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Ice and Steel	By : Skullbearer Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 3083 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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
- 19
- 20
*wipes sweat from brow and ducks rotten tomatoes* At last, the end of Ice and Steel! It seems fitting to announce the series title at this point:
I'm sticking to 'Ivory and Ebony'.

Flesh and Bone
Each time I make my mother cry an
Angel dies and falls from heaven.
When the boy is still a worm it’s hard to
Learn the number seven.
-Cryptorchild Marilyn Manson

Raistlin recalled little of the next few hours, all he could remember was staring into a mirror, trying to find some semblance of himself in his reflection. Then watching the flesh melt from his bones until he was left staring at his own skull.
He'd ground the heels of his hands into his eyes until the image went away, wishing he could erase the mental image as easily.
He had awoken coughing blood, still clutching the books he had risked so much for. He had felt Fistandantilus's taloned hands tearing his lungs to pieces, could still feel the slight but ever-present drain of life-force that kept the lich alive and prevented the wounds from healing.
Raistlin fought down the shudder again, Fistandantilus had won, but the young mage knew it would be a hollow victory, for all that the lich didn't know that yet. While the undead mage drew on Raistlin's life, Raistlin could draw on the archmage's power.
No too much, of course, or Fistandantilus would realise something was wrong, but enough, just enough.
Raistlin looked down at his hands for the hundredth time. His armor of magic was still there, a glittering, metallic gold, shielding him. He lifted his hand and touched his long hair.
The mage had heard of shock turning a person's hair white, and he had no doubt that this was what had happened to him. Raistlin pulled on a lock of it, it was the colour of ivory.
And his eyes.
That had nothing to do with Fistandantilus, he knew, it had been some kind of lesson from the Conclave. Nothing the lich had done could have explained why his eyes had become a strange, topaz-gold colour, with hourglass pupils. Nothing the undead spellcaster had done could explain why everything decayed in Raistlin's eyes.
Even the forest he was walking through withered and died, as if it was midwinter instead of summer. Leaves shrivelled on their branches, which became as gnarled as Fistandantilus's old bones, twisted with age and death.
Raistlin shivered, wrapping his blood-red robes tighter around his body and fighting down a coughing fit. He was stumbling through the Guardian Forest; the spellbooks he had risked life and limb for were safe in his pack, and he was clutching the bundled up remains of his white robes, now badly shredded from the Test.
In his hand, he was holding one of the few gifts he had gained from the Test. It was a long staff, mounted with a crystal clutched in a Dragon's claw.
The staff of Magius.
Par-Salian had given it to him after the Test and when Raistlin had asked why, the mage had muttered something about the time not being right until now, then hurried away rather quickly.
Exactly why the time was now right for the use of a staff who's sole purpose was to defeat Dragons was still unclear, but Raistlin had his own, rather pessimistic, suspicions.
He brushed his hand gently over the magic-warm wood, feeling the tingle under his fingers. Then his hand clenched hard around the staff as the cough he had been trying to supress racked his frail body.
He had been told he could stay in the Tower for as long as it took for him to recover. Raistlin had answered caustically that he'd be staying there until the End Times if that was the case.
He'd stayed only long enough to regain the strength to walk, then he'd left. He didn't really know what he pushed him to leave so fast.
No, that was a lie, he knew very well why he'd left in such haste. Dalamar.
He'd wanted to get that meeting over and done with as quickly as possible, so as to give himself the least amount time to dwell on it. He'd snatched the books Par-Salian had given him that would help him uncover the powers of the staff, sent the archmage one final, poisonous glare and left without another word.
The spasms passed, and Raistlin straightened up, hanging onto the staff for support as he forced air into his lungs.
Par-Salian he given him a recipe for a brew that would help his cough, but he hadn't given himself time to brew it. Gasping, he forced himself to keep moving, it wasn't far now.
Refusing to let himself think, Raistlin pushed on.
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It took him the better part of fifteen minutes to finally reach the clearing where he had left Dalamar yesterday. Gods, Raistlin thought, it may as well have been a thousand years now, it seemed impossible how much things could change in so few hours. It had been early morning yesterday when he'd left Dalamar and it was now late afternoon. Gods.
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The look on Dalamar's face when Raistlin emerged from the tree line was something the human mage never forgot. The Dark elf had been sitting down beside the beginnings of a fire, but he'd quickly jumped to his feet when he'd heard Raistlin approach.
The moment he caugh sight of the mage, the elf's normally pale face had gone chalk white.
Raistlin's insides seemed to knot up at the expression of shock and unfathomable horror that tore across the Dark elf's face. Dalamar's gray eyes widened and Raistlin was stunned to see that he seemed to be biting back tears.
"Dalamar?" Raistlin's voice rasped hoarsly.
The tension in Dalamar's body broke as if a string had been cut, "Raistlin?" The amazement in the Dark elf's voice was palpable.
It was one of those moments where everything stood still, a moment that could be recollected, no matter how many years later, with perfect clarity.
Raistlin stood at the edge of the clearing, still holding the bundle of his old robes and with the staff of Magius clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were turning white even under his golden skin. His face held forced impassivity.
Dalamar stood on the other side, having stumbled back when he'd seen Raistlin. He was shaking slightly, the only movement on the canvas of the moment other than the flickering fo the fire. The elf's silver-gray eyes were fixed on Raistlin's.
Both stood, unmoving, for that moment. Then the one after that. And after that. After...
Dalamar shattered the canvas, rushing forwards and throwing his arms around Raistlin, crushing the younger mage against his chest.
Raistlin slid his own hands around the elf's waist, bewildered at this sudden turn of events. It was only when Dalamar caught hold of his chin and pulled his head up until he was eye-to-eye with him that Raistlin realised.
Dalamar hadn't recognised him at first. It was only when he'd spoken that the Dark elf had understood.
Raistlin could all too easily imagine what Dalamar had thought when he'd first appeared. A red-robed mage whom the elf had never seen before, holding a tattered set of white robes.
Sweet Gods, Dalamar must have believed that this was a Tower mage come to tell him that his lover had failed the Test. No wonder he'd been so horrified.
Raistlin straightened up in Dalamar's arms and pressed his lips firmly against the elf's, tasting salt from the fallen tears. It was only the second time Raistlin had seen Dalamar cry, and this time it was out of sheer relief.
They stood there a long while, each gently devouring the other's mouth. It was only when Raistlin's lungs threatened to close that he broke away, gasping for air.
Dalamar had kept a hold on Raistlin's chin, now he looked intently at the mage; turning his head first one way, then another, finally he leant forward and looked hard at Raistlin's face.
Then he smiled sadly; "I'll miss your eyes."
Raistlin almost smiled, feeling better now than any time since he'd awakened, so very glad that Dalamar had diffused the tension. He lifted one hand and ran it down the Dark elf's cheek. He had been worried, but it would be alright, at least here.
Raistlin shut his eyes, blocking out the world for the moment and lying his head against Dalamar's shoulder. He left out a long, shuddering sigh as the Dark elf stroked his hair lovingly.
There was no need for words, not when so much was being said. Words would cheapen emotions like these. It would take far more than the Test to shatter the bond they shared. Far more than Fistandantilus.
And far more that Par-Salian too, Raistlin knew; still stroking the smooth skin under his fingers. Smooth, young skin, even in his cursed eyes, remaining untouched by time even as the very world crumbled around them.
Raistlin smiled.

The end...of that particular installment.
Skull Bearer.
- 19
- 20
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Ice and Steel