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Evermore: The Gathering	By : RosaTenebrum Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 9663 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Dragonlance series, 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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CHAPTER 24

Once upon a time there was a little boy who did not know how to play.

His twin had a collection of toy soldiers and monsters made of wood and clay, and often he would pit them against each other in a fierce battle on the kitchen floor, shouting orders and imitating their cries of victory.

The boy would observe this feigned war fought with wooden weapons, perplexed, without any desire to join in. None of it was real. They did not bleed, they did not die. It was just silly make-believe, so what was the point? He asked his twin: why do the monsters never win? He did not ask again, after seeing his twin's face.

At nights, their half-sister told them stories, and while his twin seemed to greatly enjoy them, the little boy found them impossible to comprehend. What was there to cry about if the fairytale princess suffered or the warrior fell in the battlefield? What was there to feel happy about when the imagined knight finally returned home victorious?
Put yourself in his place. Try walking in her shoes. That's what people always said, but the little boy did not know what they meant.

And sometimes people would say I love you. That was another mystery.

His twin loved him, that much he knew. His mother, maybe, in her rare moments of lucidity. His father and half-sister? He wasn't so sure, although they were the ones who had said it out loud.

He loved them right back, his twin and his mother. But it was only when he got a little older that the boy began to realize that his love did not match other people's love and what they meant when they said those three words to each other. And the more the boy grew, the more he understood that he was incapable of love - of other people's love, which was beyond his grasp. His love was something else. It was something more, because he was stronger and smarter than the others. He needed no one and was proud of it.

Independent. Resourceful. Determined. That was how he saw himself, and he did not think there was anything missing.

Someone else, on the other hand, might have wondered what it was that had taken the boy's smile away.

There were no answers.

Maybe it had something to do with the boy sitting by his mother's bedside for hours, tugging at her sleeve and calling out to her in tears, when she would simply stare at the ceiling and never respond.

Maybe it was the fact that he had come to know physical pain too early, trembling with fever and exhaustion, when he should have been running in the fields and climbing trees.

Or could it have been the gruesome nightmares the boy had suffered for as long as he could remember? Or the nosebleeds and the bruises the other village boys sometimes gave him?

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

The boy's twin never gave up. He would make shadow figures with his hands to make his brother smile, without knowing that his smile had died out a long time ago, without knowing that his brother watched him more than the shadows leaping on the walls. The boy watched and learned, memorizing the expressions and emotions flickering across his twin's vivacious face, so that later on he could use them and mimic them to make people do whatever he wanted.

This way, slowly, the little boy learned how to play. Not with toys, but people. They bled, they died. That made all the difference.

He knew it was wrong. He did not care.

And now there is another bad dream in the little boy's head. Only he is no longer little.

He can see his twin. Burning, drunk, wounded. But somehow it is he who needs help: he holds out a hand, but his twin turns away.

His loved one is also there. The woman who is not like any other woman he has ever met. The only one who would understand his mind, his thinking, his needs. She is so like him and yet everything he could never be, the only good thing in his life, and she too is dying, just like his twin.

A blink, and they are both gone. It is a dream in which all his childhood dreams have become reality: he is alone with himself in the universe.

With a strangled cry, Raistlin jerked awake. He had nodded off, sitting in the dark on the floor with his back against the wall, surrounded by broken glass and scattered papers. He did not know whether it was the smell or the sound that had woken him, but he did not need to smell the incense or hear the jingle of the bracelets again to know that he had entered that strange place between sleep and awake where the gods visited mortals. As soon as he realized this he groaned in agony. Not now, he thought wearily. Oh, for the sake of the heavens above, not now. But the Dark Queen only did what he himself would have done: strike when they're at their weakest and enjoy the ensuing havoc.

Groggily, Raistlin looked around until his eyes fell on what he was looking for.

The Queen was sitting in the chair by the window and She was playing with something. He was not at all surprised to see what it was. Ever since visiting the Tower, he had been carrying the object in his pocket at all times, which now seemed an enterprise tinged with madness.

Takhisis looked up at him. Her lips spread into a smile.

Your mother's ring. How charming.

She threw her head back and gave an ugly, mocking laugh.

Putting it on the holy maid's finger has proved a little bit harder than you thought, hasn't it?

Raistlin knew he should give a caustic answer or at least get up from the floor, anything but just sit there mute and numb, but he couldn't. He didn't have the strength. The bitch could see into his mind, sitting or standing, so why bother? Already he could feel Her icy touch inside his brain, probing, exploring, hunting for weaknesses.

No wonder you're angry. She kept you waiting for days and then left you standing there like a fool. The mock compassion in the Queen's voice flattened to a tone of spiteful glee. What goes around comes around, right, Majere? It was funny, by the way, seeing you kneel to Paladine.

She returned Her gaze to the ring in the palm of Her hand and shook Her head with a small chuckle. Since when did you become such a wimp? She glanced back at Raistlin and upon not receiving any answer gave a conciliatory shrug. It's sort of endearing, though, this pretty little fantasy that you've been jerking yourself off with. I'm picturing your marriage. "Honey, remember when I used you and left you for dead?" Again She gave that loud and ugly laugh, entirely amused by Her own wit.

Let Her laugh. Let Her wallow in Her victory. Shutting his ears and blanking his mind as best as he could, Raistlin stared at the glittering green shards lying on the carpet. It was useless, of course, trying to hide; the Queen spoke to him through his blood rather than ears, and She was pressing on like thunder.

Did you really think she'd have you, after everything you did? If so, you're even more stupid than I thought.

He winced in spite of himself.

Did that hurt? Takhisis cooed. Want to hear it again? Stupid. Stuuuupid. You may know infinitely complex spells and speak ten languages, sure, but when it comes to the human heart you're absolutely fucking clueless.

The air rippled like water, there was a sighing sound, and then Crysania was sitting in the chair in the Queen's place. Her robe was tattered and torn, her hair hung in disarray about her breasts and shoulders. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and Raistlin could see all too clearly that she had several broken bones. Her eyes were blind, but they seemed to see right through him as she looked at him without a word, her face a white, sad oval in the dark.

Under his skin, boring into his skull, the Dragon Queen cackled on.

Unpleasant, is it, Majere? Is that unease I see? This is how you left her, and you would have seen if you'd cared to look. But that was nothing to you.

In the chair, Crysania's image reached out a hand to him. "Raistlin, don't leave me," she pleaded. "Please don't leave me alone in the darkness."

The flesh of his arms pricked up in gooseflesh. It was like looking at the ghost of someone he had murdered, but try as he might, he could not avert his eyes from the ghastly vision.

Takhisis smiled with Crysania's mouth. You're awfully quiet today, mortal.

"You think I'm afraid of your tricks?" His voice was hoarse. His pulse throbbed in his temples.

I don't think. I know you are. You have been afraid all your life.

Raistlin's fists clenched, but he managed to deaden the Queen's taunting words and let them wash over him. In one ear and out the other, that's how he would play it and that's how he would survive.

The air rippled again as the goddess returned to Her own form. Then, in a blurred flash of movement, She vanished and reappeared, squatting down in front of Raistlin and studying his face with Her lizard eyes. The air around Her was tangibly cold, as cold as the black iron crown on Her dark flowing hair.

I'm not mad at you, Takhisis said in a soothing sweet voice. You've been a very naughty boy, trying to dethrone me, but I've forgiven you, because, at the end of the day, you'll always be my little wizard.

To emphasize Her point, She slipped the silver ring on Her finger and wiggled it, Her cunning smile exposing the flashing fangs between Her ruby red lips.

You and I, we are the same.

With these words, the Queen put out a hand and caressed Raistlin's cheek with cold fingers, Her hold tightening like a vice as he tried to turn his head away. She leaned closer still, in a cloud of heady fragrance, pushing Her heavy breasts against his arm and pressing Her hot mouth against his ear; She flicked the lobe with Her forked tongue and nipped it with Her teeth, panting, squirming, Her hand sliding down Raistlin's chest, into the waist of his trousers.

But then She stopped and drew away from him, disgusted. Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you can't get it up unless there's a blind, injured woman.

Chuckling, Takhisis scooped up a piece of glass from the floor and after exploring it shot Raistlin a grin. Bad vintage? She brought the shard up to Her mouth, stuck out Her tongue and licked the jagged edge, slowly, a cruel smile dancing across Her features.

Seething with resentment, Raistlin let his head fall back against the wall. Of course the Queen had been watching him from the shadows earlier that night, witnessing his powerless rage and no doubt relishing the situation enormously: the table flipping, the maps flying, the bottle crashing. He would have rather hanged than let anyone see him like that, and the goddess knew it. Presently She stood up and eyed the disorder around them, dragging out the humiliation.

Shall we state the obvious? No? I think we shall.

Her gloating smile of anticipation turned into a delirious grin as She ecstatically twisted the knife.

You don't have the magic. You don't have the priestess.

And then the final blow:

You, my little wizard, have lost it all.

Raistlin shuddered as the dream returned, and with it the words Astinus the Chronicler had spoken to him at the end of the world. You are a void, the Lorekeeper had said, an endless shrieking void that holds neither light nor darkness, and you will continue to exist forever within your own emptiness, never healing, never getting any better. Suddenly the memory of those words hit him like a heavy blow to his stomach and made him break out in a sweat. The pulse was now behind his eyes; he could feel its rapid beat at the base of his throat and the tips of his fingers, and for one awful moment he thought he was going to lose consciousness. But then the Queen's voice penetrated his mind again, loud and harsh, calling him back.

Was it worth it, I wonder, trying to play god? Granted, it was amusing to watch at first, for a little while. But then it just got screwed up. Screwed up and sad, you sick fuck.

Takhisis loomed above him, staring him down, daring him to speak.

"I was winning." Raistlin looked up at the Dragon Queen's formidable face and managed a lopsided smirk. "I was winning and knowing that really gets your goat. I made you beg for mercy. Has that slipped your mind, my Queen?" he asked, derisively stressing Her title.

A bored sigh. Yes, you beat me in the Abyss. Yes, you won. But what do you know, I'm still a god and you... Takhisis paused and directed at Raistlin a genuinely puzzled look. You're not god, but you're not human either. So what are you? You're nothing.

Laughing, She removed the ring from Her finger and violently threw it at Raistlin. It hit him on the knee and landed on the floor with a light ting, exacerbating the hot spike of anger shooting up his spine. Did they think he wanted to be human, Astinus and the Dark Queen? That he was missing out on something amazingly precious? Pathetic fools with their pathetic lives.

Pathetic fools? Did I get that one right? The Queen shook Her head reproachfully. You never learn, do you, Majere? You want to know what's pathetic? You. Not your twin, not everyone else in the whole world. You.

She had hardly spoken these words when She suddenly threw out Her hands for balance. Wearing a stunned expression, She drew up another chair.

I think I need to sit down. That wave coming from you just now nearly knocked me off my feet, you know. Silly me, I should have known mentioning your brother hits a nerve.

What a difference between you two, She said musingly, as if they were just two old friends having a cosy, laid-back conversation. Let's see. Successful, popular, respected. Can you guess which brother I'm talking about? It's really quite funny actually. Many people would agree that your twin is one of the finest men who ever lived on the face of Krynn, whereas you... She gave him a pitying look. Well, you're just a little bit crazy. Just like your mama was.

The deep well of fury within Raistlin was starting to boil; he could feel the dark presence growing rapidly in his gut, the cracks of his endurance deepening and spreading ever wider. He struggled to contain it, and the more he fought, the more the Dark Queen's hold over his mind grew.

You made your brother so unhappy. You knew that, of course, because that was your point all along. But he's happy now, with his wife. He got over all the bad things. Yes, I know that must hurt, 'cause you could never stand the thought of him being happy.

You always said he didn't understand, but the one who doesn't understand has always been you. And that's what made you hate him so much. He understood something that you never could.

"Shut up." The words came through gritted teeth, quiet yet filled with rage.

Again the air trembled and another rippling wave of magic passed through the room like invisible flames. Raistlin did not have to look to know who the Queen had conjured up this time. It was just a stupid illusion, but right now even an illusion was too much, and he grasped his head with his hands, rocking it slowly back and forth, nonetheless unable to escape Takhisis's delighted chuckle ringing in his ears.

You think I'm finished, little mage? Not even close! Remember your brother's friends, all those fine people you grew up and travelled with? They too had something you could never understand, all of them, and it made you so mad, so awfully mad to know that they had something you lacked.

"I said shut up, you cunt!"

The Queen's laughter grew into a roar of mirth as She sent yet another undulating wave crashing through the air, and then an invisible force was pulling at Raistlin's hands, removing them from his face and prying his eyes open.

They were all staring at him in the dark, a solemn row of summoned faces: Tanis, Flint, Sturm, Tas. All of them smileless and stern.

See these people? They thought the world of each other, but you they loathed. You wanted them to fear you, and maybe they did a little, but mostly they loathed you, because they saw you for what you were: a sadistic bastard living only for himself. They only put up with you because of your brother.

Yes, even the kender, Takhisis added as She saw Raistlin's eyes lingering on Tasslehoff Burrfoot. Always the forgiving type, so careless and congenial. But he loved your brother and wouldn't tolerate you tormenting him for fun any more than the others did. Oh, and I suppose you killing his friend was the straw that broke the kender's back.

What was the bitch talking about? That's right, the gnome. The stupid little cretin who had fixed the Time Journeying device...

Gnimsh. His name was Gnimsh. He had a family.

As if it was his fault that the idiot was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Gnimsh.

"What do you want me to say, that I'm sorry I killed that little prick?" Raistlin asked with an angry laugh. "You're going to have to wait for a long time."

Caramon.

Raistlin's laughter died out. All of a sudden he felt like choking. His skin was on fire and his blood was boiling inside him, so hot he felt he was going to explode. His hair sizzled and as he looked down, horrified, he saw his hands were turning black, consumed by the magic fire.

Crysania.

He was no longer burning, but now there was pain everywhere; it ripped through him as he tried to draw breath into his collapsed lungs, managing only a dry rasping sound in his throat filled with sand. His fingers and legs were screaming in broken agony and his eyes burst with a blinding white light even as his mind convulsed with a series of ancient phantoms.

Gnimsh. Death spell.

Dalamar. Bleeding wounds.

The army in Dergoth. The backlash of the portal.

In one blink, Raistlin saw a parade of names, familiar ones, thousands of names he had never even heard, all of them dead or suffering, but he resisted. In large-scale ventures there were bound to be casualties, everyone knew that.

Caramon. His love for you.

He sensed something so deep there were no words for it, no coming back from it; it was desperate, heartbreaking and absolute, and it was strange and unknown to him. For a moment it quivered inside him, terrifying in its force.

Crysania. Her love for you.

Having hardly recovered from the previous crash, his mind now broke into a scream. He no longer cared that he was sore and vulnerable before his enemy; he only wanted Her to stop the voices, the images, the lies.

Pleased with Raistlin's surrender, Takhisis squatted down again, looking at him closely. I know, She uttered softly, almost in consolation. It's unbearable being you.

Her next words were a whisper deep within, almost inaudible but hideously compelling. Maybe you should just end it all.

A red light danced in the pits of Her eyes as She chose a large sharp piece of glass and offered it to him. Throat. Wrists. Heart. Your call, honey.

The shades behind the Queen looked on, eagerly expecting. Raistlin's gaze moved past the kender and over Tanis and Sturm and Flint, seeking in vain for something to fix on, a justification, an acknowledgement of his superiority, and finally landed on Caramon: his lifeline when everything else was falling apart. But there was nothing in his brother's face to suggest fondness or devotion; save for impatience, his face was as blank as the others.

We're all waiting.

Takhisis held out the shard for a moment longer, then turned away and tossed it on the floor, uttering a feigned sound of disgust. I hate to see a grown man cry.

She stood up and with a simple movement of Her left hand caused the shades to pop out of existence like soap bubbles. She turned to look at Raistlin with Her hands on Her shapely hips.

It's been lovely to see you again, Majere. Too bad I can't stay.

She was finally leaving, but She had one more thing to say.

That brat out of hell, the ghost girl? You think she's my creation. She's not. I do not seek revenge. Seeing you alone and miserable is all the retribution I could ever hope for. But know this: one day, when you least expect it, as you mortals tend to say, you and I will meet again.

Inside Raistlin's head, the Queen's cold hands lost their grip, and when he opened his eyes again, the goddess was gone. His hair and collar were soaked with sweat and his entire body ached, but he was completely awake and the world was back in its place. He sat trembling for long moments, ordering himself to calm down.

Words, that's all they were. She was the Queen of Lies and Her sole purpose was to distort the truth. He knew it from long experience and felt terribly angry at himself for having let Her fuck with his mind like that again. Just mind games. He mastered those inside out, yet here he was, reduced to a shivering husk cowering on the floor, unable to let go of what She'd said.

He was stronger, smarter. Whatever he had done, he had done intentionally and without regret, because he played by the rules of the winners.

His heartbeat was settling and he was breathing easier, but the warmth on his cheeks remained. He made no effort to wipe the tears off.

Could it be that they were right and he was wrong? About everything.

It couldn't be.

It was almost morning. The first ray of the sun leaked in through the curtains, filling the room with golden haze. A glint on the floor drew his gaze: his mother Rosamun's wedding ring, engraved with a rose and the initials of his parents. After Rosamun had grown so thin the ring slipped off her finger, she had kept it locked in her wardrobe; one day, when Raistlin was about sixteen years old, she had asked him to go and find it so that she could give it to him, and although Raistlin did not think he would ever have any use for the ring, he had felt proud for having been chosen over his brother. That feeling didn't last long, however, because the next moment his mother had been calling him Caramon again.

Among the broken glass, the ring glittered and flashed in the sunlight, asking him to claim his destiny.

Giving up was not his way. He was the Master of Past and Present. He was a fighter and a survivor, the most powerful mage who had ever lived, and nobody messed with him. Whatever he wanted was his.

Raistlin reached for the ring, pausing, hesitating, but only for a short moment; he grabbed the ring and closed it in his fist.

You didn't get ahead in life by drifting aimlessly in the wind; you had to be that wind.

He stood up.
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Evermore: The Gathering