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Raistlin's Return	By : pip Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 2380 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the book(s) that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author: Pippychick
Fandom: Dragonlance
Pairing: Raistlin/Dalamar
Spoilers: Dragons of Summer Flame
Disclaimer: The world of Krynn, Raistlin
Majere, Dalamar Nightson, the Tower of High Sorcery and other
mentioned events and characters belong to Margaret Weis and Tracy
Hickman (authors), and are also, I believe, the property of TSR and
Wizards of the Coast. I make no money from this. Please don’t
sue me, it’s not worth it.
A/N: Thanks this time to Serenity for the comments. This will probably make more sense if you have read “Dalamar’s Return”.
Content Tags : D/s M/M Violence

Raistlin’s Return
Chapter One
Dalamar paced back and forth across the room. Jenna had left him for a while; even she could not deal with his fury this time. His anger radiated out from him in waves. The air seemed to burn with it. Some part of the shalafi’s spirit was still in the laboratory, and he had allowed Palin to enter. He remembered his last couple of visits to the laboratory; so many years ago now. The second time there wasn’t the barest hint of a ghost. The room had been empty, he would have wagered his life on it.
He recalled the fear he had felt after Palin’s test, when the Staff of Magius had been given to him. The shock had even started the nightmares again for a while. The guardians seemed to have had the same sneering disrespect for Dalamar back then too, suddenly referring to “The true master.” Electricity danced on the ends of his fingers in his rage. Raistlin was dead. The tower was his! His lip curled, for their irreverence he would make their pathetic
existence even more miserable.
He stopped pacing; his sharp ears picked up a slow shuffling step outside the door. It sounded somewhat familiar. An inexplicable feeling of apprehension filled him. The door swung silently open, and there stood a slender figure robed in black, hooded, but all too recognisable.
Everything came back in that moment, and Dalamar’s eyes widened, his fury forgotten as the fear that had been absent for so long suddenly returned. The figure walked over to him slowly, too slowly. Raistlin raised his head to look at his apprentice, throwing back the hood, and Dalamar caught his breath. Real. His shalafi had returned.
“Dalamar. I could feel your anger even in the laboratory.” He sighed irritably, the way only he could. “I have not ‘returned’. I am not even here of my own free will. Chaos, however, has returned, and he is not happy with his children. Come, apprentice, we have much to talk about.”
Chaos? Dalamar’s mind reeled. The Father of the Gods. His face paled and he watched Raistlin take his old seat behind the desk, as Dalamar sank almost lifelessly into the chair opposite him.
He watched as Raistlin spoke. Told him of the Graygem, the Irda, and their foolish attempt to save their homeland. A cold part of his mind listened, compared, and mentioned what he already knew from the girl, Usha. He understood the import of the words, making plans with Raistlin about the things each of them must do. Yet there was a part of him that still belonged to this man completely, and he had been stupid enough to believe he had exorcised it. This part of Dalamar’s mind did nothing but scream and gibber at him, and sigh – it was he, shalafi.
They were deep in conversation, but for a moment their eyes met silently, and Raistlin smiled. A terrible, cold, knowing smile that Dalamar felt deep within him. He was unable to look away as Raistlin continued talking, plotting, as if nothing had happened between them. But Dalamar knew, and he wished without even knowing what for. Too soon the meeting was concluded, and Raistlin was leaving him to collect Palin, they were to go and see Astinus.
Raistlin was impatient, asking him something. Dalamar shook his head, and paid attention again. “I will require one of the Guardians to go with us. I never did trust this city.” That was a strange request. Dalamar’s eyes narrowed.
“Why do you not go directly to the library with the young white-robe, shalafi? There is no time to waste, surely.” He was honestly puzzled, although a part of him began to understand.
“I would see Palanthas again, a final time. Besides, I do not wish to expend energy wishing myself to all the places I must go.” He had allowed a wistful note to enter his voice, and then Dalamar knew for certain that his shalafi was lying. But why?
“You don’t?” Dalamar continued to look perplexed for a moment, but then his eyes shined in realisation. “You can’t.”
Raistlin glanced at him, and there was something in the look that told Dalamar he was right. The shalafi had no magic! He didn’t know why, and he didn’t care. He eyed Raistlin. Dalamar was taller, stronger, and it counted for the first time. He stood and began to advance on Raistlin, his eyes glittering dangerously.
“Dalamar. Stop. There is no time for foolish score-settling between us,” he snapped. “The war begins even as we sit
here, or had you forgotten about that, apprentice?” He spoke irritably, but it had no effect on Dalamar. If anything he was incited more by Raistlin’s statement. Surely there was a note of desperation in his tone. This was delicious!
Raistlin remained still, glaring at the dark elf. Dalamar reached out, uncertain at first, and lifted Raistlin by his robes. When nothing happened to him, he smiled, a predator’s smile, and pushed Raistlin into the wall. He held Raistlin’s arms against the stone, looking down at his former master. Was there a glimmer of fear in those mirrored eyes? Suddenly he swooped and claimed Raistlin’s lips, kissing him deeply. He pulled back, laughing softly, and put a hand to his mouth; his fingers came away red with blood. “If all you have is sharp teeth, shalafi, you are in trouble, don’t you think?”
“This is pointless Dalamar. Whatever you intend, it will not change what has happened between us. I will always be your shalafi.”
“Really? I think not, Raistlin. In fact, perhaps I should have you call me ‘Master’. I think I would enjoy that.” He held Raistlin’s arms above his head easily and pressed his slender body into him, moving against him sinuously.
Raistlin struggled frantically, but he was powerless. He had always been physically weak, and he may as well have tried to fight the wall behind him. His breathing became laboured and short as he weakened further. He screamed - a long, expressive sound of fury and frustration.
Dalamar was troubled. They could not continue in this way. Raistlin would be coughing violently soon, he was fighting this much too hard. Dalamar began to whisper the words of magic. He was put off when he felt Raistlin’s struggles intensify, and almost ruined the spell with a laugh. But then it was done, and his former master and teacher was suddenly pliant in his grip, only Raistlin’s eyes retained the outrage and defiance he wanted to express.
Dalamar gathered the slight body into his arms, almost lifting Raistlin from the floor, and kissed him again, taking advantage of the lack of resistance to explore Raistlin’s mouth with his tongue. He pulled back slightly; his eyes were drugged and clouded. “I dreamed of this once, I think, when I was lost.” He stared at the powerless Raistlin. “This time I know. I am here….” Dalamar made a low sound in his throat, almost a growl, as he descended again and began to kiss Raistlin’s neck.
He broke off after a minute or two and looked down into Raistlin’s eyes. “I’m going to release you from my little spell now, but you must promise not to fight me.” He spoke mischievously, flirtatiously, feeling somewhat drunk on the new power he had.
Raistlin blinked his eyes furiously, and Dalamar laughed. A rich, deep sound. He waved his hand, and freed his former master. For a moment nothing happened. Raistlin remained motionless and quiet, his weight still resting in Dalamar’s strong arms, although he closed his eyes for an instant. Then he straightened up and looked at Dalamar. “This?” he said, in disbelief.
“What were you expecting? That I would torture you?” Dalamar teased, and then shivered as he recalled the time he had spent under Raistlin’s control in the laboratory. “I don’t think you would enjoy it like I did.” He sighed, and his eyes darkened. “I would have found death at your hands a pleasure.”
“You begged me to kill you.” Raistlin spoke softly, his whisper as intimidating as ever, and his eyes became dangerous again. “Do you remember?”
Dalamar continued to look at Raistlin, and started to lose himself in those golden eyes once more. But then he shook his head. He was in control of this. “I remember you wanted me. That you finally took me when you thought I was unaware of it.” His words must have hit home then.
Raistlin smiled, and it chilled Dalamar for some reason he did not understand. “I did not want you Dalamar. I was… curious, that is all. And you were so miserably helpless, so much mine to play with, I decided to use you.” His voice was possessive, and he relished the little victory when he saw Dalamar flinch. “What did you think? That I cared?” He laughed shrilly.
Dalamar’s normally expressive, generous eyes turned suddenly cold, and he said softly, “Never cared, no, but desired. Do not forget, shalafi,” he said the word sarcastically, “we are not such dissimilar creatures.”
“Of course not, Dalamar. In fact, I may be the only one who ever really understood you. Does this ‘Mistress’ of yours, this ‘Jenna’, effectively and adequately appreciate your weaknesses?” His golden eyes gleamed, and he smiled when he saw the truth. “Is she even a ‘Mistress’ to you?” Raistlin laughed softly. “Apprentice, how you must have hungered for me.”
Dalamar’s face lost some colour as Raistlin tore away his confidence, and his power over the situation vanished. Had it ever been his? He let go of Raistlin quickly, and stepped back, his eyes wide as he stared at his shalafi. He realised the truth – that Raistlin had never really needed the power he wielded to control him. That what Raistlin did not understand about desire and intimacy, he more than made up for with his comprehension of dominance, and control. He believed then that if Raistlin wished to punish him, he would, magic or not. That paralysing fear returned, as one thought burned in his mind – what had he done?
Raistlin closed the gap between them and reached out to Dalamar’s neck. His fingers found the pressure points under Dalamar’s jaw, and he gasped in pain. With the other hand Raistlin released his dagger and held it to his former apprentice’s throat. “Never forget who I am, Dalamar. Remember that death is preferable to my anger. You recall the dreams, don’t you?”
“Yes, shalafi.” Dalamar said miserably, his feelings of at once being lost and returning home somehow affecting him more than Raistlin’s hand could. He remembered more than the dreams. The submission of his will came easily this time, he existed only for his shalafi, and for whatever Raistlin wished to do to him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, meaning the apology with every fibre of his being.
“I could give them back to you, your dreams. Is that what you want, apprentice?” Raistlin’s voice was low, musing.
Dalamar blinked in confusion. What exactly did Raistlin mean? But then he realised; either way, it didn’t really matter.
"No, shalafi.” The quiet words were more of a confession than an answer, and Raistlin smiled in triumph as he removed the dagger from Dalamar’s throat. His remaining hand left Dalamar’s jaw and began to caress his neck. Dalamar trembled; he was here again, possessed again, how could he ever have imagined he had won?
Raistlin remained quiet, letting the moment stretch out, but then finally sighed regretfully, sounding suddenly tired. “I wish I had time for this Dalamar, but I don’t. We don’t.” He let his hand drop from Dalamar’s neck and looked away. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then he said. “If it makes you happy, believe that I wanted you. But believe in it all. I craved nothing less than your complete surrender, the intimacy was only a part of that.” He turned and walked away, moving to the door.
"Goodbye, shalafi.” Dalamar’s voice was strong, but deferential. He stood watching Raistlin leave, wondering if they would ever be alone again. Raistlin stopped and hesitated, but he did not turn around.
“Farewell, apprentice,” he said simply, and left. The door closed behind him, and Dalamar knew then that he would dream again, and every night. It would not be pleasant. He smiled wryly. Already he looked forward to it.
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Raistlin's Return