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Dalamar's Return	By : pip Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 2792 -:- 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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Chapter Three
Dalamar had no idea how long he lay on that table. It could have been weeks, days, or hours. Time had ceased to exist. At first there was only pain. Raistlin was crueller than he could ever have imagined. Dalamar begged for release at first. And in time he did beg for death, but it was denied him. Raistlin tortured Dalamar to the point of death time after time. He would feel himself growing lighter, his consciousness leaving, and he would sigh. But then, the magical healing would begin, and Dalamar would cry out, wanting to be allowed his release, “Please, shalafi!”
He never failed to say the word, and it must have meant something, but he no longer remembered what.
Occasionally there was softness, a touch, or a kiss. At those times Dalamar cried tears like the rain fell, and lay helpless in Raistlin’s arms, certain there were two of him. Once he felt the strange burning sensation of those lips on his; he was close enough to touch. He held Raistlin’s face in his hands while he kissed his neck, murmuring his names; Raistlin, tormentor, teacher, lover, and always shalafi.
Raistlin experimented with pleasure and pain, until Dalamar no longer knew the difference, if indeed he ever really had. Stroking his sex with those long, quick fingers, bringing him to the point of release before searing his flesh with white-hot steel from the fire. Such torment, the simultaneous desire to sigh, and scream.
Dalamar’s mind wandered in his delirium, and so much was lost on him. He heard Raistlin speak his name, but couldn’t answer – he was too far away. He felt, rather than saw, the shalafi’s touch and gaze leave him for a while. When he returned he leaned over Dalamar, his robes bunched up between them, and Raistlin’s hands held his legs.
Suddenly, instinctively, Dalamar realised what his master intended and he was shocked into lucidity. He fought the violation, pulling on his chains frantically. But he couldn’t stop Raistlin, and he uttered a deep broken cry as his shalafi penetrated him. At first he thought there was blood, but in truth Raistlin had prepared for this, he realised dully. His body resisted, but the hardness invaded him mercilessly, feeling sickeningly slippery inside him. The pain was still bright and hot, despite Raistlin’s precautions, but it eased a little when Dalamar relaxed in defeat. He wept in frustration, and moaned when he felt that strange burning heat begin to move inside him. It was a few seconds before Dalamar heard the other sound in the laboratory.
There was a high-pitched, breathless sigh, and it did not come from him. He opened his eyes and saw Raistlin, consumed by the moment. Dalamar felt an appalled, blunted anger that Raistlin was taking pleasure from his body, but then he looked again. Raistlin’s eyes were closed, and his sighs were involuntary, each one perfectly matched by a gentle thrust of his slender hips. He looked vulnerable in his passion, somehow younger, the lines of cunning and bitterness smoothed from his golden skin. In a way he was beautiful. Dalamar tensed slightly around Raistlin, wanting to excite him. He smiled and laughed nervously at his victory when another one of those breathy moans rewarded him. Raistlin’s eyes opened slowly, languorously, and he looked at Dalamar almost without seeing him.
Raistlin’s eyes suddenly widened and Dalamar didn’t at first understand. He still wore a slight smile, but lost it immediately when he saw a flicker of hurt in those golden eyes. This was followed by a look of guilt and embarrassment, but both of these were gone before they were ever really there. Raistlin’s eyes burned with sudden ferocity as he looked down at his apprentice. Then Dalamar understood, and he wanted so much to tell Raistlin that he was wrong, but it was too late. The moment was lost forever, a casualty of carelessness and wilful misunderstanding.
Raistlin began to thrust deeper, harder, punishing and angry. Dalamar cried out at the sudden violence while Raistlin watched him pitilessly. Now only Dalamar’s cries filled the silence as Raistlin held onto his hips, digging long fingernails into his flesh, and controlling his movements. Dalamar looked up at his shalafi, and he shivered. Gone was the mindless ardour of a few moments ago, as if it had never existed. In its place was the same terrible coldness Dalamar had seen so many times. His body began to grow hard and aroused at the combination of pain and fear, now back in full force after the few minutes of respite. Dalamar enjoyed them both, and he could not hide it. Raistlin laughed as Dalamar’s face burned in shame, and as he continued to look up, he realised just how utterly Raistlin possessed him.
Suddenly Raistlin pushed deep inside him, and he cried out loudly, his voice ringing around the stone walls. Raistlin leaned over and rested his cheek against the side of Dalamar’s face, his lips almost touching his ear. “If you betray me again, I will destroy you.” Raistlin spoke in a whisper, so darkly threatening that Dalamar felt his blood slow to a crawl. His body tensed and he held Raistlin inside him tightly.
Raistlin moved back to look down at Dalamar, his eyes menacing, his voice intimidating. “This is a paradise compared to the vengeance I would take on you. You know that, don’t you, apprentice?” Dalamar continued to stare at Raistlin, his eyes wide. Forgetting, in his fear, that he had been asked a question.
Raistlin pushed again, hurting this time, “Do you understand me?” Dalamar inhaled sharply, his heart missing a beat; Raistlin spoke in silvanesti elven!
“Y-Yes, shalafi.” Raistlin glared for a moment before he seemed satisfied. His eyes clouded and he appeared to come to a decision.
He pushed Dalamar’s head to one side and held it there. Then he began to move in the delicate rhythm of earlier. Dalamar could do nothing but stare at the wall beyond the table. He saw their shadows thrown onto the stone by the firelight. He watched them moving together, saw the chains that held his arms pulled tight, and he became lost in the eroticism of it all. His body unconsciously responded to Raistlin, and he moaned in fulfilment as the pain of penetration finally faded, and was replaced by a pleasure he had never felt, but which was surely forbidden. He watched their outlines merge into one as Raistlin quickened his movements, heard the incoherent half-spoken words as his shalafi climaxed, and the sensation as Raistlin’s warmth filled him.
Raistlin collapsed onto him, his slight weight hardly there as he began to cough violently. He drew his breath in long, ragged gasps, his head resting on Dalamar’s chest. The exertion had taxed his frail body, and Dalamar pulled at his chains again, wanting to hold Raistlin to him.
His shalafi looked up at him suddenly, and Dalamar jumped, realising with horror that whatever softness the intimacy had inspired in him, Raistlin did not share it. He knew he had been used, and the knowledge sickened him, even as he wished to experience it all over again.
He felt a sense of loss as the weight finally left him, and closed his eyes tightly, ready for the pain that must surely come. But then he heard the laboratory door open and close. His eyes flew open and he realised he was alone, Raistlin had gone. He sighed heavily, a strange mixture of relief and longing.
In time, the guardians came to release him. When he questioned them he was informed that Raistlin did not wish to see him again before he left. He was stunned. The nightmare was over! He left the laboratory to seek dreamless sleep in his chamber. He had survived, but he was no longer the same. As he closed his eyes he remembered the endless torture, the pain, the pleasure, and Raistlin’s threat. He felt different, changed, and so old. How would he react when – if – he saw Raistlin again?
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Dalamar studied by the light of candles. It was good to concentrate; it kept away the vague fear that had plagued him since Raistlin left. Was he really going to prevent the shalafi’s return? He would try, there was so much to gain, it was almost worth the risk. A twisted smile crept onto his face – almost worth it. Leader of the black robes, and master of the tower. His hands tightened almost imperceptibly on the book he read. Win or die, he had to admit the situation was exhilarating.
Suddenly his mind brought him a memory. Raistlin leaning over him, exuding the scent of roses and death. Enslaved and possessed by those hourglass eyes. The shame of his submission, his body filled by the shalafi’s burning flesh, and his sinister, malignant whisper. “This is a paradise compared to the vengeance I would take on you.”
Dalamar went momentarily pale, but then his lips tightened. “No. I am not as others shalafi.” he murmured the words to himself. “I fear you as I fear nothing else, and I desire you. But you will not get what you want from me; I see you for what you are.” He breathed slowly, pushing back his nervousness. When Raistlin returned, Dalamar would be there, and he would stop him.
Dalamar’s eyes focused again on the page. Sighing, he realised he had not been paying attention to the words. He closed the book and looked up. In that moment his heart stopped. Raistlin was here! His shalafi stood before him, towering over the chair. His face was a mask of fury. Dalamar closed his eyes as adrenaline began to race through him, and he started to shake. How was this possible? Then he felt the habitual dread as Raistlin spoke.
“No, you have not been paying attention apprentice.” He shrank back in his chair, this couldn’t be real. “Perhaps you need a reminder.” Dalamar felt himself lifted from the chair as the book fell unheeded to the floor, and he opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with his shalafi. He wanted to scream, but could manage only a breathless cry, staring into those flat, deadly eyes.
He barely saw the movement, but he felt the pain, as Raistlin buried his dagger deep in Dalamar’s stomach. Everything changed from that moment, but for an instant the world stopped, and time stopped. He felt the blade deep inside him, his weight resting on it, and he reached out to hold Raistlin’s soft, black robes. He looked into Raistlin’s eyes as a captive once more. A prisoner of the one who held the blade, who held his life, who held everything. And he wanted to say just not to move, to stay this way, to be still. Because it would be all right as long as nothing changed. The moment stretched into an eternity and it was impossible that time should begin again, but it did. It began when he felt Raistlin twist the dagger inside him, and he fell to the floor…
…………………………………………………………………
Dalamar awoke from the nightmare and gasped into the silence of his chamber. He was drenched in sweat and his bedclothes were tangled. This was unendurable; he couldn’t understand where the dreams came from. The battle in the laboratory had been more than a month ago, and still he was plagued by these nightmares. Always death at Raistlin’s hands, at different times and places, but always so real. He had died countless times. Perhaps his shalafi was taking revenge after all. But in the end, it hadn’t mattered that Dalamar was ready to stop him, so why these terrible dreams?
He realised, as he did every time the dreams came, that he would have to enter the laboratory again. The prospect made his breathing quicken slightly, but he must know. He had to find out if the dreams were indeed given him, or if they were merely symptoms of his own guilt. Dalamar smiled bitterly. The shalafi could no doubt make threats a self-fulfilling prophecy.
He finally reached a decision and began to prepare himself, there would be no sleep now anyway. Perhaps he would lock the laboratory when he was done, he would feel better if he knew that door could not be opened again, even by him.
……………………………………………………………………
The laboratory was dark, silent. He entered cautiously; he had not been here since the night of the shalafi’s attempted return. Bloodstains still covered parts of the floor. Himself and Kitiara. He shuddered as he considered her fate; even the nightmares of her brother were not as terrible. He lit the candles with a word and walked around the room slowly, looking for something, without knowing what.
Dalamar glanced at the rows of spell books he would never read, never use. He brushed his fingertips over the table, remembering, shivering. His gaze lingered a moment on the Staff of Magius, but the crystal was dead, and dark. He doused the candles with a wave of his hand, plunging the laboratory into darkness once more. The only light was a soft, magical glow from the spell books.
Dalamar turned to go, relieved. But as he did so a voice whispered in his ear, “Dalamar…” He whirled around quickly, his black robes whispering on the stone floor. Now the voice was in his other ear. “Dreamer…” Ghostly lips and hands touched him, soft feather touches of ice.
“Shalafi…” Dalamar breathed the word, feeling the old, yet still familiar fear as he reached out to the chill air, longing to embrace it. The ghostly lips were on his neck now, and their coldness made Dalamar catch his breath. His warmth and life were flooding out of him, towards the shared memory of a kiss… an unending kiss…
“No!” Dalamar cried out, moving quickly to the door. He hesitated for a brief moment, tempted with all his soul to stay, and allow Raistlin’s sweet revenge. But he, Dalamar, was master of the tower now, and his lover, his shalafi, was gone.
“It’s over.” He spoke the words firmly, finally, into the darkness, and it seemed to Dalamar that the entire room sighed as he walked through the door, closing it behind him.
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A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Any thoughts and/or constructive criticism appreciated.
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Dalamar's Return