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Leaves from the Shoikan Grove	By : Esteliel Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 2238 -:- 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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Title: Nuitari's Light
Series: Leaves from the Shoikan Grove 2
Author: Esteliel
Homepage: http://www.loes-valthen.de.vu
Pairing: Raistlin/Dalamar
Spoiler: No real spoilers; it takes place during Legends Vol. 1: Time of the Twins
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The world of Dragonlance and all the characters belong to Weis/Hickman and Wizards of the Coast
Summary: Raistlin succumbs to Dalamar's beauty
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Nuitari was already high up in the sky when the mage finished his experiment. The light of the moon only visible to those wearing the black robes was falling into the strange room at the top of the tower of Palanthas. Mysterious tools were laid out on the table, their scent speaking darkly of decay and death. The rose petals seemed almost like a mockery with their sweet fragrance, yet they too were tools in the hands of the mage, were - like the scattered night-lilies - responsible for whatever horrible arts this room had seen.
But the mage's work was done, the magic long gone, and now all that remained was an exhausted, trembling body whose golden skin and strangely intimidating eyes were the only visible difference to any other normal human being. Even the silver runes which embroidered his black robe looked dim and worn.
The mage sighed, then whispered "Shirak" in an almost tender voice. Light came from the tip of the staff that he used to keep his exhausted body from swaying. It was an unusual staff, magical without doubt since there was a dragon's claw at the end, holding a ball which had started to glow at the man's gentle word.
The mage took a deep, insecure breath. It was the breathing of a man who had just crossed hell; had called upon powers which would rip him into small pieces for blinking at the wrong time, only to torture his soul for eons. Still, he was alive, was able to stand here in the light of Nuitari and breathe the cold air which smelled of dust and spell components and - more than anything else - were home to him, home and security.
"Guardian," he whispered. Immediately two eyes appeared in front of him and reverently lowered their gaze.
"What can I do for you, Master?"
"Guard this room, and... tell me, what is my apprentice doing?"
"As you wish, Master. The dark elf returned to his room half an hour ago and has been deeply asleep since then."
Raistlin, Master of the Tower of High Sorcery, nodded with satisfaction. He had sent his exhausted apprentice to bed as soon as the invocation - and the subsequent appearance of an inhabitant of the dark planes of existence /between/ - had been successful. The dark elf had been shaking with exhaustion, and he had not been needed for the finishing sealing spells - if anything, he would only have endangered Raistlin.
And they all needed their strength... even Dalamar. His apprentice would be in bitter need of his strength, even if he had no knowledge of it just yet.
Raistlin's lips twisted into an amused smile. No, he knew nothing... he did not know that his Master had seen through his disguise from the very beginning. How gullible the elf was... and yet he was brave enough, determined enough, to make Raistlin feel some admiration. Oh yes, his apprentice had potential, and would be of great help to him... even if Dalamar did not know anything of the role he was to take until it was all played out.
With new determination Raistlin finally left for his own rooms. His staff lighted the inside of the tower for him, where so many had already taken a wrong turn and vanished forever. But Raistlin was the Master of the tower, was the Master of Past and Present, for whom the doors had opened, as it had been foretold. And the bottomless inside of the tower with its endlessly winding stairs of crumbling stone were as familiar to him as a favoured chair by the fire was to others.
He finally stopped at a simple, wooden door, and at the same time mocked himself for giving in to this folly. His apprentice was asleep, exhausted as he was - so what did he want here, in front of his door? Guard his sleep? Certainly not him...
Unbidden, a memory arose, a flickering shadow at the wall, the high voice of a child... "Look, Raist, bunnies..."
He snorted. He had not thought of his brother for a long, long time, so why now? Maybe he was too exhausted, the horror of the invocation still alive in his thoughts. He still trembled when he thought back to the inhuman voice, the decay and death everywhere around him...
His hands moved without his command to open the door to his apprentice's room. He entered soundlessly, while the light of his staff grew dimmer, until only a subtle glow was left. It showed vague silhouettes, a wardrobe, a table, and - in the corner - a bed. The curtain, which was drawn over the window above the bed, was open a small fraction, and through it Nuitari's light spilled in to play on the white skin of the dark elf.
Raistlin suppressed an awed sigh. He fought against himself, annoyed at what he was doing, and commanded himself to leave for his own bed so he would be well rested for the next day. But the temptation that emanated from the sleeping elf was stronger, even if Raistlin was not sure exactly what held him in such thrall. Finally he cast a weak sleeping spell on his apprentice, mocking himself at the same time for such a waste of his energy. Still, he could not help but feel the peace and serenity that took hold of him, as soon as he carefully sat down on the bed.
The dark elf lay on his side, turned towards Raistlin. A blanket of black silk covered his body up to his chest, his dark hair falling over his face and hiding the noble features of the Silvanesti. Raistlin's slender, golden fingers moved slowly towards his apprentice's face. He gently brushed the hair away in a motion that looked affectionate and protective, yet at the same time his golden eyes were still gleaming with mockery. For a short moment he closed them while his hand lingered on the elf's cheek. He frowned at himself, unable to accept why he was doing this. None of the reasons presenting themselves seemed sufficient. Not for him, not for a man of his ambitions... and yet his soul was weary after the exertions of this night.
With a sigh he finally gave in. He was too tired to keep on analysing his feelings, and if it would calm his soul to gaze at the beautiful, young elf, then that was what he would be doing.
He opened his eyes again and looked at the slender body through his cursed eyes. Ever since he had passed the Test as the youngest mage ever at the age of twenty-one, his body had been marked in this way. The golden skin, his bodily weakness, and the hourglass-shaped pupils that showed him how everything was changed by the passing of time. People aged in front of his eyes, leaves fell from trees and decayed, even mountains changed and vanished, if he looked long enough. That was the price he had paid for his magic; that was the price of his power.
He smiled. Not much longer... no, not much longer and this price would finally pay off. The price was not too high for what he would achieve in exchange... and until then he would content himself with watching the elf.
By now his apprentice was more than 90 years old and still had the look of a youngling who had just passed the border to man. In the eyes of his own people he was still a child; measured in human terms he still had an eternity of years to live, before even he would be touched by age.
And it was this blessing which neutralised Raistlin's curse. The passing of years did not touch Dalamar when the mage looked at him. Even seen through the hourglasses of Raistlin’s pupils, he kept his youth and beauty.
Sometimes Raistlin could not help thinking that the beautiful Silvanesti had been a gift of the Conclave, an apology perhaps for the burden they had inflicted on him. He refused to accept that thought, as Dalamar was indeed an eager and gifted student, whose dedication to magic was only exceeded by Raistlin himself. Yet still, from time to time - when the mage had seen too much death, too much decay – the ethereal beauty of the elf was like an anchor to him, a ray of light, which showed him that there was something that would reimburse him for his suffering.

And now too he could not fight the temptation of the graceful elvish body. Carefully he took hold of the black coverlet and pulled it off. He startled himself by gasping when he realised that the dark elf was completely naked. Maybe he had been too exhausted to dress in his night-clothes - yet Raistlin was too captivated by the Silvanesti's beauty to think about the reasons for his nakedness. All he could do was to sit motionless, gazing with something that resembled awe at the youth and life of the tender body, which had never before been bared to him like this.
Meanwhile, the other two moons of Krynn had risen. Solinari, the white moon, from whom the white robes were granted their power, and Lunitari, the red moon of neutrality. The light of all three moons combined and played over the body of the sleeping elf and immersed him in an ethereal light. For a moment Raistlin ceased to breathe, so beautiful was the creature before him. Dalamar did not seem to be his apprentice anymore, but instead a child of the moons, beloved of all the three moons of magic in the heavens.
Nuitari's light reverberated in his dark hair, which to Raistlin seemed as dark as the night sky on those rare nights when Nuitari alone was the solitary sovereign of the firmament.
Solinari's silver rays danced on his white skin, caressing him with tenderness and admiration.
And Lunitari, son of Gilean, god of neutrality, could not resist the charms of the young elf either and breathed a gentle kiss to tempting, rosy lips, which now opened slightly in his sleep, as if to beg for sweet caresses.
For long minutes, Raistlin was breathless and enraptured, unable to look away from this unique spectacle. Finally the temptation was too much; he could no longer bear to only watch while the light of the moons caressed his apprentice.
With shaking fingers he touched Dalamar's shoulder, ran them down a slender arm in admiration. The skin of the elf was soft, soft and warm, and so alive... After all the monstrosities his soul had to look in the face today, this beauty was too much for him. He felt as if somebody had cast a spell on him, yet he knew that on this plane of existence there was nobody left who held that kind of power. And yet his apprentice seemed to possess that power after all....
Carefully, Raistlin leaned his staff against the wall, and then tenderly caressed Dalamar's cheek with his other hand. The elf was still under the influence of his spell, and so he only sighed and turned further towards Raistlin, but that soft sound was enough to completely destroy the mage's control.
Raistlin leaned forward, until his silver hair mingled with Dalamar's black-as-night strands. He drew a deep breath. Almost he supposed he could be breathing the aspen scent of Dalamar's elvish home...
The lips of the young mage were trembling slightly; even in his magic sleep he seemed to sense the closeness of the other, and Raistlin bent down even farther, until his mouth chastely touched Dalamar's. Oh yes, as soft as he remembered it from their first meeting... Never would he have admitted it, yet he often caught himself thinking back to it. The kiss would not have been necessary, but Raistlin had been as unable to resist the rare beauty before him back then as he was today.
And it had been so long since he had felt the warmth of another being...
Tentatively, the black mage opened his mouth a small fraction. He told himself he only wanted to see if the elf indeed tasted the way the scent of his skin promised. But when his tongue ran over his apprentice's lips; when he partook of the taste that was a thousand times sweeter than Silvanost's best wine, all of his earlier concerns were forgotten. He could not stop here, not when the tender figure before him lured him with the promise of unspeakable wonders, when after an eternity, death and torment finally left him to let him feel desire...
Dalamar's eyelids fluttered but did not open, the spell continuing to work on him. Nevertheless he seemed to feel what was happening – and maybe he saw the same scene in a dream because now he was opening his mouth under Raistlin's, allowing his tongue access while he raised one hand to the mage's waist and let it linger there.
Almost timidly, Raistlin followed the invitation. He kissed Dalamar deeply, allowed the elf to entangle him in a sensuous game until his soul was drunk on the long-missed passion. Suddenly the warmth of the fragile body seemed to be a price more worthy than the reign over Ansalon, over all of Krynn...
…and in that moment he remembered. His plan, for which he had waited so long, gathering enough power to put it into action. And the power would be his, and not only Krynn but the gods themselves would get to feel it. No-one would be able to stop him, least of all himself.
As if he had burned himself he flinched away from Dalamar. The dark elf whimpered softly and moved restlessly, yet Raistlin could only stare at him in confusion. What had happened to him? What had been done to him? Whence came this weakness?
"I do not need you... I do not need anybody!" he whispered huskily, noting with surprise that his voice was trembling. Then the light of the moons outside the window attracted his attention, and he twisted his mouth into a grim smile.
"If that is your plan to stop me, then it is a truly pathetic one!" he hissed to the gods of magic. "You cannot stop me anymore, least of all with that! If I wanted I could enslave all of Silvanost, and you know it!"
A sound of fear from his apprentice drew his attention back to the bed. Dalamar had curled up on himself, and the mention of his home, from which he had been banished, had caused tears to run down his cheeks. For a moment, Raistlin felt compassion. He knew that for an elf, exile was worse than death. But then, just when he was about to soothingly brush away the tears from Dalamar's cheeks, he froze. He saw another boy cry, remembered the torment he himself had to endure day after day, and abruptly turned away.
"Nobody ever heard me cry. I have only ever had myself, and I will only ever have myself!" he whispered voicelessly and got up.
"Shalafi…"
For a moment he stopped when he heard the lonely and vulnerable voice of his apprentice, then he hastily grabbed his staff and left the room as quickly as his exhausted body would allow. Only when he had closed the door behind him did he sink against the wall, bereft of all his strength. Everything was turning in front of his eyes, Dalamar's flawless body, the moons, then an image of Takhisis who seemed to mock him...
"Nobody will laugh at me!" he hissed, and gripped his staff so tightly that his knuckles showed up white against his golden skin. With a single turn of his hand he ended the spell on his apprentice, then moved down the stairs to his room with painfully controlled steps. He had plans... and he would sacrifice everything for them. What did one more pain mean after he had survived so much torment already!
"And soon... soon this all will no longer matter..."
A smile appeared on his face, yet his eyes were still aglow with yearning.
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Leaves from the Shoikan Grove