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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.

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Title: Fingerprints
Series: Leaves from the Shoikan Grove 3
Author: Esteliel
Homepage: http://www.loes-valthen.de.vu
Pairing: Raistlin/Dalamar
Spoiler: Legends of the Dragon Lance Vol. 1: Time of the Twins
Rating: PG
Warnings: angst, violence
Disclaimer: The world of Dragonlance and all the characters belong to Weis/Hickman and Wizards of the Coast
Summary: Raistlin finds out and punishes Dalamar for his betrayal

Parts of the conversation are quotes from Legends Vol. 1 and so belong to Weis/Hickman - but I have nevertheless added several things to make it more... interesting. ;)
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"You spoke of my journey, Shalafi? I am not going anywhere -"
Raistlin’s smile did not change when Dalamar’s expression betrayed his realisation, and his sudden, harrowing fear. ‘I knew, apprentice, I knew about your betrayal from the beginning,’ he could have said, but he stayed silent, enjoying to simply watch the play of emotions on the dark elf’s face.
Dalamar paled and took a step back. There were no words he could have used to defend himself. And what was there to say? He had taken the risk in full knowledge of what might happen, all for the privilege of being Raistlin’s student. The mages would never have allowed him to come here if they had not needed a spy. And so Dalamar told them what he knew of his Master’s plans, and at the same time eagerly worked to learn all the secrets of magic Raistlin was ready to share.
It was a daring game which Dalamar could only lose. But he accepted it for the power, for the magic... and for the possibility to be close to him.
Dalamar’s face lost even more of its colour. At least he had not shamed himself so completely as to let his Shalafi know about his feelings for him. That was his greatest, his best-guarded secret. The desire he felt for the touch of the mage, the shivers of arousal that shook him whenever he heard the soft voice of his Master.
Since their first meeting in the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth, he had allowed the powerful man to ensnare him deeper and deeper in a web that he would never be able to escape. And by now he no longer even wanted that; he had fallen for him body and soul.
At first he had told himself that it was only natural to be attracted to the most powerful man on Krynn. Until the day arrived when he realised that it was not the incantations that made his heart beat faster, nor the moments during which the Master of the Tower showed him the darkest secrets of the gods.
A dry battle of wills with Par-Salian, the head of the White Robes, that showed the intelligence of his master. Or a rare evening in front of the fire when Raistlin would tell his apprentice some tales about the Heroes of the Lance from his viewpoint – those were the moments when Dalamar realised that somehow this man had managed to steal his heart.
That expression made him blush whenever he thought of it, yet there were no other words for the continual pain that tormented him because the mage looked at him as his student only, and nothing more.
His Shalafi was no ordinary man, Dalamar knew that all too well, and if the mage had looked at him as a friend, a confidant at least, Dalamar would have been content. But the coldness in Raistlin’s eyes which was present at all times hurt him more than he would ever have believed possible.
The elf was slowly despairing. The burden he had to bear as a spy of the Conclave was becoming too much, had been ever since he realised his obligation was not towards magic anymore but to his own heart, and he had spent many nights unable to sleep, helplessly wondering if he should confess everything. But the memory of the coldness in Raistlin’s gaze stayed him. No, he would not be able to bear his Master’s derision...
…and now, when it was all too late, at least this torment would find an end. His slender body began to tremble as he watched the approaching mage. He dreamed of him, had dreamed of him for many nights, and just this morning he had been woken by the heat in his blood and a sticky wetness on his sheets. He had been so ashamed that he had immediately destroyed them by a spell. That had not happened to him for decades...
His Shalafi must never know of it. Dalamar knew only too well that the mage would see these emotions as weaknesses, a tool to control him. And although the dark elf would voluntarily do anyting his Master asked of him, he nevertheless wanted to be more than just a helpless puppet that would be thrown away after the work was done.
He had no hope anymore, and thus he did not even think of fighting when Raistlin stopped in front of him with a cruel smile and rested his fingertips on his chest.
The pain was so horrible that it blotted out everything else. Raistlin’s unaffected golden eyes were Dalamar’s only anchor, and he desperately clung to it so that he would not lose himself. His lips parted, but no sound came forth; the torment that rushed through his body took away his control over his senses. The only thing he could see were the eyes of his Shalafi, how they watched him without compassion, without hate. Something broke inside Dalamar at the thought that he did not even mean enough to his Master to be hated for his crime. Had the man only used him right from the beginning? Had all of this been planned?
Why did you kiss me? his soul screamed, Why give me hope when I mean less to you than one of your experimental creatures?
For one short moment an emotion flitted across his face, then it once again held the same guarded expression, like a mask wrought of gold.
"Relate to them accurately both what I have told you," Raistlin whispered, "and what you may have guessed. And give the great Par-Salian my regards... apprentice!"
Dalamar fell to the ground when the mage turned away from him and went to the door.
“Why? Why did you kiss me?” he whimpered helplessly, and did not even realise that he had spoken this thought aloud. Raistlin heard him and flinched, yet he did not look back until the door fell shut behind him.
It was only then that his mask finally crumbled, and he had to lean against the wall because he was shaking. Had he been wrong? Was it truly possible that the dark elf felt more than only respect and fear for him? His thoughts went back to the previous night, to the tempting image of the naked young body on the bed.
“No... no, that is impossible!” he told himself, despair colouring his voice. “It cannot be, it is only a feint to distract me, because they know of my plans...”
There was no answer to his words apart from the agonised gasp behind the door, where his apprentice was ripping off his robe to find five bleeding, charred wounds on his body that looked like fingerprints.
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Leaves from the Shoikan Grove