is not what I -” He leaned forward and put his head in his hands in a vain attempt to collect himself.

After many moments Dalamar looked up again and saw that sudden clouds had begun to obscure the brightness of the day.  Raistlin’s face was a mask as he leaned, arms crossed, against the trunk of a blue cherry tree.

Dalamar, eyes red but determined, held Raistlin’s gaze without blinking, and his voice was steady and clear. “I acknowledge that much of my scandalous reputation has been well-earned. But do not mistake me, Shalafi! I desire nothing less than your heart , freely given. I will not deny that I wish to lie with you; to bring you pleasure - but only if you also desire it; and only if you freely admit that you love me. I…”

“Oh, Dark Elf!” Raistlin sighed, his voice full of quiet exasperation, and perhaps a little remorse. “I do not doubt your sincerity. But I - I long ago gave up such foolish notions. That part of my soul is dead.”

“I don’t believe that!” countered Dalamar.

“In any case, it would be unwise to alter our relationship in such an irrevocable way! There is already great potential in our Work, and it must remain our priority.”

“Of course it shall!” insisted Dalamar. “There is no one alive who is more devoted to the Magic than we two, and I am convinced that a stronger bond between us will only enhance our power! Can you not imagine it?”

Raistlin looked thoughtful but said nothing, and the moments stretched into a long silence.

“My dearest wish is for your happiness, Shalafi,” said the elf finally, with a small, sad smile. “And if you do not desire me, then I hereby forsake such pleasure as long as you draw breath.”

He lifted his chin defiantly at Raistlin’s brief expression of surprise. “I am yours - yours alone - whether you choose to claim me or not!”

The ghost of every possible emotion seemed to cross Raistlin's face in quick succession, but he remained quiet.

“No matter what, Shalafi…” said Dalamar, his voice soft and gentle as tears streamed openly down his cheeks, “I will serve you faithfully, all the precious days of your life, and proudly carry on your legacy after you are gone.”

He paused,  "It will be up to you whether or not I ever again speak these words aloud, but know this: I will love you - always." His eyes held Raistlin's for a small eternity.

But Raistlin had apparently endured enough. “We have work to do,” he ordered, though not unkindly, and gestured for Dalamar to follow him, tying his own hair back as he walked.

Returning to the table, Raistlin picked up the knife and started cutting one of the green stems.“Now is not an appropriate time for such an absurd conversation. You are still recovering from your injuries, and not yet free of Magical influence, most especially my own. This could all be a side effect of recent events.”

“You know that’s not -” began Dalamar.

But Raistlin suddenly looked up. His jaw twitched, the golden eyes flared, and Dalamar knew he was about to cross a line.

“Yes, Shalafi,” he said, his tone carefully deferential once more, as he took up one of the cuttings and resumed his work. But his mind was a flood of emotions, no small part of which was relief. At last, he had confessed his true feelings and offered Raistlin his heart. Raistlin had pleaded, he had protested, and he had ended both the kiss and the conversation. But there had been no actual refusal, no outright denial, and the elf’s sore heart sang at this small victory and its faint glimmer of possibility.

Dalamar is about to speak his heart...and change everything.

(Illustration by Elena Zambelli)

Chapter Text

{ALL ARTWORK BY ELENA ZAMBELLI}

The woman leapt to her feet as soon as Dalamar passed through the doorway of the main library. Her crimson robes swirled gracefully about her as she rushed toward him and threw her arms around his shoulders.

“Oh, darling boy!”

She held him tightly for a long moment, and when she pulled away her eyes were red and glistening.

“I so badly wanted to do this when we arrived yesterday, but I was quite shaken.”

“And it would have been highly inappropriate behavior for a new apprentice,” teased the elf, smiling as he wiped a single teardrop from her face.

“Please forgive me. We’ve known for weeks that you were safe, despite the widespread reports to the contrary. It’s just...I was so heartsick when I thought -”

She shook her head and planted a small kiss on his cheek before quickly embracing him again.

“It’s just so good to see you. And if I may say it, you look quite well,” she said, smoothing back several auburn curls that had fallen out of her long braid.

“I am glad you think so, Zielle,” said Dalamar. “It has been...a difficult time,” he said, leading her to sit on a cushioned seat between two large bookshelves.

“And rest assured I do not expect you to recount any of it for my sake,” she said. But, if you find yourself needing to talk - needing anything at all - I am ever at your service. I have long treasured your friendship, and now…”

She trailed off, her gaze sweeping the extensive library before turning her face back to his. “You are the reason I am here, and don’t deny it! I know my family connection must have played a part, but I can never thank you enough for recommending me.”

The elf smiled. “Your grandmother’s name carries a lot of weight, it’s true, but rest assured that my own influence was not due to favoritism. Rather, it was my familiarity with your talent and commitment, and my ability to trust you. Shalafi asked for my guidance in the matter, and he deserves no less than the very best - in this case that is you, my dear. I know that your skills will prove immensely valuable to our work here. And I was so pleased to hear you had accepted, despite the inevitable consequences.”

“You must be mad to think I would have declined!” she laughed. “To serve such a master...to be one of the first to set foot in this place once again…As soon as I learned Andrey was welcome to accompany me, nothing could have kept me away!”

“Your relationship with Andrey is too well-known. The Conclave would have never left him in peace once you entered Shalafi’s service. Besides, he has been invaluable to Lady Crysania, and she was rather concerned that Par Salian would eventually connect him to the missing spellbooks.”

“Then I must thank her when I finally meet her; and I hope that will happen soon, now that we are here. Andrey has shared with me very little regarding Lady Crysania, and his work with the clerics.”

“Well, I know little of the particulars myself, but I can tell you that one of those books saved my sanity, and perhaps my life, not so long ago.”

He fell silent, staring into the distance for several moments before turning back to her with a smile.

“Do you find your rooms to your liking?”

She nodded. “Much nicer than I expected, though I’m not sure what I -” She stopped as the elf suddenly looked toward the door.

“They are approaching.”

Zielle rose at once and followed Dalamar across the large room, reaching the entrance just as Raistlin entered. He was magnificent in his black velvet robes. His hair fell neatly behind his shoulders and he held the Staff of Magius in one hand. A tall man with long, dark braids followed closely behind, the pure white of his own robes a startling contrast to the rich ebony color of his skin.

Zielle came to stand beside Dalamar, and both apprentices bowed their heads respectfully to Raistlin, who favored them with a slight

nod. He looked pointedly at Zielle, then at Andreyis, before he spoke.

“I am satisfied that this new arrangement will prove beneficial to all of us. Please wait in the library while I speak briefly with Dalamar. Afterward you will spend the remainder of the afternoon with him. He will show you the grounds and give you further instruction.”

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Dalamar followed Raistlin down the hall and out onto the breezeway that led to the main staircase. “You seem pleased, Shalafi,” he said tentatively when Raistlin stopped walking. The air was fresh and cool, considerably less humid than it had been in recent days.

Raistlin nodded. “I spoke with each of them at length. They are both highly intelligent, and will likely serve us well.” ( Us , noted the elf, his heart skipping a few beats.)

“I fully expect that they will,” agreed Dalamar. “Zielle’s skills with research and translation were well-known even before I left Wayreth. I have no doubt she will prove extremely useful, and I know you will also be pleased with Andreyis.”

Raistlin nodded, but spoke nothing for a long moment.

“It will be good for you to have friends here,” he said eventually, and his face held a dark look which seemed rather at odds with his positive remarks. “I know it has been difficult for you, being confined to the Tower. You are a far more social creature than I have ever been.”

Dalamar took a step closer and gave Raistlin what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I will certainly enjoy their company, Shalafi, but I assure you I was already quite content,” he said, choosing his words with the utmost care in order to convey his sincerity without undue - and likely unwelcome - emotion.  “I am here to serve you, and it is my honor and pleasure to do so,” he finished, bowing his head slightly, though he did not drop his eyes from Raistlin’s piercing gaze.

“And you have done so...most admirably,” said the archmage, a fierce note in his seemingly calm voice.

The wind changed direction then, blowing a strand of the elf’s hair across his face, and Dalamar reached up to brush it away. But he found himself stifling a gasp as Raistlin clasped a hand around his forearm. A moment later he stopped breathing entirely as Raistlin's thumb began lightly tracing the veins along his wrist.

“You have my gratitude, Dark Elf,” Raistlin said, his eyes ablaze. “You know this, do you not?”

“Yes, Shalafi,” he choked out, fighting to keep a semblance of evenness in his voice, though he was somewhat surprised that he had managed to make any sound at all.

Then the touch was gone; gone so quickly that Dalamar would later wonder if he had imagined it altogether. Raistlin moved toward the door, his voice at normal volume and commanding tone once again. “Tomorrow will be a very long day - the first of many. Show Zielle and Andreyis everything we talked about, then direct them to retire early this evening. And separately ,” he added. “I need them focused on their work, not on each other.”

(Illustration by Elena Zambelli)

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As the sound of Dalamar’s footsteps faded, Raistlin mounted the winding stone staircase, avoiding the use of Magic in favor of a long walk to his private rooms several floors above. His breath was labored when he reached the top of the last flight but he didn’t cough, and he thought perhaps he would never again take for granted such a seemingly miniscule achievement. Stopping at the end of the hallway, he entered and then locked the heavy outer door to his study, placing on it several wards and enchantments. Dalamar would likely remain downstairs for hours, but Raistlin needed time to think without any chance of being disturbed. Sinking down into the large chair, he rested his head and arms on the smooth, dark wood of his desk.

Gods damn it! Whatever had he just done?! Why had he touched Dalamar at all, much less caressed his arm like that? It was a subtle gesture, yes, but he had seen the elf’s eyes widen for a brief second, heard his breath catch in his throat before he found his voice again. It had surely been some base instinct, thought Raistlin, that had prompted such foolish actions, and for that he was ashamed. Jealousy, that was it. Jealousy and possessiveness; childish, uncultivated emotions, after he had spent years rising above such petty impulses.

So, what did it matter that the obvious choice for a second apprentice happened to be a longtime friend of Dalamar’s? And that she had brought her paramour, a young highly-regarded White Robe who was another friend of the elf’s? Their defection would be quite a blow to the Conclave, and that knowledge alone thrilled him. But he should also be grateful for the distraction it would provide. The impending arrival of Zielle and Andreyis had consumed a great deal of time over the last few days and it had been easier, far easier than Raistlin could have expected, to ignore last week’s disquieting conversation in the garden. Now their presence within the Tower presented the perfect opportunity to direct his relationship with the elf back into more appropriate territory.

Raistlin derided his own weakness as he turned and gazed into the adjoining bedchamber. Dalamar’s mental state had been steadily improving, with no sign of a relapse in several weeks, and there was no longer any true need for Raistlin to keep him so close. But there on the red brocade coverlet lay the elf’s white silk nightshirt and blue velvet dressing gown, both folded neatly. A stack of his books lay on the table nearest the fire. The larger table by the window held more books, a few scrolls, and Dalamar’s elegant writing implements, all arranged impeccably. There were vessels full of flowers placed in half a dozen locations throughout the room. A particularly stunning flash of color caught Raistlin’s attention, and his eyes narrowed as he stood and walked toward the bookcase shelf that held it.

“Dark elf, you conniving little -” began Raistlin, but broke off the murmured thought, suddenly overcome with a newly familiar warmth as he took in the contents of a small silver vase. A light green Silvanesti vine, with its lacy leaves and delicate tendrils, was wrapped inextricably around the deep green stem of a perfect blood red rose, Raistlin’s especial favorite. An exotic blue and purple flower leaned against the rose as they rested, side by side, and seemed to look up at him. The fragrance of the two blooms blended almost hypnotically, and Raistlin found himself carrying the bouquet to his desk, placing it carefully before him as he resumed his seat.

His fingers traced the delicate petals of each flower. “Oh, my Dalamar,” he sighed. Of all the trials he had faced this was the most difficult somehow, growing ever more so with each passing day. These last weeks, spent in such close proximity with the elf, had been the most satisfying he could ever recall.

He had never been at all social, even as a child, but Raistlin could admit, now that his life had become somewhat stable, that maybe he had taken his rigid standards of self-control to an unnecessary extreme.

Yet, when he looked back on his past he couldn’t see how or when he might have chosen differently. Someone had to take on the responsibility after his parents died, and his brother was too busy fighting, chasing girls, and drinking to be bothered with cooking, cleaning, or keeping track of their money. Besides, Raistlin had held no desire to imitate Caramon’s shameless behavior. His study of Magic was of the utmost importance, and it had left him little time for socializing, even if he had desired it.

There had been a time, though, when he had held out a glimmer of hope in a tiny, private corner of his mind; a vague idea that there could be someone for him, someday. He was certainly put off by the silly, frivolous behavior of the girls in Solace, but the world was a big place. He would be venturing out into it eventually, and he would meet others with whom he had more in common. He knew there were females amongst the mages at the Tower, and, though nervous excitement over his impending Test had gripped him on the journey to Wayreth, he was curious and eager to meet other students of Magic. Surely he would make friends there, and perhaps even find someone special. And the thought of studying in the great Tower, with all its secrets, after so many years of Master Theobald’s barely adequate instruction, had made him almost giddy.

Raistlin’s face twisted now as his thoughts turned to Wayreth and the Conclave. He had believed himself ready for the Test, but his confidence had been the brash arrogance of inexperienced youth. He saw that clearly now, and knew that his treatment at their hands had been nothing short of a cruel sacrifice. Instead of guiding his exceptional talent they had Tested him far too soon, and then handed him over to the lich, Fistandantilus, like a lamb to the slaughter. On top of all that, they had cursed his vision and then sent him away with little explanation, barely able to walk or draw an adequate breath.

Long-held plans to settle that score had simmered for years in the depths of Raistlin’s soul but, as he had told Dalamar (on what he had come to think of as “that night on the sofa”) he had begun to let go of those old grievances. For while the Conclave, specifically Par Salian, had saddled him with many disadvantages, they had, after all, still given him his Staff - the most powerful Magical artifact in existence. They had also been responsible, albeit inadvertently, for giving him his precious apprentice, and Raistlin’s sense of fairness had nearly convinced him that a systematic dismantling of the Conclave’s power could be easily achieved while allowing its members to slink away into obscurity, their miserable lives intact.

Everything had changed, however, the moment Ladonna’s first spell had touched Dalamar, and now Raistlin’s original ideas for revenge seemed like child’s play in comparison to what now awaited the heads of the Black and White Robes. To what extent the other members of the Conclave, including Justarius, had been involved in the plan remained to be seen, but justice would be dealt accordingly. He would soon settle his personal grievances with all those who had wronged him, as well as make them answer for their crimes against Dalamar, and against Magic itself. But, that plan was incubating, and he had more immediate issues before him this day...

Raistlin knew that he had neither been liked nor sought after for companionship of any sort, even before the Test had taken his health and left his appearance so strangely altered. Afterward he never considered the possibility that anyone would ever find him attractive, and had thought the matter forever closed. But now...sweet gods! Now both his life and his Work had become centered around the most enchanting creature he had ever beheld, one who had not only demonstrated extreme loyalty but had also declared his lasting love in no uncertain terms. Though Raistlin’s own handful of short-lived (and one-sided) infatuations had always been with females, the fact that the love of his life had turned out to be a male was hardly a concern. Perhaps, under different circumstances, in a different lifetime...

Raistlin sighed. He must put a stop to this impossible nonsense, starting first and foremost with himself. Dalamar had thus far honored his vow not to mention the subject and, flower arrangements notwithstanding, his behaviour had been impeccable, unlike Raistlin’s own. He must send the elf back to his own rooms and keep firmly to the rest of his plan.  Then this small incident, along with Dalamar’s confession, would fade gracefully into the past, and they could both move forward as if such foolishness had never occurred.

The archmage sat, quiet and still, for a very long time before finally reaching into the pocket of his robe. He removed a fine linen handkerchief and brought it to his eyes, wiping away the dampness there. Rising slowly, he picked up the little bouquet and made his way into the bedchamber. “But I will always love you, Dark Elf,” he whispered, heart bleeding with the words. Nearing the bookcase, he softly pressed his lips to the exotic purple flower before setting the vase back in its original position on the shelf. “Always.”

(Illustration by Elena Zambelli)

[Pics and info about my tattoo, which inspired the last scene, as well as the above illustration]

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All Artwork by Elena Zambelli

 Author's Note 3 February, 2018: Longtime fans may notice, upon re-reading this chapter, that the second scene changed locations (from an interior room to a breezeway) and got a bit more descriptive.

Author's Note 3 May, 2017: I told you it was a sloooowww burn, lol! As always, I would LOVE to know what my dear readers think of my little story! I'm really starting to get some great feedback on it from the various fanfic sites (it is posted in six places right now) and that really brings me more delight than you could possibly know! Even if you don't like something, or don't understand it, please let me know (nicely!) It may really help me with the development of the story in the long run. You can also email me: isabellemajere(at)gmail.

THANK YOU FOR READING!!! I love you guys!

Chapter Text

Devotion Chapter 11

Dalamar rolled over, sweeping a lock of damp hair out of his eyes before rising from his comfortable but not-yet-familiar bed. Yawning, he moved toward the window, opened the thick drapes, and raised the sash several inches. He peeled off his clinging nightshirt before lying down again, inhaling deeply as the crisp night air filled the room and swept over his clammy skin, bringing a pleasurable chill.

“The sweetest of torments, these damnable dreams,” he muttered, spreading his hair out behind him on the pillow while arching his sleek elven body in a lazy feline stretch. It was glorious to wake so early once again, now that he was fully healed and no longer required extra hours of sleep. Though he had a full day planned, dawn was still several hours away, so he remained sprawled across the bed a little longer, adrift on the tumultuous waters of lovestruck imagination.

It was always that day in the garden, or some aspect of it. More often than not it was the kiss; specifically that moment when his Master’s arms had closed with a slight tremble around his back, and Dalamar had tasted the sweetness of fresh herbs on the warmth of his breath. Except Raistlin never pulled away, not in the dreams.

“Dark Elf, my only love,” he would whisper ardently, his voice and movements confident and sure as he cradled Dalamar’s cheek in his palm. “I belong to you, Shalafi,” he’d always answer, his eyes misty, as he clasped Raistlin’s hand and pulled him gently down onto the soft grass. He lay there on his back with Raistlin leaning over him, his Master’s hair a curtain of white moonlight framing his face, tickling Dalamar’s skin as their mouths came together once again...

After allowing himself a quarter of an hour to revisit all his delightful memories (both actual and dreamt) the elf finally rose, lit an oil lamp, and began to dress. His regular work clothing was sturdy and serviceable, though all the materials were beautiful and of a very high quality; this was typical of Raistlin’s taste as well as his own. While braiding his hair back out of his face he looked around, full of admiration for the sumptuous furnishings of his new quarters.

The practical need to move out of his Master’s rooms had finally become too obvious for them both to ignore, though the pain of that separation had been softened by Raistlin’s suggestion that Dalamar take the set of rooms just down the hall from him. “Dark Elf, you spend so much time here in my study that it no longer makes sense for you to have quarters so far away,” he had stated matter-of-factly. Dalamar had chosen not to point out that he had been working downstairs almost every day recently, and nowhere near Raistlin’s study. Nor had he protested when Raistlin insisted that their sleeping arrangements not change until the new rooms were ready. This had taken almost another fortnight, as no servants were allowed upstairs without strict supervision, and there had been little time to spare for that.

Dalamar knew that these indulgences, surely the outward manifestation of Raistlin’s desire to keep him close, would never have been forthcoming had he not strictly kept to his promise; his vow to act as if the emotional scene in the garden had never taken place. There had, not surprisingly, been several rather awkward days directly following that one, but the preparations for the arrival of Zielle and Andreyis had given them both an excuse to stay extremely busy, and this had smoothed the way for their relationship to resume, more-or-less, its previously comfortable pattern.

Except, sometimes...sometimes he could feel his Master’s eyes on him as they worked; could sense a subtle warmth in his voice that had not been there a few months ago; and the time Raistlin had reached for his arm, clasped it briefly...Yes, he was more confident than ever that his love was returned. Though he knew Raistlin might never speak the words nor allow himself to fully act on the feelings, the absence of these things could not shake the precious peace that had settled in Dalamar’s soul. For a deep regard lay between them now and the elf already deemed it the greatest treasure of his life. It had been there during those brief kisses in the garden; in Raistlin’s soothing embrace as he had lulled him to sleep after their dinner in the upstairs library; in all the tender care his Master had tirelessly shown in bringing him back from the edge of death and madness.

Dalamar did not fault himself for desiring more - open acknowledgement, above all, but also physical pleasure; to give himself, body and soul, to this extraordinary human he so loved, and to bring him some measure of joy after all the bitterness he had endured in his young life. But such a thing could never happen unless Raistlin also desired it, and the elf could certainly be more than satisfied with the strong, quiet bond they now shared, and with their growing companionship.

Throwing a light cloak over his shoulders, Dalamar stepped out of his quarters and spared a glance back down the hallway in the direction of Raistlin’s rooms as he made his way toward the first staircase to begin the slow, complicated descent to the ground floor. He sorely missed the privilege of watching his Master wake up each morning, but being in the gardens at sunrise was a lovely consolation. The idea that he might possibly have access to both of these pleasures someday was one that Dalamar tried diligently to suppress. Best not to think too much along the lines of “perhaps” and “if only”, aside from the occasional fantasy in the privacy of his bedchamber. For his current reality was entirely too fulfilling to waste any of it crying like a child for the moons and the stars.

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It was late afternoon as Zielle took a final weary step through the side gate and collapsed into Dalamar’s open arms. He calmly carried her across the courtyard and laid her carefully on a blanket he had recently spread on the soft ground beside the exterior wall of the Tower. Crouched on his knees beside her unconscious form, the elf took a small vial from the pocket of his robe, uncorked it, and poured a few drops of thick, colorless liquid into his palm. Quickly replacing the vial, he then leaned over and began rhythmically whispering the words to a counterspell, all the while holding his cupped hands a few inches above Zielle’s nose and mouth. A peaceful expression soon smoothed her troubled countenance as her breathing became slow and regular. Satisfied, Dalamar shifted slightly to lean back against the stone wall and began writing in a small, cloth-bound book. He glanced over at Zielle every few minutes, occasionally touching her wrist or forehead.

After nearly an hour she finally opened her eyes and began to sit up.

“Not yet,” ordered Dalamar quietly as he placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Just lie still for now; there is no hurry. Look around and get your bearings. The nausea may not be entirely gone, just to warn you…”

“I think it has,” said Zielle, her voice shaky. “...but I will move more slowly …” She swallowed hard, then closed her eyes again. The sound of her deep, controlled breaths blended with the scratching of pen on paper, and was punctuated by the occasional bird call.

“You have the unmistakeable air of triumph about you,” she said after several moments.  “I assume that means I made it back on my own…?”

He smiled. “You did extremely well,” he said, picking a stray leaf out of her hair. “Shalafi is certainly pleased and, between you and me, I would venture to say he is somewhat impressed.”

“Did he come out here?” she asked in a hushed voice, her weary eyes bright with excitement.

“Briefly,” the elf replied. “I know he trusts me to oversee this part of your training, but he is not accustomed to relinquishing important duties. I am certain that he was also a bit curious, for your talent in this area has come as a bit of a surprise.”

“To none more than myself, I assure you. I honestly expected to be a more-or-less permanent fixture in the library, just as I was at Wayreth. I am grateful for the opportunity to train in the Grove, despite the ghastly effects. At least they’re temporary.”

“And the memories fade almost immediately, which is helpful. But this specialized training is one of the greatest advantages of our Tower, above all the others. I highly doubt I could have survived without it, and it may save your life someday, as well.”

But Zielle did not reply, and the elf chuckled to himself when he realized she had fallen asleep again. “Sweet girl,” he murmured, pulling the loose edge of the blanket partially over her. In truth, Zielle was probably a year or two older than Raistlin, but her cheerful appearance and lively manner gave the impression of one considerably younger. She and Andrey, her childhood sweetheart, had been the bright spots in all of Dalamar’s visits to the Tower at Wayreth, and his only true friends there. It had brought him a great deal of satisfaction to pluck his dedicated, loyal friends from the stifling grip of the Conclave. Par Salian, especially, had seemed intent on holding them both back, likely due to Zielle’s familial connection to Lady Zarana Ymari. The legendary Black Robe had quite dramatically given up her long-held seat on the Conclave around the time of Raistlin’s Test, and had been held in high suspicion since that day.

Dalamar leaned back and finished writing the notes he would need later on that evening when he sat down with Raistlin to discuss the events of the day. He soon closed his own eyes, indulging in a bit of light meditation as he waited on Zielle to drift back to wakefulness.

“Sorry…” he heard her say, yawning.

“No apology necessary.” He smiled warmly. “Feeling better?”

“A bit,” she replied, as she slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position.

Then she looked up at him. “Sweet gods, Dalamar, sometimes it just hits me how damned beautiful you are!”  She shook her head merrily.  “I wouldn’t trade my precious Andrey for a dozen black-haired elves with silver eyes, but you are a feast for the eyes, and no mistake!”

“And had you been unattached at the time of our first meeting…” he teased, holding up his palms in a helpless gesture.

“Oh, no!” she insisted, scoffing. “I’ve never longed to be part of a harem, thank you very much!”

“Rude creature!” The elf’s face took on a painful but entirely feigned expression. “If you feel well enough to pester me then you are recovering rapidly!” He finished with a chuckle.

She gave him a tired grin. “I am feeling better by the minute, though I’m still rather worn out,” she admitted, then took the flask he offered, taking a careful mouthful of the thick, honey-colored liquid before handing it back.

Dalamar glanced at the sky. “We have some time before we need to go in. Though I would be happy to carry you to your quarters.”

Zielle shook her head. “No...I’d rather not have Andrey see me so exhausted. He understands, of course, but I don’t feel like being coddled just now. I’d rather stay out here a little longer, unless you have other duties.”

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “My only duty at the moment is to watch over you.”

She nodded, her face thoughtful. “Tell me truly, though...how are you, my friend? Is it terribly lonely, being confined to the Tower grounds?”

The elf raised a wicked eyebrow. “Are you offering to help in such a case?”

“I’m serious, you horse’s ass!” She slapped his arm softly with the back of her hand.

He drew back, laughing and holding his arm in mock pain. “It may surprise you to learn that I gave up my personal trips into the city long before the unpleasant incident which necessitated my current seclusion here.”

“Indeed?”

He sat up straighter. “The better to focus on my Work, and to prove to Shalafi my complete dedication.”

“Alright…” she began, biting her lip. “It’s none of my affair, I just care for you very much and...well, Andrey and I are so happy together, and nothing would please me more than to see you find a similar joy.” She stopped speaking but continued to study the elf’s eyes.

“I have no regrets, Zielle,” said Dalamar, his face reflecting the earnest tone of his voice. “I am the trusted assistant to the most powerful man alive; the most brilliant mind of our time!” His eyes were bright and genuine. “I will likely play some part in returning Magic to its rightful place in the world. I, who was nothing to my own people; barely allowed to touch the simplest of White spellbooks…” He trailed off, busy with his own thoughts for a moment, before turning his gaze back to her.

“I am now where I belong. What are a few months, or even years, of isolation, here in the only place I have ever truly called home ? No, I would not choose to endure a second time what I barely survived last winter. But I have profited by it in ways that I would not willingly give up. My rumoured death has also given Shalafi a distinct advantage against the Conclave, and we need only bide our time…”

He held up a hand. “But that is enough serious talk for now. You’ve had a most trying day, and you shall have no further burdens this evening.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, and leaned her back against the wall. “Not that I enjoyed the experience, of course, but I do feel rather proud of my achievements today.”

“As well you should,” he answered, and his own pride was obvious. “In fact, I think perhaps you have earned a reward…Would you like to know a secret?”

Zielle’s tired face lit up. “Of course! Tell me!”

“Oh, maybe I should wait…” he teased, rising to his feet. “Let’s walk around the garden a bit,” he said, holding his arms out to help her up.

“Damnit, elf!” she said amiably, taking his arm.

“We are to have a visitor in a few weeks,” he said, as they began slowly walking in the direction of the herb garden.

“Oh, who? Tell me!”

“Lady Zarana!”

“Grandmother!!” She exclaimed, with a tiny bounce in her careful walk. “How wonderful! I haven’t seen her in nearly five years! We kept up the pretense of a family estrangement during my entire time at Wayreth, but I feel certain she will be more than ready to help us when she hears your full story. She is an amazing woman, Dalamar. I can’t wait for you to meet her!”

The elf nodded in agreement. “Shalafi started to correspond with her shortly before my ordeal with the Conclave. Even then, he says, they had begun to form a tentative alliance. He believes, as you do, that we can count on her support.” He smiled. “And it will be an honour to have such an esteemed visitor.”

“And likely an experience you won’t soon forget!” she said, rather mirthful all of a sudden.

Dalamar raised a questioning eyebrow.

“You’ll know soon enough,” she chuckled. “Grandmother is a very interesting lady!”

Chapter Text

Raistlin allowed himself a slow, deep breath as he slipped the rolled-up map into its case, resisting a growing urge to snap it in half.

“Lady Z--”

“One more ‘Lady Zarana’ from you and I’ll have Andreyis pack my bags this very evening!” said the willowy old woman seated on the sofa, the merriment in her voice belying her harsh words.

Raistlin slowly exhaled through his nose and took his time placing the map case onto the library table.

He turned back to her with a polite nod. “Zara,” he began, using the familiar name on which she had recently begun insisting. “Your presence here is of great value; you can see as well as I the immense progress we have made in less than a fortnight.”

And this was certainly true. The elderly Black Robe not only shared his disdain for the Conclave but had been more than generous with her vast knowledge gained from decades of experience. And she was easy to work with; most of the time.

“Pish posh!” laughed the old lady. “You’re merely afraid I’ll return home and leave my students here for you to manage!”

Though the prospect of suddenly becoming the guardian of five young children was a bit daunting, at that instant Raistlin would have turned the Tower itself into an orphanage if it meant he would be released from Lady Zarana’s relentless intrusion into his personal life.

He forced a polite smile. “Nonsense. You have taught the children well, and they are no trouble at all,” he said, gathering his staff and moving in the direction of the door. “But perhaps you would enjoy Zielle’s company for tea this afternoon. I’ll send her to you, as I must attend to some correspondence -”

“Come back here, young man,” she ordered, smiling broadly. “You’ll not be rid of me so easily! I’ll take my tea in here with you, as usual,” she said with finality, moving toward the side table near the fireplace. At least she never expected him to wait on her. On the contrary, she had even begun to dote on him a bit. But such affection came at a price.

Raistlin returned to the sitting area. There was no point in getting truly angry, as it was obvious that she meant well.

“I’m only teasing you, you know?” she continued, pouring them each a cup of tea. “Do you think I would leave this extraordinary place? After decades spent enduring the Conclave’s foolishness, I can now continue my own studies within these walls where they have never even set foot.”

“Besides,” she said, turning back to him with her eyes twinkling, “you, yourself, present the most fascinating challenge of all! I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much...unless it was -”

Raistlin held up a hand. “Your stories are fascinating, L--- Zara,” he caught himself. “But at the moment I’m not sure I can endure further exciting details of your ‘personal adventures’.”

Her sudden laugh rang out as she handed him a cup on a saucer. “You’d feel differently if you had any ‘personal adventures’ of your own to gloat over! And I’ll bet you could endure excitement aplenty, if only you’d hurry up and -”

His eyes narrowed. “I will NOT be discussing the subject any further. My relationship with my assistant is between him and myself, and of no concern to anyone else.”

“Hmmmph!” she scoffed. “Twenty years ago, young man, I’d have had you both in my bed!” She grinned and arched her eyebrows so comically that Raistlin finally gave in and let out a badly stifled chuckle.

“Must you torment me so?” he asked with an extended sigh. She seemed determined to revisit the subject, despite his protests. And he did like her, despite her brash manner.

“So says the tormentor!” she shot back, her eyes dancing as she settled back in the large cushioned chair and took a tentative sip. “You’re causing yourself no end of pain and frustration, not to mention what you’re doing to that poor boy. Why you don’t have him warming your bed every night is a mystery to me! He is thoroughly besotted with you!”

“He is too young to know what he wants,” said Raistlin, staring intently into his cup, but he soon looked up as he felt her eyes boring into him.

“You don’t believe that for a moment, Raistlin Majere,” she said quietly, no trace of wheedling in her voice now. “You’re afraid, plain and simple. Afraid to give your heart to something so beautiful, because you know it can be taken from you.”

“That’s not...” he began, bristling, but then pressed his lips together.

“Such feelings are only natural, child,” she said, her tone as warm as the hand she reached over and now placed on his, “especially since you nearly lost him once already, and all too recently. But your heart is not so fragile, you know. Look at all you’ve endured in your young life…” she smiled and patted his hand. “And there is SO much to gain, my dear.”

Raistlin shifted in his chair, gently shaking her off. “I am too busy for such foolishness. My Work -”

“Your work would benefit from you clearing your head once in awhile. Trust me. Doubtless there are still songs being sung of my notorious exploits. Yet didn’t I rise to the high ranks of the Conclave, all while having my occasional fun? Physical pleasure can greatly benefit the mind, you know...” With that she stood and went into the library, abruptly leaving Raistlin alone with his thoughts.

He sat silently, drinking his tea and looking up at the intricately carved ceiling. He really should be angry at this nosy old woman. He could tell himself that he only tolerated her presence because of her contribution to his plans and his Work. But Raistlin disliked lying, and Lady Zarana’s intrusive comments only served to shed light on the lies he had been forcing on himself for quite some time now. Lies that had been steadily falling apart since that afternoon in the garden so many weeks ago.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Thank you, Andreyis,” said Raistlin, taking the tray and basket from the white-robed mage.

“Of course, Master,” he bowed, stepping back into the hallway, silently accompanied by several young children - three humans and two elves.

“Please send Dalamar to me,” he ordered,  “and ensure that we are not disturbed for the rest of the evening,” he ordered before closing the door. He placed the tray and basket on a small table and resumed clearing up the remnants of the day’s lesson.

The Tower’s conservatory had only been partially restored but the many windows in the walls and ceiling were strong and sound, and the room was clean, though it only held a fraction of the plants that Raistlin planned to eventually acquire. It was an excellent place in which to begin introducing Lady Zarana’s young students to the rudiments of plant alchemy.

He had just finished clearing the large table when there came a soft knock at the door.

“Enter,” commanded Raistlin, looking up as a plain, middle-aged man in a brown cloak slowly entered the room, limping slightly.

“Ah, good evening to you, sir!” said the archmage, with a touch of amusement, and beckoned him forward.

“Excellent work,” he said, nodding in approval as he walking in a slow circle around the man.

“Now show me another.”

By the time he had finished speaking a stooped elderly woman stood before him in the man’s place.

“Again, quite well done, though I did see a flash of your own hair during the transition.”

The figure nodded, but Raistlin waved his hand. “Drop all of it for tonight.”

The woman disappeared to reveal a somewhat beleaguered Dalamar. He sat down on the bench by the work table, smoothing his hair back as he spoke.

Raistlin poured him a glass of wine and handed it across to him. “How do you feel about your progress?” he asked.

“It has certainly become easier but, still, I am exhausted. have worked without rest since just after mid-day. Our current goal is a half-dozen fully-developed personas, with distinct voices and movement, and a few others for backup. Lady Zarana is very thorough.”

“And I completely agree with her methods, as you know, so you will get no reprieve from me,” said Raistlin, taking a sip from his own glass. “You are to be completely prepared, for I will not risk your safety, Dark Elf.”

“But, Shalafi,” complained Dalamar. “Certainly three or four well-practiced glamour spells would be more than sufficient! The risk is low to begin with, and all this training is costing so much time!”

“Time which we have, I would remind you!” said Raistlin firmly. “Time which only plays to our advantage. No one has more reason than I to want the Conclave destroyed, and I have no intention of waiting unnecessarily. But a few more months of preparation will aid us exponentially. We are amassing quite a number of allies as the weeks pass, and the longer you appear ‘dead’, the stronger our advantage when we do finally strike. And the victory will be all the sweeter!” He smiled, his eyes smoldering as he pictured their eventual triumph.

“I understand, Shalafi. I just...I...don’t know how to phrase this respectfully…”

“Then say it plainly,” he ordered with a permissive flick of his hand.

“I think perhaps...perhaps you are protecting me too much.” He braced himself for his Master’s inevitable outburst, but it didn’t come. Raistlin merely studied him from across the table.

“And what if I am?” he finally said, his expression stormy, then stood and began pacing the floor.

“I know that you are strong, Dalamar,” he began. “Your power and your skill are growing, and I already believe you to be more than capable of carrying out your role in our mission. But as I have said, a few more months of preparation will increase our advantage. I lose nothing in this by biding my time...and if I can further ensure your safety….”

He sat down again, this time on the bench beside Dalamar. At length, he began to speak again, and his voice was raw, as was the look on his face.

“What they did to you…” He closed his eyes; ran both hands through his hair. “...The attack, your injuries...the nightmares and visions...” His face was pure, raw emotion when he looked up again. “ You suffered, I know...but so did I, Dalamar. So did I!”

He placed a hand on the elf’s shoulder, not bothering to hide a slight tremble.  “Holding you...bleeding, broken...watching you, day and night...writhing and screaming in terror...and I able to do so little to help you. You, whom I -”  He squeezed Dalamar’s arm, just shy of a caress, but then pulled his hand away and stood abruptly .

He looked down with hard, narrowed eyes. “The mere fact that I have told you this should be proof enough of your importance to me! We will prepare for a decade if I deem it necessary, and I’ll have no more arguments from you!”

The elf stared, wide-eyed and breathless, before mouthing a single word: “Shalafi.” But Raistlin had already reached the open doors and was gazing out into the dusk. The light rain had turned heavier, with thick clouds swiftly consuming the last of the daylight.

Dalamar watched him, immobile. Only after several minutes had passed did he make an attempt to compose himself, sitting up straighter and settling his face into a more placid expression. But such efforts proved unnecessary, as Raistlin continued to watch the storm and did not turn around.

-----------------------------------------------

The elf inhaled deeply and rose to his feet in the darkening room as a crash of thunder sent a faint but noticeable tremor through the Tower itself. Determined now, he reached his Master’s side just as a brilliant chain of lightning lit up the sky. Dalamar gasped at the spectacle but Raistlin neither moved nor spoke.

But then he turned, at length, and the fire in his eyes blazed brighter than the lightning-streaked sky. He took a long breath and, when he finally spoke his voice was rough.

“Dark Elf. The things you said to me...in the garden that day…”

Dalamar blanched at this unexpected turn of the conversation. “Shalafi, I -”

“Do you remember the reason you gave me for finally confessing your feelings?” continued Raistlin, ignoring the elf’s protests.

“Of course - that I could not continue to keep such a thing from you; that it was beginning to wear on me, to - “

“To affect your work,” said Raistlin, his voice almost a whisper now as he took yet another step closer.

“Yes.” Dalamar nodded, dropping his gaze to the floor in a mad search for some sense of stability, and because he could not bear to look at Raistlin just then.

“And that you would have kept your silence, but for one detail…” prompted Raistlin as he raised his hand and tipped the elf’s head up so that their eyes met once again.

“Shalafi, please!” he begged, his voice breaking and his accent thick. “I cannot honestly take it back but I should never have said it the way I did; I -”

“No,” murmured Raistlin, and he cut off the elf’s words with gentle fingers over his lips. “I do not seek an apology from you,” he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. “I only wish to tell you... must tell you...that you were not mistaken.”

“Oh,” gasped Dalamar, frozen in place, even as a massive clap of thunder sounded, followed by more streaks of brilliant lightning.

“How could I not love you?” asked Raistlin gently. “Your loyalty, your dedication...your brilliant mind…” He brought the elf’s hand up and kissed the open palm, then pressed it against his own cheek, and Dalamar could feel the moisture there. “Though I cannot give you what you desire, what you deserve,” he went on, “neither can I keep the truth from you any longer. You are the first, last, and only love of my life.”

Raistlin pulled away and looked, unblinking, into Dalamar’s eyes as he brushed back his wind-tousled hair. “My treasure,” he breathed, tracing his hand down the side of Dalamar’s face to caress his cheek, and his golden eyes blazed so brightly that the elf, thoroughly overwhelmed, closed his own eyes against their brilliance. But he clung tightly with both hands to the fine velvet of his Master’s robe; dizzy, fearful of losing his hold on reality; half sure that all this could only be happening in the midst of a dream.

'Winds of Storm' by Elena Zambelli

(Link to Gallery on DeviantArt)

Chapter Text

{All artwork by Elena Zambelli}

They stood there for a small eternity, just inside the open doorway. The wind grew ever more erratic as the storm gained strength, and Dalamar thought he could stay here forever, wrapped in Raistlin’s arms, his Master’s love for him no longer unspoken. But his nerves were raw, overwrought, and when his lungs eventually demanded a full breath, he exhaled in short, choking sobs against soft velvet.

“Sh...Shalafi.”

“Dark Elf,” came the rough reply, and the note of desperation in his young Master’s voice caused Dalamar to step back, putting a sliver of space between them. As he looked up, their eyes met and he inhaled sharply.

Raistlin was making no effort to hide a soft, steady stream of tears as he stared intently down at the elf, who was rocked to his bones by this unabashed display of emotion.

He raised a shaking hand to Raistlin’s cheek, but the golden eyes grew resolute under their sadness, and Raistlin’s tone was low and steady when he finally spoke.

“Dalamar, you know that we must -”

But then they were soaked, hit by a sudden wind gust and a thick sheet of heavy rain that continued to pelt them through the open doorway.

“Damn!” swore Raistlin, swiftly urging Dalamar further inside before turning to pull the doors closed.

The elf, his heart racing, stared numbly into the darkness of the conservatory as another brilliant streak of lightning flashed through the many windows, setting off a frenzy of shadows from the swaying trees outside.

But he stirred into action when Raistlin moved into the light.

“Shalafi, you’re drenched,” he cried, his protective instincts taking hold, and he reached to unfasten the buttons of his Master’s soaked robe. “Let me -”

“In a moment,” ordered Raistlin, grasping Dalamar’s hand and leading him across the room to the work area. There he handed him a large covered basket, then took up the Staff of Magius and wrapped an arm about the elf’s waist, pulling him close.

Dalamar shut his eyes against the familiar bite of nausea and, seconds later, they were in the warmth of his Master’s study, with its blazing fireplace and the comforting smells of parchment and old books. Setting the basket down on a side table, he went about helping Raistlin out of his robe, relieved that the rain seemed to have reached only the neck and lower legs of the clothing underneath. He draped the robe over the top of a coat rack in the far corner, well away from the large, expensive carpet that covered most of the stone floor.

“You should go and change into something dry,” Raistlin said, stating the obvious as he gathered his wet, tangled hair in one hand, holding it up away from his comparatively dry tunic.

“I intend to,” answered Dalamar, suddenly grateful for the trivial topic of wet clothing, “though it seems the back of your robe took most of the rain. I’ll take care of it later this evening, after it dries for awhile.” If he didn’t brush it tonight the velvet would be a ruined mess by morning.

“Thank you,” said Raistlin, opening the door to his bedchamber. “And bring a bottle of wine from the pantry on your way back. There is food there in the basket.” He pointed. “I had intended that we dine in the garden this evening, as I know how much you enjoy it. I apologize for not paying more attention to the weather.”

Before the elf could reply Raistlin had disappeared through the door.

                                           ---------------------------------------------

Dalamar returned to the study to find Raistlin sitting on a low stool in front of the steadily burning fire, clad now in a red silk dressing gown, loose trousers, and soft suede slippers. He was leaning over, combing out his hair to hasten its drying. Oh, that luminous hair! Dalamar would have given a great deal to have been allowed to comb it himself, but he knew better than to offer, as his Master despised being fussed over.

He crossed to the table and set two glasses and a bottle of wine beside the food basket.

“Sit,” said Raistlin, looking up and pointing at one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, and Dalamar did so without hesitation.

“I trust you are dry and comfortable?” asked Raistlin.

“Quite. Thank you.”      

Raistlin nodded and gave his hair a few more strokes before setting down the comb and coming to sit in the other armchair, staring toward the fire with obvious discomfiture. For several minutes the only sounds were the crackling and popping of the flames until, at last, they both spoke at once.

“Dark El-”

“Shalafi, pl-”

Raistlin tipped his head and made an airy gesture with his fingers. “Go ahead.”

“I...I only…” Dalamar swallowed hard, clenched his fist, and began again with much more resolve. “If I may speak freely, Shalafi...I see that look on your face; I hear the edge in your voice.” He straightened his spine, sitting up even taller in the armchair. “Perhaps I flatter myself that I know you better than anyone alive, but I feel it necessary to assure you that...that there is no need to make this difficult.”

Raistlin’s brief chuckle held a tiny note of mirth, but his smile travelled no further than the edges of his mouth. “Funny, I was preparing to ask you not to make it difficult. At least, no more difficult than it must be.”

Dalamar looked away, his eyes stinging, as he clenched his teeth and tried to keep himself calm. Please, Shalafi. This could be so perfect, so effortless .

Raistlin let the silence draw out, his eyes fixed on Dalamar, before continuing. “Do you know that there is nothing I would not give you...if it were in my power to do so?”

“I believe that with all my heart,” said Dalamar, forcing a smile as his heart sank even further. “But perhaps you underestimate yourself when it comes to -”

Raistlin held up a palm to stay his words, but it was the plea in his eyes that silenced Dalamar.

“This Tower shall be yours someday,” Raistlin continued, opening his hands to indicate the palatial room. “Provided you continue your dedication to our Work, you shall be the heir to my legacy and everything that I have. You already know this, but perhaps you don’t realize how much I truly wish to give it to you.”

Dalamar brought a hand to his chest. “And it shall be my greatest honour, Shalafi, to serve the Magic, and you, by carrying on your life’s work,” said the elf. “But for now, I look forward to many long years of working by your side.”

“To be blunt, Dalamar, I am far from convinced that you would be satisfied with that.” He frowned. “Perhaps for awhile -”

“But I have already told you I would, Shalafi,” insisted the elf, leaning forward in the chair. “I desire to do what pleases you; I need nothing more,” he added, hiding his flushed cheeks with a small bow of his head.

“That which pleases me…” mused Raistlin with a grim expression. He stood and began to pace the floor. “I was but a child when I gave up the idea of happiness. For a great many years I sought no satisfaction of any kind, other than that which I gained from my Work. As for pleasure, well...” He walked to one of the bookshelves along the wall, absentmindedly rearranging some of the items as he spoke.

“But then you arrived...and though I had no trust in you for a very long time, your presence here brought me a measure of companionship; eventually, much to my surprise, a friendship grew slowly between us; and now…these last months…” He caught Dalamar’s gaze once again,  and now his eyes were misty, his face soft. “You have brought me joy, Dark Elf. More joy, truth be told, than I have ever known, nor ever expected to know. And it tears at my heart, the thought of hurting you. The knowledge that I am not...” He paused “...that I cannot be what you need. Despite what you-”

“Why must you say that?” Dalamar challenged, rising to his feet but doing his best to keep his voice even. “And what is it that you believe I need? Do you think me so shallow that I only…” He stammered, trying to arrange his thoughts. “What you said, not even an hour ago... you cannot know what that means to me.”

Raistlin ran a hand across his brow.`

“I had to speak, Dalamar, to clear the air between us. What we are preparing to face in the coming months, I couldn’t let you...regardless, I owed you the truth, but that does not mean we should-”

“You owe me nothing at all! You have given me so much, Shalafi.  And everything that I give you - my service, my loyalty...my love - I offer freely. I have sworn a vow to you, which -”

Raistlin spun to face him, gesturing in a dramatic fashion. “Yes, do let us address that bit of foolishness!” he scoffed, eyes narrowed, and Dalamar dug his fingernails into his palms to hold in the pain and fury of being mocked thus.

But Raistlin had already realized his mistake, for he now wore an almost contrite expression.

“I am convinced of your sincerity, Dark Elf,” he said, far more gently than before, “but I cannot be the cause of you putting such an unreasonable constraint upon yourself. You are young...and beautiful...outside of your Work, you should be free to -” He stopped. “I simply must release you from any such promise.”

“ That you cannot do, Shalafi!” Dalamar nearly growled. “My heart was in that vow, and I thoroughly intend to honour it!” He clenched his fists and mumbled a lengthy string of rude words in his native Silvanesti before turning back to face Raistlin.

“And why must you make this so gods-damned difficult? You love me ! You have said so, at last. And there is no question of my love for you. We have our Work, and we have each other. I see no reason why we cannot share our lives in every sense.”

Raistlin looked up at the ornate ceiling. “Oh, Dalamar! Can you truly not see? It would bind us in ways that -” but he broke off and sank into one of the hearth chairs, seized by a powerful cough.

The elf moved swiftly to Raistlin’s side, but the coughing had already stopped, and he knelt on the floor at Raistlin’s feet.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Raistlin leaned forward and held Dalamar by the shoulders, looking into his face as if searching for something elusive . “How can I make you understand...that such a thing cannot be undone?”

“Undone?” The green eyes widened at the absurdity of the notion. “It is already f ar too late for that!” He rose up on his knees, closing the short distance that separated them. “The bond is already here between us, as it shall ever be.” He placed one hand on Raistlin’s chest, the other above his own heart. “Look in my eyes and deny it!”

Raistlin sat back and gazed at the fire instead, though he took the elf’s outstretched hand in his own, twining their fingers together. But he didn’t speak.

Finally Dalamar continued, his heart heavy. “You know that I will honour your wishes, Shalafi.” He kept his voice low and, he hoped, reassuring, as he rose slowly to his feet. “If you do not desire me in that way, I...”

But the grip on his hand only tightened, and suddenly Raistlin was standing, too, his face a hair’s breadth away, his fiery eyes aghast as he stared at the elf.

“ Not desire you?” he rasped. And suddenly Dalamar was consumed; possessed; crushed against his Master’s slim body by a surprisingly strong arm, another hand twisted painfully in his hair, as Raistlin’s mouth closed hard over his own.

“Gods, Dalamar!” Raistlin whispered, tracing his tongue along the elf’s bottom lip before pushing inside to claim him more thoroughly.  

Dalamar gave a low, keening moan and deepened the kiss, opening his mouth, pressing back against the possessive hand cradling his head. His own arms had already closed around Raistlin’s back, and he could feel Raistlin’s arousal pressing hard against him, enticingly near his own, yet he did nothing to increase that contact. It was much too soon.

“So sweet,” murmured Raistlin, warm breath against his ear. “I could...” He muttered something unintelligible as he left slow, hot kisses down the side of the elf’s neck. “I want you so badly, love.” The hoarse whisper against the skin of his collarbone had Dalamar silently begging.

Shalafi, please! if you would only -

But Raistlin placed one last kiss in the hollow of his throat, then pulled back to look him in the eyes. “Listen to me, Dark Elf.” His breath was ragged as he pressed their foreheads together, one hand curled around the nape of Dalamar’s neck.

“You are…” Raistlin made a desperate sound in his throat. “You are utter perfection; temptation made flesh! Surely you know this?”

He straightened but reached to smooth the disheveled black hair. “Add to that the fact that my heart is forever yours. Of course I want you. But there are a thousand reasons -”

“Damn your reasons!” shouted the elf, pulling away; retreating to the other side of the room; his body and mind reeling from the intensity of the kiss and its abrupt end. “To the Abyss with every. single. one. of your reasons!” He struck his palm on the wooden desktop to punctuate the words, then leaned over, bracing his hands on his thighs as he stood panting and trying to catch his breath. Bitter, unwelcome tears spilled onto the fine carpet as he pulled a loose strand of Raistlin’s hair out of his mouth. He straightened and glared at Raistlin. “You will never stop with your thrice-damned reasons! You are determined to torture us both, I see that now!”

“Dal-” began Raistlin tentatively, but the elf shot him a caustic look.

“Gods damn it, give me a moment!” Dalamar turned and strode to the window, a pulsing ache in his body and soul, and he cursed his emotional nature for betraying him by such a graceless reaction. He opened the casement just enough to take huge gulps of crisp, storm-cleansed air as he stared at the distant lights of the city.

------------------------------------------

They were both silent for a very long while, but eventually Dalamar heard Raistlin moving about the room. Then came the sounds of wine being poured, a knife cutting bread, then fruit. Finally Raistlin spoke.

“Come have some food, Dalamar. You’ve had an arduous day of training, on top of your other duties, and now...all of this. I know you’re hungry.”

The elf continued gazing out the window, even as he heard Raistlin’s approaching footsteps, and a subdued voice just behind him. “You can take something back to your rooms if you’d prefer, but I insist that you eat.”

Finally Dalamar turned, sweeping past Raistlin with the most neutral expression he could manage, and sat on the edge of the extra chair Raistlin had pulled up to the desk. He kept his spine straight and his eyes on his food as they ate the simple meal.

“I must apologize for my behaviour earlier,” Raistlin said when they had both eaten their fill. “All the blame rests on me. You did nothing to deserve such ill treatment.”

Dalamar studied the contents of his wine glass. “I am certain it was not your intention to be cruel,” he said, pronouncing each word with careful precision and no trace of an accent.

“This is…” Raistlin began, then stopped. “I am out of my element, Dalamar. I do not know…” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, and rested his face in his palms.

“Your head is aching,” Dalamar accused quietly, struck with a sudden pang of guilt. Eye strain and headaches were frequent side effects of Raistlin’s continued efforts to overcome the curse on his vision, and the pain was always worse in new situations, or with new people. “Why did you not tell me before?”

Raistlin looked up with a withering glare, then dropped his head again. “It will pass.”

“Of course it will, but that’s beside the point. You should have been resting this evening instead of…” Dalamar made a vague gesture with his hand. “I’m sure it must be quite a strain to spend time with the human children, especially,” he said, attempting to convey understanding and concern without any trace of pity. Regardless of the evening’s frustrations, the elf found it very distasteful to be angry with Raistlin, especially when now he only wished to comfort him and soothe his pain. “I am sorry I didn’t think of it earlier.”

“No matter,” Raistlin said, the words muffled. “It is becoming easier with time and practice, just like anything else.” Then he slowly lifted his head and sat back in the chair, levelling his gaze at Dalamar. “Though I hadn’t planned to spend the evening arguing with you, I think it best that the issue arose, even if we have yet to find a resolution.”

Dalamar’s face softened. “Despite everything, Shalafi, I want you to understand that you’ve made me very happy.”

Raistlin’s scowl held a touch of remorse. “By attacking you and leaving you wanting? You have strange tastes, Dark Elf!”

“No,” chuckled Dalamar, in spite of himself. “That was rather boorish!” he said, still hurt but trying to keep his voice light. He drew a deep breath and leaned forward, crossing his forearms on the desk. “I am referring to your earlier words; your acknowledgement of your feelings for me.” He searched Raistlin’s face for a moment. “And though we are both quite exhausted, and reason dictates that we continue the conversation at a later time, I would ask one thing of you tonight, Shalafi, if I may…”

“What is that?”

“A promise…”

Raistlin raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“That we shall take up the subject another time, and soon; that we not go on as we have, each of us pretending to ignore what lies between us. Promise me that when I walk out that door I needn’t fear that you will avoid speaking of this again; that we will not go backward in our…” he swallowed, searching in vain for the right word “...our friendship.”

When he got no reply after a moment, he continued. “I ask for no other promise, Shalafi. Only that tonight not be the end of it. I don’t think I could bear that.”

Raistlin shook his head slowly. “Nor could I, Dalamar, but -”

“No, Shalafi.” Dalamar pushed back the chair and stood. “That’s all I wanted. We needn’t discuss it further tonight.” Stretching his luck a bit, he placed a comforting hand on his Master’s cheek. “Let me make you something for your head,” he suggested, fully expecting a refusal. But Raistlin pressed his face against the open palm and nodded his assent.

-----

A quarter of an hour later Dalamar returned to the study to find that Raistlin had hardly moved, though now he had his head pillowed on his arms atop the desk. The elf did his best to keep his movements silent as he laid down a thin cloth and placed a steaming mug of tea and a small glass vial on top of it.

“Are you asleep, Shalafi?”

“Not quite,” came the faint reply.

Dalamar stood behind Raistlin’s chair and placed his hands on the slumped shoulders. When this was met with no protest, he began to gently knead the muscles underneath the fine silk dressing gown. Then he swept aside the lustrous white hair, now almost dry, and worked his way up his Master’s slender neck. “Sit up,” he coaxed, his voice low, and Raistlin slowly complied. Pouring several drops of oil onto his fingers, he took a few moments to massage Raistlin’s temples and the muscles around his eyes, earning himself a contented sigh and a gentle squeeze of his wrist.

“That’s peppermint and arnica,” he explained, “so take care not to rub it into your eyes.” He placed the mug in Raistlin’s hands. “And there’s mint in the tea, as well as feverfew. I added a little cool water so you should be able to drink it now.”

Raistlin looked up at him with a tiny, crooked smile, and Dalamar guessed that the pain had already begun to ease. “Thank you, Dark Elf,” he said, before taking a long sip of tea.

And, though Dalamar wanted nothing more than to stay here with Raistlin, to help him to bed and massage his aching head until he fell asleep, he knew far better than to make such a suggestion.

Instead he attempted a casual tone as he prepared to take his leave. “Can I bring you anything else, Shalafi? Do anything more for you tonight, aside from rescuing your robe from its soggy fate?”

“Not at all, thank you.” Raistlin shifted in his chair and watched Dalamar gather up the robe and move toward the door. “Sleep well, Dark Elf.”

“The same to you, Shalafi.” He turned the knob and opened the door, but Raistlin’s voice caught him before he stepped into the hallway.

“Dalamar.”

He half turned. “Yes, Shalafi.”

A pause. “I do love you...so very much.”

Sweet gods! “I love you too, Shalafi.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

(Illustration by Elena Zambelli)

Chapter Text

“Woman, do we not have an agreement?!”

Zielle put down her fork and turned, barely able to see in the low light.

“I’m sorry, love,” she mumbled, then finished chewing before she continued. “I was trying not to wake you. But since you’re up now…” Reaching for the oil lamp on the table beside her, she turned the wick to full brightness, then picked up the lamp and her plate and strode across the bedchamber.

Her near waist-length copper locks flowed loose behind her, a bright note of contrast against her deep purple dressing gown. She set the lamp on the bedside table, then leaned down, but the sleepy young man turned his face at the last moment, so that her kiss landed not on his lips, but on the smooth, molasses skin of his cheek.

“Andrey! Whatever is the matter?!” she teased, tugging on one of his many thick braids.

He scrambled to sit up, putting some distance between them. “Not only did you bring food in here, Zielle, but now you’re trying to kiss me! Rules are rules, no matter the hour!”

“You goose!” She held up the food as she flopped down in the middle of the bed, crossing her legs in front of her. “There’s not a trace of meat on this plate, I’ll have you know!”

His light brown eyes snapped with mock suspicion. “None at all?”

Zielle raised an open palm. “I swear! May you tickle me until I scream if I’m lying!”

“In that case…” he raised a mischievous hand, fingers wiggling even more as she squealed in protest and held out the plate. He took a fat, ripe strawberry and popped it into his mouth.

“Do you really think I would eat meat in your room, my precious, sweet boy?” She took one of his hands and kissed it with tenderness. “I would give it up myself if you asked me to.”

“Which you know I will not do, my darling carnivore; but your feasting woke me from a dead sleep, so you’ll have to forgive my suspicion.” His smile was one of deep fondness, from his full lips to his almond-shaped eyes. He leaned forward and took a piece of bread from the plate. “How was the Council meeting?”

“It went well,” she shrugged, continuing to eat. “It was much shorter than the last two.”

“What time is it?” he asked, casting a useless glance toward the closed drapes. “I thought -”

“Quite late,” she confirmed with a yawn, though her face was lighting up by the second. “We sat downstairs for at least two hours, talking.”

“You and…?”

“Master Raistlin, of course.” She couldn’t hide her grin. “No one else could have kept me from you - and sleep - after such a long day.”

“Using his name now, are you?” teased Andrey.

“Yes!” Her face lit up, eyes huge. “Tonight he suggested it, if you can believe that; the soul of formality himself! He said there seemed to be a level of friendship between us, and given his fondness for my grandmother, and my closeness to Dalamar...and because I’ve done so well here, and since it seemed that we would be working together quite a bit…”

Her excitement was infectious, and Andrey couldn’t help but smile, though his face held a note of confusion. “But Dalamar has been here for years, and he still calls him -”

Zielle grabbed his hand. “That’s exactly what I said! But listen to this ! Apparently…” and here she sat up very straight, adopted a serious expression, and lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “‘Dalamar addresses me as he pleases,’” she quoted. “‘He has had permission to do otherwise for quite some time!’”

“Hmmm,” Andrey mused, and opened his mouth to speak again, but then shrugged and took a piece of cheese instead. They both ate in silence for a few minutes, until the plate was picked clean. Zielle got up to put it on the bedside table, then began to crawl back in beside Andrey; but she stopped halfway, sitting on the edge of the bed instead.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Andrey continued his appraising look. “So...let me see if I have this right: you spent several hours just ‘shooting the breeze’ in the Tower of High Sorcery at Palanthas…” he flicked his hand in a casual gesture “...with none other than Raistlin Majere himself, with whom you are on a first-name basis; after, I might add, accompanying him to an exclusive Council meeting?” He raised an amused eyebrow.

“Feeling pretty important these days, are we?”

“Well, a bit, yes !” Zielle couldn’t suppress a giggle. “I try not to be so petty, but I’m not sure I’ll ever grow tired of the looks I get in town when I’m with him... people bowing and scraping to impress, or else crossing to the other side of the street to avoid us!” She rolled her eyes at her own silliness.

“But what kept you up half the night? Though I’m sure you’re sworn to secrecy and can tell me nothing...”

“Well not details, no...but it does pertain to my current food choices”, she answered with a mysterious look.

“Now I’m intrigued…”

Zielle was almost bouncing by this time. “I’m to take part in a ritual! Actual spellwork...with BOTH of them! In a weeks’ time! And I’ll be fasting for two full days beforehand. So no meat until afterward, and no wine...and only vegetables after tomorrow.”

“Congratulations,” Andrey said through nearly clenched teeth, and his eyes were suddenly very bright.

“I know-” she began, then bit her lip.

“No, let me finish,” he demanded quietly, covering her hand with his. “Of course I’m worried, Zi. But, at the same time, I really am very pleased for you.” His voice almost broke, but he looked up at the bed canopy as he took a long breath.

Zielle reached to squeeze his shoulder. “I can handle it, Andrey. He let me read -”

“Please don’t explain.” Andrey clasped her hand in both of his.  “I KNOW you can do this. And I’m SO proud of you! There was never any question that you would do well once we got you away from Wayreth. Though it is getting a bit lonely in the library these days!” His gaze was warm, though his jaw still twitched with worry.

“Thank you,” Zielle said, taking his hand and kissing it. Then she brightened. “I will be very tired afterward, so we will have no duties for the three days following. Think of that - three days of leisure for both of us!”

Andrey gave her a twisted smile. “By ‘leisure’ I suppose you mean that I will have the privilege of watching you sleep and recover your strength, and then playing step-and-fetch between you and the kitchen once you feel like eating again.”

Zielle looked up through her lashes, giving him puppy dog eyes.“Probably something like that, yes. But I will be fine , love.”

“I know you will,” he smiled. “I know you’ll be cautious, and I know that Dalamar will be looking out for you, as well. As for your master, well...despite my initial misgivings about coming here, he has given me no reason not to trust him. He may have even saved my life by taking us on when he did. And we all serve the Magic, though in different ways...”

“Yes, we do,” Zielle whispered, snuggling close. “Thank you for understanding, my dear.”

-----------------------------------------------------------

The darkness was coming fast; a blooming black spiral that Raistlin had no strength left to fight. Once again he had pushed himself too far. But the stone wall had been there only a moment ago...ancient and solid. If only he could touch it, bring his mind back into the room. Breath seizing in his lungs, he reached out into nothing...

And then the empty blackness transformed as he was enfolded in warm velvet. Strong arms cradled him, and Raistlin remembered that he had never truly been in danger, not with Dalamar nearby. “That’s right, Shalafi,” came the soothing words, slightly muffled as the elf pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I have you, and all is well. You need only to rest.”

“Yes...so tired,” he mouthed, melting into the comfort of the soft robe, breathing in Dalamar’s sweet, familiar scent.

-----------

The next darkness was not so complete and, though he still lacked the strength or desire to move even his eyelids, Raistlin was certain he was in his own bed now; he could feel the light and warmth of the fire burning low in the grate; hear its pleasant crackle. He smelled the scents of wood and of soothing herbs. Soft humming caressed his ears, an elvish song, and he knew it was safe to let go again, to fall back into the silence.

-------------

“Please.”

It was the faintest whisper, yet still Dalamar heard; though he could not determine from whence it had come.

“Shalafi, where are you?”

But there was no reply, and he could see nothing through the dense fog, and there were no other sounds. And on top of it all, and to his growing horror, Dalamar found himself unable to move his aching muscles, or even to use his voice again.

I will find you, my love, he swore.

Then he snapped awake, his breathing still ragged even as sweet relief swept over him. His shoulders and spine were stiff and sore, a fitting reward for having fallen asleep slumped over onto Raistlin’s coverlet, his lower body twisted awkwardly in the armchair he had pulled up to the edge of the bed.

Rising too quickly from his cramped position, his muscles protested with sharp, stinging pains as Dalamar hastened to the opposite side of the bed, eager to check on Raistlin, who had moved quite a bit in his sleep and was now facing that direction. The elf brushed a lock of pale hair away from his master’s forehead, then placed his hand there and let out a grateful sigh at the complete absence of fever.

“Shalafi…” he murmured with a soft smile, and only then did he allow himself a few moments to calm his breathing, and to stretch out and massage his sore back and shoulders. Then he remained standing by the bed for awhile, watching for any sign of waking. But Raistlin continued to breathe easily, and didn’t move.

After a brief trip to the adjoining washroom, Dalamar went to the fireside and made a cup of tea, then returned to the chair by the bed. He picked up the book he had been reading earlier in the evening, a new and rather interesting one that he had borrowed from Crysania a few weeks before, on the history of various musical instruments. After the lengthy ritual, and the days of preparation leading up to it, he had thought to rest his mind for awhile with the study of something far less demanding.

And he had begun to realize, though he kept it mostly to himself, how much he truly missed the presence of music in his life. Not necessarily the songs of his early years in Silvanesti, sounds that were woven into the very fabric of that land, but music in general. Though he had never, not even in his darkest days, completely given up the habit of singing when he was alone, lately he had been doing it more and more often; even humming under his breath as he went about his duties.

He glanced up at Raistlin now, still sound asleep, and the warmth that filled his heart was too much to fully contain, and he let out a low, self-conscious laugh. You’re in love, you idiot , he chided. Of course he desired music...and flowers, and sunsets...and every other joy. And he wanted to share them with his beloved, to give Raistlin all the beautiful things the world had to offer; all the things he had lacked for so long.

But with this turn of his thoughts a dam burst in Dalamar’s chest as he gazed at the sleeping figure. He closed the book and set it on the table beside him. “Gods, I’m exhausted,” he whispered, taking a silk handkerchief from his pocket to staunch a sudden flow of tears. He hadn’t experienced such a spontaneous barrage of emotions in quite awhile; not since the last effects of Ladonna’s curses had finally disappeared. Shalafi would rake me over the coals for this! The thought was habitual, though, and Dalamar knew it was neither true nor fair; at least, not anymore . Raistlin had shown him infinite kindness during his long convalescence, and far more patience during their recent emotional conversations than the elf would have ever expected.

But it was imperative that Dalamar stay quiet now, not only to keep from disturbing his master’s vital sleep, but also because he could most certainly not show this anguish to Raistlin. It would doubtless be mistaken for pity, and that was one emotion the archmage steadfastly refused to tolerate if he even suspected himself to be the object of it. So Dalamar, taking one of the many unused pillows from the bed, fled in silence to the fireside and sank down onto the hearth rug. It was almost too hot there, but the warmth was soothing at the same time, and he buried his face in the soft pillow and cried with muffled abandon.

And yes, these tears were for Raistlin’s pain, his years of needless torment, his stolen youth. For the many battles to which Dalamar had borne witness, especially in the early days of his apprenticeship; his frail young master fighting to summon the strength to stand; to get sufficient air into his lungs; to keep control of his own mind. But there was no pity in the elf’s soul, for how could he pity the one he held in the highest regard, so far above all others?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

No, not a trace of pity flowed from his heart, but there was deep sadness...and profound grief; and when he had nearly given full vent to these emotions, and the tears had begun to slow, Dalamar lifted his head and stared into the fire. The roaring flames were a mere shadow of the white heat of righteous anger that had now risen up inside him. His burning eyes narrowed as his lip curled in vicious anticipation.

Harsh revenge against Par Salian was already a cornerstone of their plans, and the elf knew he had only to ask and Raistlin would allow him the killing blow; would probably offer it to begin with, after all that Dalamar had suffered in the White Robe’s presence and with his tacit approval. So many times he had imagined making that final strike; and not with Magic at all, but with his own bare hands; clutching the coward around the neck and watching, unblinking, as the life slowly drained from his miserable eyes. And he would not deny that it was partially for his own sake, his own retribution, that he wanted this. But far more for the brilliant young human lying there in the bed; the singular magical genius he had once planned to betray, but instead had come to worship beyond all measure. Raistlin had always served the Magic, forever putting it above his own needs, and his persecutors on the Conclave - the whole self-serving lot of them - were the ones truly deserving of punishment. And they would most assuredly get it.

Dalamar pressed the handkerchief to his face, wiping away the last traces of his outburst. He  stood slowly and took a long, satisfying breath, stretching once again, and made his way back to the armchair by Raistlin’s bed. Settling in, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into a light half-slumber.  He felt better now, though more fatigued than before; his heart was far lighter and relieved of much of its burden. Soon he began to think of music once again, and of flowers, and of the sweeter, more delicious aspects of being in love; for it truly was a glorious and delightful state, loving so fully and being loved in return. Neither his first youthful obsessions nor any subsequent carnal arrangement had prepared him for the magnitude of what was developing between Raistlin and himself.

The “night of the storm” had been well over a week ago, and with the Council meeting and the timing of last night’s ritual, he and Raistlin had had no chance for further discussions. But there had been a few secret looks, and subtle, shared smiles; just enough that Dalamar was certain Raistlin had no intention of ignoring their agreement to take up the subject again soon. A thrill of anticipation ran through him at the thought, and the remembrance of those precious words when Raistlin had finally spoken his heart.

But then Raistlin shifted in his sleep and mumbled something, and the elf was by his side in an instant, stroking his furrowed brow.

Over the years Dalamar had gained much experience with his master’s nightmares and fever dreams, and this caused him to brace himself now for more of the same. Judging by the lack of fever this time, however, he hoped that the dreams would be relatively innocuous tonight, as they had occasionally been a precious few times in the past. Raistlin might think his brother was with him, as he had sometimes done before, speaking to Caramon or calling to him in his sleep. Please love, rest easy this night, he begged.

For the nightmares were their own trial, and Dalamar’s stomach clenched at some of those memories; at the many times he had sat by, powerless to help Raistlin or to wake him as he once again grappled with the pain of his past. The worst, by far, had been almost two years ago. Dalamar had been unable to hold back his own tears as Raistlin tossed and turned for endless hours, all the while sobbing like a child for his long-dead mother. Sometimes whimpering, other times screaming, he cried out to her; pleading, begging, apologizing again and again, over and over until Dalamar was certain they would both be thoroughly mad well before sunrise. But he never left his master’s side, and Raistlin had eventually come through it, as he came through everything.

But this time really did seem different. The deep slumber that now held Raistlin in its grip seemed merely the exhausted sleep of an overworked but reasonably healthy human, so surely his dreams could follow along similar lines. Please...

Raistlin’s eyelids fluttered and his mouth held the hint of a smile as he once again began to murmur, though he gave no indication of waking. The elf leaned closer, never truly acknowledging his near-desperate need to listen for one faint, unconscious word; hoping, needing...all the while expecting to hear only nonsense, or the whisper of Caramon’s name.

“Don’t go.” The low, sleep-filled voice still carried a note of command. And something else.

The elf took a tentative seat on the edge of the bed, then reached out to place a soothing hand on Raistlin’s shoulder.

“Dalamar…”

The word had been soft but unmistakable, and the elf made a little choking noise in his throat, and forgot all about the act of breathing. Without thinking, he took hold of his master’s hand.

“Stay,” muttered Raistlin, no nearer to waking, but nonetheless gripping Dalamar’s hand in a surprising show of strength, which had the effect of pulling him off balance and down onto his side on the bed. And so very close.

Too close to Raistlin’s cozy warmth; his tranquil face, so lovely in his pleasant dream; his tousled, silky hair shining in the firelight, still smelling of roses, herbs, and candle smoke. The need in the elf’s heart was a physical ache; a heated battle between his desire to embrace the man he loved, hold him close in sleep, versus the necessity of maintaining a level of propriety that would satisfy the archmage later, in his fully awakened state.

But Raistlin’s slumber was deep, and surely there would be no harm in lying here beside him for a few minutes to allow him to finish out his dream and release his hold on Dalamar’s hand in his own time. Trying to pull away now would only disturb him, and Raistlin badly needed his rest. Yes, he must stay right here, for just a little while. It was the only thing to do.

'Asleep' by Elena Zambelli

Link to DeviantArt Gallery

Chapter Text

Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup, and I’ll not look for wine.

The thirst, that from the soul doth rise, doth ask a drink divine;

But, might I of Jove’s nectar sup, I would not change for thine.

------from Song to Celia, by Ben Johnson

---------------------------------------------------------------

The sharp click of garden shears sliced through Raistlin’s drowsiness, waking him just as his open book threatened to slide down onto the balcony floor. Reaching over to catch it, he blinked against a shaft of late morning sunlight, then lay back onto a generous mound of pillows and opened the small volume again.

The expansive balcony outside his bedchamber had been one of the main factors influencing Raistlin’s choice of private quarters when he had first claimed the Tower. Its placement and architecture provided an excellent view as well as partial shelter against the elements, and the air was especially fresh and sweet up here. So Dalamar had created a luxurious outdoor arrangement for him the previous afternoon by pushing two large benches against the inner wall of an alcove, then covering them with a generous collection of blankets and cushions. Raistlin had been lounging here for the better part of the morning; nibbling at bits of food, napping, and reading; recovering his strength after the arduous ritual three days before.

“Am I disturbing you, Shalafi?”

He looked up at Dalamar, standing several feet away amidst a lush collection of potted plants and trailing vines. But before he had time to reply the elf had placed the shears on a wrought-iron shelf and was moving toward him. “I will do this later…”

“I am fine, Dark Elf. Pray continue your task,” Raistlin urged. “It’s high time you tamed that forest before it takes over the entire balcony!”

But Dalamar - long accustomed to such needling and quite impervious to it - had already made his way over and was lifting a stoneware pitcher from a narrow table he had brought out for Raistlin’s use. “I trimmed everything only last week, as you know.” He filled Raistlin’s half-empty water cup and handed it to him. “Please drink all of it this time.” It was more of a request than a command, but it earned him a sarcastic glance anyway.

“Is the wind too much?” asked the elf. “I can get you another blanket.”

“There is barely any wind, and it’s blocked by the wall there,” Raistlin assured him, looking around at his cozy nest. “And the sun is warming my legs now, so you needn’t worry I will catch a chill. Besides, you’ve robbed the upper floors of all their bedding and linens already!”

Dalamar shrugged, smiling. “Almost,” he agreed.

Raistlin took another long, slow drink of the water, draining the cup before placing it upside down on the table, all the while glaring at the elf in mock defiance.

“Happy?” he asked, settling back against the pillows once again.

“Quite,” said Dalamar brightly as he busied himself smoothing blankets and fluffing cushions. The refreshing scent of cut herbs still clung to his skin and tunic, and he hummed an old tavern song while he tidied the area.

Raistlin watched and listened, his book forgotten for the present. “You seem rather pleased with yourself today, Dark Elf.”

“I am merely pleased in general, Shalafi,” he explained. “It is a beautiful day.” Then a playful smirk lit his face. “Though I shall endeavour to appear less pleased, if that suits you better.”

“Impossible creature!” Raistlin scolded, biting the inside of his lip to hide his amusement.

Each held the other’s gaze, and Dalamar’s mischievous twinkle soon disappeared, to be replaced by that look; the deep, melting expression that went straight to Raistlin’s soul. A look that just might overflow into words. Raistlin inhaled slowly...and waited.

“I love you,” breathed the elf.

There it was.

“So I’ve heard.” Raistlin shot him a tiny, crooked smile, then turned his attention back to his reading. “Now finish your gardening and come sit for awhile. I can’t rest properly with you flitting about.”

---------------------

It was late afternoon now, and all was quiet, save for an occasional mild breeze. Dalamar had settled himself in a chair across from Raistlin and both mages were reading in amicable silence. On the small table between them sat a nearly empty plate of sweet cheese and ripe strawberries.

“I can make another pot of tea, if you wish,” offered Dalamar at length, as he closed one book and began to leaf through another.

“Only if you would like more.” Raistlin yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “I wish to walk around for a bit, and get some things from inside.” He swung his legs over the edge of the makeshift couch.

“Wait, let me help you.” The elf was by his side before his feet touched the floor, offering a supportive arm and guiding him through the door to his quarters.

They emerged almost half an hour later. Raistlin’s hair was freshly combed and braided back on the sides in one of the simpler elvish styles he had recently come to favor. Dalamar had one arm curled about Raistlin’s waist, and in the other he carried a small stack of books and a few sheets of fresh parchment, which he deposited on the table.

“Show me what you’ve done with the garden,” Raistlin said, so they made their way over, engaging in a short conversation about several of the newly trimmed container plants and the neat bundles of fragrant greenery hanging upside down along the top of the nearby alcove. Under other circumstances such a discussion would have lasted much longer, but when Raistlin began to lean more heavily against him, Dalamar guided them back over to the sitting area.

“Thank you, Dark Elf,” Raistlin said, holding onto the back of Dalamar’s chair while the elf rearranged his bedding so he could sit for awhile instead of lying down. “For all of this. Your dedication to my comfort, and your patience...and the fact that we no longer must go down to the main gardens for the freshest herbal components.”

Dalamar, warmed by this declaration of gratitude, took Raistlin’s hands and helped him to get settled. “Shalafi, it is always my pleasure to do anything for you.Truly. And, of course you know that gardening is hardly a chore to me,” he finished with a chuckle as he laid a blanket over Raistlin’s lap.

“I...cannot imagine my life without you,” said Raistlin, his tone soft, and there was a sudden change in the golden eyes that set Dalamar’s heart racing. He swallowed, his throat dry. With the timing of the recent ritual, and its preparations, they had delayed and danced around their unfinished conversation for almost two weeks now.

And so Dalamar rushed to speak first. “This would be enough, you know,” he managed, “times like this…” he nodded, willing Raistlin to understand.

When no reply was forthcoming, the elf sat down beside him.

“Nothing needs to change, Shalafi. If you knew how much I relish working by your side; just being near you, or - when I am elsewhere in the Tower - knowing you are only moments away, engaged in your own work; that you can summon me at need.”

Raistlin’s silence was unnerving, but Dalamar was grateful for the ability to speak without interruption.

“How much I look forward to the end of the day, when we might have an hour to ourselves for a bit of leisure or quiet study together. That I might look at you with my heart in my eyes...and see it reflected in yours.”

Raistlin’s lips parted but then closed again, and he maintained his silence even after the elf laid a hand on top of his.

“I need you to know how dearly I hold these things, Shalafi...how I treasure them. If only I could make you understand that you have made me so very happy. I do not ask for anything you have not already given me.”

Raistlin looked down at the elf’s hand, clasped and held it with both of his for the space of several breaths. Then he lifted his gaze and started to speak.

“It is not a question of what I am able or willing to give you, Dark Elf but, rather...what I cannot bring myself to take from you.” He raised Dalamar’s pale hand to his lips and brushed a light kiss across the backs of his fingers.

“ Take from me, Shalafi? I’m afraid I don’t understand...” The elf tilted his head, puzzled, but soon gave it a little shake. “Gods, I am forgetting myself.” He began to rise. “You know how much I wish to discuss this, but you should be regaining your strength, not expending it in -”

“Nonsense,” countered the archmage, and placed a restraining hand on Dalamar’s leg to keep him there. “You said yourself that I am recovering very quickly this time.”

“And I am grateful for it, but you can’t resume your workload until the day after tomorrow, at the earliest, and then you mustn’t push yourself. This discussion -”

“-is long overdue, Dark Elf!” Raistlin’s golden eyes were alight with purpose. “Though you are correct that I must continue to rest, I will no longer require so much extra sleep. And, as I wish to indulge myself with your company these next two days instead of assigning you work downstairs, I believe we must clear up this issue. Would you have it hanging between us as we attempt to confine our conversation to our books, or make small talk about the weather!”  

“We haven’t been doing that at all,” Dalamar argued.

“Likely because I’ve been sleeping most of the day,” Raistlin said.

“But you made no objection when I said ‘I love you’ earlier.”

“No, I did not,” conceded Raistlin, though his expression grew no less adamant. “But neither did I return the sentiment. That you content yourself with the crumbs from my table doesn’t change the fact that you deserve so much more.”

Dalamar bit back a growl of frustration. “My own wishes should take precedence over what you think I deserve, Shalafi! And though you did not answer me in words, you most assuredly did return the sentiment! It was written plainly on your face…” He arched an eyebrow. “As it is now, I might add...somewhere underneath that scowl, anyway.”

“Damn, but you’re infuriating,” swore Raistlin, with a small laugh at his own momentary defeat. And there was only a wistful fondness in his eyes now as he lifted a hand to caress Dalamar’s cheek.

“You know how I feel about you, Dark Elf! And I wish to the gods I were as selfish as my reputation paints me; that I could ignore my bothersome conscience.” His fingers traced along the point of Dalamar’s ear, before tucking back an errant strand of lustrous black hair. “But it is you for whom I worry. There are so many reasons...not the least being that you are still so young; too young to bind yourself to -”

“Oh, please!” scoffed Dalamar, shaking off Raistlin’s touch and rising to stand. “So you will trust me with your life’s Work... with your life itself... with untold dangers to come, but you think me incapable of knowing my own mind? Of making my own choices?” His animated gestures displayed his mounting irritation.

“I did not say -”

“You seem to have forgotten, Shalafi, that I am considerably older than you,” challenged the elf, his mouth set in a stubborn line.

“A suitably juvenile remark,” Raistlin chided. “Do not pretend to misunderstand me.”

“If I were human there would be only a scant few years between us. Remind me how old you were, exactly, when you began making decisions that affected...what was it? Oh, yes - the fate of the entire world!?” He rolled his eyes. “I believe I can be trusted to decide whom I love!”

Raistlin sighed. “Dalamar, I am only saying that someday you will doubtless see the wisdom of having maintained a strong friendship now, instead of -” He held up a hand to stop the inevitable protest. “Even in the absence of any other complications... the very nature of such a union can only end in heartbreak for you.”

He paused, staring out into the distance, as if a solution might be written in the treetops or the clouds. When he spoke again the words were low and raw, and his eyes shone with moisture. “You must think, Dark Elf! As unpleasant a truth as it is...but I will age; I will wither and weaken, and become a burden to you, until this fragile human body fails me entirely. And I would not hurt you like that, not for a few brief years of physical pleasure. But if we limit our relationship to -”

A burst of stark laughter interrupted the thought. “So keeping me out of your bed will spare me that pain? Is that what you think?”

Dalamar dropped into his chair and leaned forward, arms crossed on the narrow table between them. “Look me in the face and tell me you actually believe that!”

But Raistlin’s answer was only a fleeting, rueful smile.

“Exactly,” declared the elf, drawing encouragement from this brief victory. “It doesn’t matter what we do - or don’t do - in the coming days, or weeks, or years…in your bedchamber or out of it. This bond between us is already sealed.”

His jaw twitched as he held back the tears that threatened. “But you could never be a burden to me, Shalafi! Never! Do you hear me? Tell me you understand!”

Raistlin gave a curt nod, and clasped the elf’s outstretched hand. So Dalamar pressed on, albeit more gently.

“Caring for you, Shalafi; serving you...it has been the greatest honour of my life, and always shall be. And you know…” he hesitated,  “...there is the very real possibility of more time...”

“Ugh...don’t start with your Kagonesti rumours again!” Raistlin cast a weary look at Dalamar. “I do not have the patience today. And you are wasting a fair amount of your own time with that wild goose chase.”

Dalamar stood and crossed the short distance to the threshold of Raistlin’s room. “Yet you haven’t forbidden me to continue my research,” the elf pointed out, stepping briefly inside to retrieve a medium-sized blue bottle.

“I no longer dictate your actions, Dark Elf. You are my associate now, not my apprentice,” Raistlin reminded him.

And, though Dalamar held private doubts that he would ever grow accustomed to that development, he would use it to his advantage now. “That is well, as I intend to persevere until I find what I seek.”

He returned to their sitting area. “Not only for you - for us - but for the advancement of our Art.”

As Raistlin didn’t reply, the elf also kept silent as he uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount of sparkling, fragrant liquid into his and Raistlin’s tea cups. “Pardon my laziness, but I forgot to get proper wine goblets, and I lack the inclination to do it now.”

Setting down the cups, he once again took a seat on the couch beside Raistlin, tucking one leg under himself so they could more easily face each other as they talked.

Moisture sprang into Dalamar’s eyes again, despite his best effort, as he linked his hands with Raistlin’s and prepared to make his point. “If I lost you today, Shalafi, already my suffering would be unspeakable.” He allowed himself a steadying breath. “Let us not allow a future loss to place restrictions on us now. Regardless of the amount of time that passes, that pain will come; it will be mine to endure...and endure it I shall, if only for the sake of continuing your work.”

“ Our work,” whispered Raistlin, squeezing his hand.

“Yes, our work. It will get me through, I promise you that.” Dalamar smiled, then picked up a cloth napkin and wiped away the tears.

“And I will also have my memories to sustain me...because we will likely have many years together,” he said, handing Raistlin one of the cups, “and I have every intention of making the most of that time. As we are doing right now,” he finished, raising his cup before taking a sweet sip of mead.

Raistlin returned the salute, clearly relieved at the change in topic, and he grew visibly more relaxed as they enjoyed the sparkling elvish wine. “This is an old trick,” he said after a time, eyes narrowed but gleaming. “You’re plying me with drink to dull my judgement; to make me forget all the reasons we should guard our behaviour.”

The elf laughed, warm with wine and adoration, and leaned in, planting a quick kiss on the side of Raistlin’s mouth. “It is clear you are jesting, but you need never fear such a thing from me. I hope you know that. When I said ‘this is enough’ I meant it. We can have our own private moments, without engaging in actions which “cannot be undone,” as you once put it.” He sat back a little, ever conscious of Raistlin’s sense of propriety, propping his shoulder against the wall behind them, but Raistlin surprised him by shifting a few inches closer and resting a hand on his knee.

“I know I can trust you, Dark Elf,” he said, and there was an odd note in his voice. “After all...your behaviour in my bed yesterday morning was beyond reproach!”

“Wh-” the elf mouthed. “But I -” he faltered, his face very warm all of a sudden.

Raistlin’s eyes danced over the rim of the cup before he set it back down. “You thought you had gotten away with it?” He quirked an eyebrow.

Dalamar was numb. “Shalafi, I never meant to fall asleep! I swea-”

“I know, Dark Elf, but you were exhausted, and needed to rest almost as much as I did. Which is why I feigned sleep once you began to stir.” He smiled and squeezed Dalamar’s wrist. “And I have a foggy memory of pulling you down beside me in the first place. So it’s just as much my fault as yours.”

He reached for Dalamar, wrapping a hand around the back of his slender neck. “And I have never woken to anything sweeter,” he whispered, and the elf closed his eyes, waiting; but then Raistlin took his hand away and drew back.

“Whatever is wrong? I thought-”

“I apologize...I shouldn’t...”

“Oh yes you should ,” he insisted. “Believe me, Shalafi...”

Dalamar swore silently. Why had he assumed things were settled, even temporarily?

“You are so very lovely, Dark Elf,” Raistlin continued, in a dismal tone.

“Well, I’m sorry that is such a source of misery for you.” Dalamar managed to keep some of the sarcasm out of his voice.

Raistlin’s brows drew together. “I cannot help but think it yet another thing that separates us,” he said.

“And I cannot help but think you will never stop searching for excuses to deny yourself a scrap of happiness!” The elf fought back his frustration. “I cannot change what I am! And why does it matter at all? Suppose the Conclave’s attack had damaged my face, or crippled my body in some permanent way; would you not love me in that case?”

Raistlin cast him a peevish look. “Don’t be absurd, Dark Elf. Such things would make no difference to me. I could easily love you for your mind alone. But, as you just said, you cannot change what you are, and therefore you cannot deny that your people hold beauty in the highest regard. And I am...” He held up a hand, gesturing at himself.

“You are the most exquisite human I have ever beheld!” His face was hard with preemptive defiance, his voice resolute enough to strike down the first notes of Raistlin’s mocking laughter.

“I don’t understand, Shalafi. I have always thought you harbored a secret streak of vanity; that you quite relished your striking appearance, and its effect on others.”

“Enemies, perhaps; or those I wish to influence,” Raistlin admitted. “And I know how to be charming; I’ve used it to my advantage many times. But I am cursed, Dark Elf! And weak, and I’m nothing compared to -”

Dalamar took hold of his shoulders. “Listen to me, Raistlin Majere!” he ordered, his accent thick with suppressed emotion. “I will not sit here and listen to this! You are arguably the most powerful man in the world! And you get stronger by the day! Furthermore, thank you for pointing out that I come from a culture with a high aesthetic sensibility. So why not trust my judgement when it comes to such matters?”

He loosened his grip, allowing it to melt into a gentle caress along Raistlin’s upper arms. “And I say that you are beautiful, Shalafi; a fact that would have certainly struck me at our very first meeting, had you not been both half-starved and intent on murdering me.” This earned him a grudging half-smile, so he continued, his remaining irritation mellowing into a soothing tone as brought his fingers to Raistlin’s face, tracing each feature as he spoke.

“As it was, several days passed before I took note of these incomparable cheekbones...your enticing jawline...and how the firelight shimmers on your skin. And, though your graceful way of moving was always impossible to overlook, it took more than a year of coaxing you to eat before the lean beauty of your form began to show itself.” He slipped a hand just inside the neck of Raistlin’s tunic, stroking the line of his collarbone. “But by that time I had already fallen in love with you.”

Dalamar paused, studying Raistlin’s parted lips and half-closed eyelids for any sign of distress caused by his words or touch. But sensing no objection, he continued.             

“There is no one,” he swore, “elf or human, with hair such as this…” He ran his fingers through the pale strands. “The impossible color of an ice storm...soft as the finest silk.” He brushed a lock of it across his own face. “Softer,” he amended, grazing Raistlin’s ear with the word, before kissing him lightly on the forehead; then he used all his willpower to put a few inches of distance between them.

“And your eyes…” he continued, as Raistlin stared at him, alert now and unblinking; his strange pupils wide and endless.

“They warned me about them, you know?” the elf said. “At Wayreth, before I came here. Your ‘limitless cruelty’, your ‘ruthless thirst for power’...it was all there in those cursed eyes, they said; the defining mark of a monster. Best to avert your gaze whenever possible, young apprentice.”

“But when they had me, Shalafi...that night…” he looked away, taken with a sudden shiver as the bitter memory washed over him. “...when I was moments from death, my body broken and my Magic spent, I could hold to one thing only…” He turned back to look at Raistlin. “...your extraordinary eyes.”

He swallowed hard, trying to smile, and waved away Raistlin’s evident concern, but Raistlin moved closer and put an arm around his shoulders.

“I saw them so clearly in my mind,” the elf went on, his voice trembling now, “felt their fire in the depth of my soul...even after the pain had burned away all else, and the madness was escalating. And I held on...somehow. And then you came for me.”

“My Dalamar,” Raistlin soothed, pulling him close.

“I am sorry,” whispered the elf, “I thought I could talk about it…”

“No apologies, Dark Elf. Perhaps we should have discussed it more often. I know I shall never forget it... lifting you out of the dirt... fearing the worst…” He kissed the top of the dark head. “I thought you were dead, love. And by the gods, I was going to kill them right then and there, no matter that I had not prepared for such a battle. The power of my grief alone would have ensured my victory. But then you moved in my arms, and gave the faintest cry; and with that flicker of hope the only thing that mattered was your safety.”

The elf raised his head, just enough to look into Raistlin’s eyes, and laid a hand on his arm. “I can recall almost nothing of the time after...but I remember your nearness, Shalafi. Each time I woke you would touch my face, or take my hand, and your voice was so soothing. You were always there, and I felt safe; and joy filled my heart, even as I believed I lay dying.”

Raistlin shook his head and let out a ragged breath. “It was a close thing, Dark Elf. More than once I thought I’d lost you, during those first hours...and my grief was doubly bitter, having only just discovered the extent of your loyalty; and that you had laid down your life for mine.”

“I am yours, Shalafi. And no one else could have saved me. I could’ve only held on for you,” whispered Dalamar, nestling further against Raistlin’s chest.

They sat together for a long while, allowing their closeness and the clean, gentle breeze to bring calm once again. But Dalamar knew he must get Raistlin inside before the wind picked up and the cooler evening temperatures set in. “We should go in,” he advised, rising, and turned to help Raistlin stand. “It will be dark soon.”

“We have a little longer,” said the archmage, pulling Dalamar in the direction of the lush greenery. “And I want to watch the sunset with you.”

A tiny thrill quickened the elf’s heart at the romantic nature of this proposal, so he decided not to argue, though he took one of the lighter blankets.

“I want to tell you …” Raistlin began, once they had reached the carved stone railing at the other end of the balcony. He paused, eyes intent on Dalamar’s face.

“Go on,” said the elf.

“This is something I have never spoken of, Dark Elf...but I made a vow to you that night, as we hid below the city,” he explained. “After that final, desperate effort to close the worst of your wounds, I swore to devote myself to you...to do everything necessary to aid in your healing, and to provide you with whatever might bring about your happiness - be it knowledge, power, influence…anything. Everything. Alone with my thoughts, barely conscious myself, I could no longer push away my own growing feelings...and the knowledge that you had become dearer to me than life...that I never wanted to be without you.”

He lifted Dalamar’s hand to his lips, then let the elf guide them to a nearby bench.Their hands still clasped, Raistlin resumed speaking.

“And so began your slow recovery,” he said, “and the mounting evidence that you seemed to care for me in a...personal way. At first I told myself that it was tied to the curses, and that your emotions would soon level out. When they did, and your fondness for me only appeared to grow, I concluded that you were dazzled by the Magic itself; by the magnitude of your situation; that you were only mistaking it for something else.”

Dalamar fought to keep a neutral countenance, quelling the urge to argue or comment.

“But then you spoke your heart that day in the garden,” Raistlin said, “and turned my world upside down. I tried to keep forcing my own lies on myself, because the idea that I could take you for my own was…impossible.” He broke off, shaking his head. “I believed the only way to keep the vow I swore on that terrible night - to do my utmost for your wellbeing - was to hold you at arm’s length.”

“Shalafi,” began Dalamar, as gently as he could manage. “I think you know better than that.”

“Perhaps,” Raistlin said gravely, “but I am at a loss as to what to do about it.”

He took the elf’s face in his hands. “I love you, Dalamar, beyond all my wildest imaginings. But I cannot dissolve all my doubts and concerns about what’s best for you.”

Dalamar regarded him. “Perhaps I might be given a say in what’s best for me,” he suggested, a playful note creeping in as his lips curved into a little smile. “And remember what I said earlier….” He raised a hand to brush Raistlin’s cheek. “What we have now...it is perfect. So let us enjoy ourselves and not be troubled,” he urged, glancing toward the magnificent skyline, which had erupted into endless gold-laced hues of purple, pink, and orange. “Look...isn’t it beautiful?”

“Indeed,” Raistlin whispered, though his eyes never left the elf’s. And he took his time, his own face reverent as he drank in the ethereal beauty before him. Threading his fingers through the raven hair, he placed soft little kisses on Dalamar’s forehead, his eyelids, then down the side of his face before easing his head back to claim his mouth; lips tenderly insistent at the start, then growing ever more assertive as the kiss deepened.

And Dalamar yielded to it all; to the sweet, hungry demands of Raistlin’s mouth, the strong, elegant fingers sliding through his hair, pressing into his back; caressing his face. His own hands tangling in the white silk of Raistlin’s hair, then tracing the lines of his slender torso through the fine fabric of his tunic. Their mingled moans and sweet sentiments, murmured hot against each others’ skin.

Then slowly, gradually, Raistlin’s breathing became more even, the touch of his lips ever softer, and he brought them out of it, with all the grace of a seasoned dancer leading his partner through the last few steps of a waltz.

“Sweet gods,” gasped Dalamar, blinking furiously, when they finally separated. “You’re very good at that.”

“Nice to hear,” Raistlin managed, his voice a rough whisper. “Will you do something for me, Dalamar? Perhaps it will n -”

“Anything, Shalafi,” promised the elf, his heart still pounding.

“Months ago,” he began, eyes smoldering, “I gave you leave to call me by my name. You did say it earlier today, finally, but we were arguing, and -”

“Raistlin,” breathed the elf, trilling the ‘r’ in his native accent. "My Raistl-."

Their lips met in another kiss, slow and gentle this time, and when Raistlin drew back to look at him, Dalamar could see the dazzling sunset reflected in his eyes.

“Yours...yes, beloved,” said Raistlin, wrapping his arms around the elf, drawing him close. “Yours...always.”

'Sunset Over Palanthas' by Elena Zambelli

Link to DeviantArt Gallery

Chapter Text

“Well, I see no reason not to do it at once,” declared Lady Zarana in a firm tone, her attention on Raistlin, who was seated at the head of the large table in the formal downstairs study.

Dappled morning sunlight, streaming in through the ancient rose window, shone on the small, select group assembled there.

“If we are to restore our Art to its rightful status,” Zarana continued, “we must at last dispense with such outdated Conclave foolishness. There’s no reason why a White robe cannot study under any qualified wizard who is willing to apprentice him. Andrei has proven himself, time and again, in his months here. I would take him on myself except I know he will learn more from you.”

Andrei, sitting across from Zarana, gave her a fond look, then turned toward Raistlin. “Par Salian already made a great show of striking my name from the lists anyway, from what we’ve heard.” Crysania, seated beside him, pursed her lips. “But whatever you decide, Master,” he concluded with a small bow of his head, “I am honoured by your consideration.” 

“You already know my view on the matter,” stated Dalamar, seated to Raistlin’s right.

“And mine,” said Zielle, eyes dancing, from her place opposite the elf. 

Raistlin surveyed the small group seated around the table. “Then let us make it official,” he smiled, taking up his quill. "Come here, Andrei, and we will sign the contract."

There was quiet applause and warm congratulations all around as the documents were put in order. Crysania proposed the idea of a small celebration later that evening. A beaming Zielle agreed, clearly proud of her beloved. 

After a few minutes, Dalamar began to settle back into his chair, all the while eyeing a stack of parchment Raistlin had just brought over from his desk.. 

“Let us continue,” prompted the elf, a slight edge in his voice. “What is our next topic for discussion?”

Everyone turned to Raistlin, whose face had taken on a rather somber cast. He drew in a long breath and looked at the others in turn.

“There is the matter of Solace,” he began, turning toward Andrei and Crysania, “but I understand that we are still awaiting word from your informant?”

“Correct,” replied Crysania, “And I will meet with him immediately upon his return, which I expect to be before week’s end.”

“Very good.” Raistlin gave a short nod. “Now I have another matter to bring before you…a topic that I must address...and it is of the gravest importance.” 

“I wish to begin by thanking you all. You have each demonstrated the highest degree of dedication and loyalty, and I am confident in our ultimate success. We shall destroy the Conclave and its corruption, regain the world’s respect for Magic, and," with a nod to Crysania, “explore the possibilities of combining Magic with other spiritual disciplines.”

He placed a hand atop the parchment in front of him.

“Again, I do not doubt our ultimate success...but there is still much risk involved, at many points in our developing plans, and no amount of preparation and forethought can give an ironclad guarantee of anyone’s safety.” 

He gestured to Zielle, who rose as he handed her the stack of parchment, which she distributed, two sheets to each person, facedown, before returning to her seat. Everyone eyed the sheets, but no one touched them.

“Despite my limited trust in outside authorities and institutions, I would - and shall, at the proper time - use every available resource to achieve my ends. However, current circumstances prohibit me from registering official documents with any such entity. As you know, we cannot yet openly acknowledge Dalamar’s survival, so I have created my own document upon which I require each of your signatures acknowledging that you bear witness to my choices in the following matter, and that you will do everything in your power to be sure they are carried out. 

“First...I wish to officially declare Dalamar Argent to be my chosen heir and successor...that he continue my life’s work and the endeavours we have begun here. This should be no surprise to any of you. I charge you all upon your dedication to me and to our collective aims, to support and aid him as you would me. You already know this.”

There were nods and murmurs of agreement.

“Furthermore…,” he cast a sidelong glance at the elf, “should there come a time -  though I do not expect such a thing to happen, as we are planning every possible guard against it - that you must make a choice between his life and my own...that you will choose, without question , to protect Dalamar. We -”

“Shalafi!” Dalamar sat bolt upright, and began to rise.

“Sit down!” Raistlin ordered. “This matter is not up for debate.”

Dalamar obeyed, shaking visibly, his face ablaze.

Raistlin continued addressing the others, in a tone that would brook no argument. “I am certain you can understand my reasoning in this. I must put the Magic before my own life and, given his own vast lifespan, Dalamar will carry my work far beyond what I could ever expect otherwise. There is no other choice.”

“It is the only clear option, Dalamar,”  said Lady Zarana gently. “And this is not the first time we’ve discussed this.”

“No, it is not ,” Raistlin reminded him.

“It’s the first time you’ve demanded sworn oaths and signed documents.” The elf's tone was more subdued, though his jaw still twitched.

Zielle cast him a sympathetic look from across the table. They locked eyes for a brief second, and he relaxed a bit further.

“I apologize", Dalamar began, a little tremor in his voice as he lifted his head and assumed a more dignified posture. "Of course I understand your reasoning. Yes, it makes sense. And, as you said, we are planning our strategy so as to avoid the need for any such dire choices.” He forced a smile.

“Exactly,” said Raistlin.

"And…" the elf paused, swallowing hard, "...you know I have already dedicated my life to your Work... and will always do everything in my power to carry on as you would wish...no matter when that day may come.” 

“I know it well,” said Raistlin quietly, reaching over to place his hand on Dalamar's as the others began to glance at the parchment in front of them.

He addressed the group once again. “You have each been handed a copy of two separate documents. The first outlines the matter we have just discussed. The second…” 

He paused long enough that looks of concern began to appear around the table.

“It is not as heavy a subject as this last one, I promise,” he assured them, but his tight expression said otherwise.

“I am pleased that you all understand my reasoning in passing my legacy and leadership on to Dalamar...”

He paused, lips pressed together, before continuing.

“...because there is another aspect...a related matter that I feel the time is right to bring to your attention.” 

The elf’s eyes grew wide, and he caught an answering look from Crysania, before his face became an unreadable mask and he began to study an invisible spot on the tabletop.

Raistlin continued. “Earlier I expressed my gratitude to you all for your loyalty and dedication. Now I must also thank you for something else. For most of my life I had no time or thought to spare for anything other than my studies, and I never expected, when I claimed this Tower, that within a handful of years it would be inhabited by several people whom I not only respect...but have also come to regard as my friends.” 

He looked at everyone in turn. “You have all aided me in ways that go far above and beyond what was required of you.” Then his eyes caught Dalamar’s, and he faltered, for the briefest second. “I...I did not believe that duty and companionship could truly coexist, but you have all helped me, in your own way, to see otherwise...and I truly do thank you.”  

Raistlin paused, gazing around the room again. Lady Zarana was beaming with triumph and affection, and she gave Raistlin an encouraging little nod. He resumed speaking then, and his voice was now steadier and more resolute.

“Dalamar and I have recently come to... to an understanding. And though it is not my habit to share the details of my private life, I can no longer hide the fact that he and I have become far more to each other than associates, or even close friends. And it is primarily for his sake that I speak now, in front of you all. For, what has developed between us is nothing to hide, and deserves to be acknowledged.”

Andrei gave Zielle a soft kick underneath the table, and she quickly arranged her initial look of surprise into a more neutral one.

“Dalamar is far more to me than my chosen successor...and if I could make a declaration to the entire world this very minute, I would. But, as that would be counterproductive in the extreme, I instead do so here today, in front of you all.”

He turned to face Dalamar and took his hand, leading him to stand up, despite the elf’s stunned countenance.

“Dalamar Argent, I love you. Before these witnesses I declare it. And as soon as we may safely do so, then the world will know it, too. I would have you as my consort, my bondmate, my lifelong companion. You came here three years ago, and in that time you have saved my life - and, consequently, my Work - more times than I can easily recall. I can never repay all that you have given me, but I wish to spend the rest of my life trying, as we work side by side on our common goal. I have shared my Work with you, and now my heart, and I wish to continue doing so for all of my days. I am yours. Always.”

The elf’s expression was radiant but his voice shook. “I did not expect such a speech,” he began, his accent at its strongest. “Or to be standing here in front of you thus, grasping for a reply. But I will do my best.” 

He looked down for a moment, drawing in a long, deep breath, then lifted his gaze to Raistlin's face.

“Raistlin Majere, you are my world. The Magic, and your love...I need nothing else. With you, I can do anything, face any obstacle. My love for you is boundless, and I thank you for this day, this…” 

He looked out at the others. Crysania had her hands clasped together, and tears were streaming freely down her face, which proved Dalamar’s undoing. With a little laugh he took out a handkerchief and wiped his own eyes before going on.

“All that I have done in service to you, and to the Magic, I have done freely, as was my sworn and chosen duty...and it has been my privilege to do so. But to have earned your heart...I can only strive to prove worthy of this rarest of treasures.” He tightened his hold on Raistlin's hands as they both stood still, captivated by the moment.

The silence was finally broken by Lady Zarana. “Raistlin Majere, if you aren’t going to kiss him I will come up there and do it for you!”

Raistlin scowled at her, smothering a laugh, before turning back to Dalamar and pulling him in for a modest but heartfelt kiss.

Much congratulations ensued, above which Crysania exclaimed “Now we simply MUST have a party!” 

“A proper feast, yes,” agreed Lady Zarana. 

Raistlin considered the idea, then nodded his assent. “We have much to celebrate,” he said, smiling in Andrei’s direction. “but let us keep it small.” He directed this last at Lady Zarana, who conveniently seemed not to hear him.

He allowed a few more moments for everyone to settle down, then held up his hand. “Zielle and Andrei will be accompanying me on a brief trip into the city this morning, so let us swiftly conclude our business here. Please turn your attention to the documents before you. Read them carefully, then be sure to sign every copy on the table, including the ones here before me. Keep a copy of each for yourself, to be held in the safest possible location you can devise. The first document binds Dalamar and myself in a professional capacity, and the other in a personal one. It is my fervent hope that this is merely a precaution, but there may come a time when the very future of Magic will depend on your efforts in keeping safe what I have entrusted to you on this day.”

Everyone did as requested, and soon the meeting was adjourned, followed immediately by much chatter of congratulations and impromptu party plans. Raistlin busied himself locking away books and papers in his large desk, then looked around for Dalamar, who was talking to Crysania.

His eyes met the elf’s for only a moment...a shared, private smile filled with every kind of warmth and promise. Then he gathered his two apprentices and departed for the city.

***************

“Go ahead inside,” whispered Zielle, handing several parcels and bags to Andrei before kissing him on the forehead. “I know the Grove is difficult, but you did well...and you’ll get used to it. Just put everything on the desk, and relax. I won’t be long.”

He gave her a reassuring nod, the dancing light in his quiet brown eyes never failing to make her heart jump a little, even after all these years. Then she turned to find Raistlin, who was examining the buds on a rose bush just inside the front gate, his cloak and bags draped over his arm. 

He straightened as she approached. “You are proud of Andrei, I know. It is well deserved.”

“I am, Master Raistlin, and I wanted to thank you again. And...and to tell you…” she paused. “Well, I do not wish to be forward, but…”

“Speak freely, Zielle.” His expression was warm. “You have given me cause for nothing but trust in you.”

She took a deep breath. “I wanted to say….that I do think of you with friendship, and much more loyalty than one might expect, even from an apprentice to her master. You see, I know what it is to truly love another. Andrei and I have been together since we were children...I cannot imagine living without him. If not for you, I might be facing that stark reality.” A chill ran through her. “Our situation at Wayreth was growing more perilous by the day. If you hadn’t intervened -”

“You have Dalamar to thank for that, as well as Crysania.” 

“I know..but without you we would have had no safe place to go. I doubt even Grandmother could have protected us at that point.”

Raistlin shrugged, raising his hands in a questioning gesture. “But I am the reason he was in danger to begin with. If I hadn’t asked Crysania to use her connections at Wayreth…” 

Zielle shook her head. “Dalamar’s life depended on it, and I know that.” Tears sprang, unwelcome, into her eyes, and her voice grew low and rough. “If I had lost Andrei to that cause, Master...if I myself had fallen in pursuit of it...so be it. Dalamar is the future of our Art. Your Work here...all that we do...he will carry it on. You were right to bind us to a promise to protect him, despite his objections. We must all put his life above our own.” 

The golden eyes shone with approval at her words, and this strengthened Zielle as nothing else could have. She straightened, her customary joy and resolve flooding back in, and she spoke now in a much stronger voice.

“But we shall prevail, and have many more years of work and study together...and friendship," she added, with a determined nod. “Dalamar is my best friend, after Andrei. It gives me so much joy to see him happy. And you, of course.” 

Raistlin gave her a warm, genuine smile. “Thank you.” 

“Let me take your cloak and bags inside,” she offered. “Dalamar will be in the garden, and you could rest there for awhile before the festivities erupt.” Laughing now, she added, “and do not worry. I am heading to the kitchens this very moment to make sure the planning has not gotten out of hand.”

“Thank you, Zielle,” he said, removing a couple of small items before handing her his bags and cloak. “I could not be more pleased with your service and dedication, as well as Andrei’s. Do not concern yourself about the party. I can hold my own against your grandmother, and I trust Crysania to keep her in check. Enjoy yourself tonight. You have earned it, both of you. That is an official order!”.

*************

As expected, Dalamar was sitting in silent meditation when Raistlin opened the wooden gate to the private, walled section the elf had worked on so diligently. The well-greased hinges made no sound and he took quiet care in closing the latch.

Raistlin sat down on the nearest bench, the one inset into the stone wall, settled himself, and closed his eyes. Then he let his conversation with Zielle, the journey into town, and the emotional heaviness of the morning’s meeting all melt away as he began to slow his breathing and slip into a meditative state. 

************

Raistlin could feel Dalamar’s gaze when he brought himself back to full consciousness. But he remained completely still for a few more minutes, basking in the elf’s attention mingled with other surrounding delights... the warm, gentle breeze, the gurgling fountain, the perfumes of wisteria and other fragrant blooms, both common and rare. Eventually he began to blink and adjust to the light again, before looking out into the garden..

The elf was indeed watching him, half reclined on a long bench several paces away, a lazy smile gracing his exquisite features. Though clad in his plainest gardening clothes, he still managed to look as refined as any prince.

By all the gods, he was breathtaking...so exquisitely beautiful. Almost painfully so. “ And he’s mine,” marveled Raistlin, for the hundredth time that day. The thought made his breath catch in his throat, just as it always did. “Mine.”  

How, though? How was this possible? 

But the light in those silver grey eyes seemed to be an echo of that very question, as if Dalamar had only just stumbled upon a priceless treasure of his own. Raistlin held that gaze, reluctant to break their shared enchantment by either speech or action. The elf seemed to be of a similar mind, though he gradually began to melt even further into repose, his movements slow and feline as he stretched out his legs, then draped his arms along the back of the bench, first one and then the other, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Raistlin’s. Finally he allowed his lids to drift closed, just before he tipped his head back to rest against the garden wall behind him. The self-satisfied smirk remained on his face, though, as if he knew precisely how Raistlin’s eager eyes were now drinking in the delightful picture before him.

Which was, of course, exactly what Raistlin was doing. Sweet Lunitari! The elf was going to be the death of him! 

“Preening, arrogant peacock,” he accused, in a tone of mock disdain. “Such a display!”

The grin only deepened. “Do I hear an objection?” teased the elf. “In that case you should come over here and reproach me properly!” 

Raistlin laughed outright. “I dare not.”

“And why not?”

“I know a trap when I see one.”

Dalamar raised his head, eyes wide now, and one eyebrow shot up. “Is that so?”

He rose suddenly, and with three graceful strides stood before Raistlin, who was still seated. “Then I could surely use a lesson in recognizing traps...Shalafi,” he said, lowering his voice on the last word as he leaned over, placing his hands on the back of the bench, on either side of Raistlin’s shoulders. “For I was led straight into one this very morning!” 

Oh gods . The elf had drawn so close Raistlin could feel the whispered words, as tendrils of raven hair grazed his cheek. “Indeed?” he managed, swallowing hard to steady himself, caught squarely between giddy delight and smoldering desire. The latter was quickly winning.

“Not a word of your plans,” continued the elf, with an air of feigned insult. But he leaned in further, stole a quick kiss, then stood back up and crossed his arms. “You just let me walk into that meeting none the wiser, all the while planning your ambush.”

“I regret nothing,” countered Raistlin, eyes flaring in challenge, biting back his amusement.

But Dalamar’s smile grew wide as he sank down on the bench and took Raistlin’s hands in his own. “Neither do I,” he said, and trembled a little as his eyes grew moist. “It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Though I was as surprised as I’ve ever been in my life, I’ve never been more honoured by anything. I know how much you value your privacy, and I never would have pushed for such a declaration.”

Raistlin leaned in and kissed his forehead. “You deserve the acknowledgement. As I said this morning, it is nothing to keep secret. And I’m glad that it pleased you.”

“Even if it brought a party down on us?” Dalamar joked.

Smiling, Raistlin stroked the back of Dalamar’s head, then pulled him in for a longer kiss this time. “I don’t mind. You deserve that, too. And don’t forget that we are also celebrating Andrei’s apprenticeship. I think some minor festivity will be good for everyone.” 

“Including you?” the elf teased.

“Perhaps,” Raistlin conceded, “but, regardless, we agreed to it, so we‘d best go upstairs and change.”

“Only if you prefer to go up,” said Dalamar. “I took the liberty of bringing down a few items of clothing for each of us, as I thought you might want to spend as long as possible relaxing out here after such an eventful day," he said, rising and extending his hand to a grateful Raistlin. 

"I think you will find something that meets with your approval. I put everything in your study downstairs,” he explained, leading them to the main garden path and the nearest entrance into the Tower. “There are fresh linens in the washroom, as well.” he added.

“Thank you, Dark Elf. You always think of everything, don’t you?”

***************

Half an hour later the elf stood outside the conservatory, in the shade of the Tower wall, well refreshed and dressed for dinner, while he waited for Raistlin to finish dressing and join him. It would have been impossible to stand here in this spot and not think back to that evening all those weeks ago...that fateful “night of the storm” when Raistlin had finally admitted his feelings.

But there was no time to indulge in memories, even the loveliest ones. He heard Raistlin’s footsteps, then watched him emerge into the golden afternoon sunlight, resplendent in black and red finery, a leather toiletry case under one arm. His hair was completely unbound, causing Dalamar’s heart to soar.  

“You are beautiful, Dark Elf,” Raistlin declared, eyes aflame as he ran them over Dalamar’s velvet and silk attire.

“Likewise,” Dalamar nearly choked, still spellbound, before getting hold of his senses. “We can spend nearly another hour in the garden, if that pleases you,” he said, making a small adjustment to the collar of Raistlin’s tunic. “The fountain area will be quite cool and shaded by now.”

Raistlin said nothing but signaled his agreement by clasping the elf’s hand and leading him back through the main garden into what was quickly becoming their private retreat.

They were soon seated on the smooth, wide edge of the ancient stone fountain. 

“Yes, it is much cooler here,” said Raistlin, setting down the leather case and pulling out a silver comb. 

“M-may I do it?” Dalamar’s voice was soft and hesitant. He had only ever combed Raistlin’s hair during times of illness or convalescence, and held his breath waiting for the response.  

One corner of Raistlin’s mouth turned up, and his eyes flared. “If I may return the favor,” he replied, drawing closer and sliding a hand behind Dalamar’s head, tangling gently in his hair as he brought their mouths together.

“I have discovered that I like kissing you, Dark Elf,” breathed Raistlin against his lips… “I find it most agreeable.”

Dalamar gasped, catching his breath. “As do I,” he managed, in what was surely the understatement of the century. 

Raistlin picked up the comb again and moved to sit behind Dalamar. “Let’s start with you,” he said, but first he pulled the dark hair aside and planted several kisses along the back of the elf’s slender neck, causing Dalamar to wish fervently he could take a dip in the cold waters of the fountain itself. He would surely die if this continued. But he forced himself to relax enough to enjoy Raistlin’s unhurried attention as his hair was combed and braided.

When Raistlin had finished the simple, yet elegant, side braids that would hold the hair out of Dalamar’s face, the elf began to rise, already planning the elaborate style he wanted to create for Raistlin, but he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay there a moment.”

The elf did as requested, and saw Raistlin holding a small box he hadn’t noticed before. “I thought you might like these,” he said, handing the box to Dalamar. 

Opening the lid, he found six tiny stars inside, wrought skilfully of silver and clear crystal, resting on a lining of rich black velvet. They sparkled merrily in the late afternoon sun. The elf was delighted by their delicate beauty, and he smiled up at Raistlin. “Of course I love them! Thank you.” 

Raistlin returned his smile, then took the box and pulled gently to remove one of the pieces. “They are hair pins,” he explained, holding up the first one. “I found them in a shop earlier and was taken in by the urge to see them shimmering in your hair tonight.”

He fastened the first one into Dalamar’s braid, then distributed the other four, but the elf closed the box before he could remove the last one. “I want you to wear one,” he insisted, rising and reaching for the comb and brush. “Not that anyone will notice, of course,” he teased, running the comb through Raistlin’s luminescent hair, then dividing it into sections. “This color would outshine any jewelry,” he explained, planting a kiss on the top of the pale head as he worked. “But I want to share this with you.”

“As you wish, Dark Elf,” Raistlin said, and there was a childish delight behind his words.

“I do wish I had a gift for you,” lamented Dalamar, biting his lip.

There followed a long silence, and when Raistlin finally spoke there was a sly note in his voice.

“We are surrounded by your gift, are we not?” 

Dalamar felt his face grow warm. “I don’t know what you mean,” he replied evenly, continuing his work on Raistlin’s braids.

“I think you do, though,” countered Raistlin, sitting placidly with closed eyes as the elf worked. “This garden is what I mean….and how you have labored with such diligence on every aspect of this little paradise.”

“I appreciate your patience in allowing me to spend so much time and effort here. It has certainly paid off.” Dalamar tried to sound casual.

“Yes, it has...and all the while I thought I was indulging you, doing you a favor as a reward for your hard work and dedication to your studies. Only recently have I realized why I am so drawn to spend time here, especially when I am weary and must rest my eyes for a while.” 

“I am pleased that it brings you comfort, and perhaps a little happiness,” Dalamar said, eyes shining as his face reddened even further.

Raistlin looked around and then back at the elf, a triumphant little smirk on his face. “How could I fail to find enjoyment in this beautiful place? I thought all along that it was my gift to you, but now I realize that the opposite is true.” 

"What?" The elf's face was still the picture of innocence.

"So you deny it, then?" Raistlin raised a challenging eyebrow.

Dalamar settled down close beside him. “No denial,” he admitted at last, clasping Raistlin’s hand. “Of course I did it for you.. But my pleasure in doing so only enhanced my own joy in the work, and in the results. I never planned for you to find out my secret.” He grinned, face aflame, and kissed the back of Raistlin’s knuckles.
“Indeed, it was only in my wildest imaginings that I was creating a gift for my would-be lover.”
Leaning in for a well-received kiss, the elf let his fingers trace along Raistlin’s jaw and up the side of his face, his voice softer, almost reverential now. “I only hoped it would ease your pain...give you some measure of respite from your burdens.” He reached up and smoothed a stray hair, then tucked the little star pin into the pattern of tiny, winding braids.

“Then you have achieved your goal, and more,” Raistlin assured him. “I have spent many pleasant hours here. Though none better than this one...this day.” He took the elf’s hand in both of his, and his face was alight as he began another line of kisses, at first taking his time with Dalamar’s mouth, then making his way around to the back of his neck again. It was exquisite torture.

“You are a torment!” laughed Dalamar, using a fair amount of self control to extricate himself and stand up. “We are fully dressed for dinner, perfectly coiffed, and we must go inside in a moment.”

But Raistlin would not let go of the elf’s hand and, standing up now, brought it to his lips for a more innocent kiss. “Yes, I suppose we must,” he said. “I am not one for parties, as a rule, but I think I might enjoy this one.” His eyes sparkled. “There is much to celebrate.”

“Yes,” agreed Dalamar, returning his smile. “So very much.”

**********************