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Unlikely Romance	By : sinaline Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 3473 -:- 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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A/N: I feel I must apologize for lack of updates. My monitor is dying a slow and tortured death, and so until I replace it I must look at a permanently fuzzy screen where reading is next to impossible unless I want a headache, lol. Money is rather tight right now, so updates will be sporadic until a new monitor is bought.

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Chapter Three

Raistlin woke the next morning, again rather surprised by the fact that Tika was present. Only this time he could see that she was sleep in a chair beside his bed. He vaguely remembered feeling faint… someone telling him to sleep… but his memory was not all that clear on how he had arrived in his bed or how he was lacking clothing. He sat up gingerly and his movement alerted her.

Tika woke instantly with an instinct borne of working with patron in the Inn. Within seconds she was pushing him back down into his bed, "Oh no, mister, Mistress Meggin said bedrest, and that is what you'll do."

"Bedrest?" he asked, surprised. "Mistress Meggin? Tika… wait a minute!… what's going on?"

"You worked yourself into nervous exhaustion," she said, tucking him in an almost motherly fashion. "And then collapsed on your floor—you've been out for over a day and a half. I was worried!"

"A day and a half?" Raistlin started, then managed to catch her wrists. "Wait, I have to…"

She used his own grip against him and he found himself laying back down, "You don't have to go anywhere, or do anything, except rest."

He released his grip, "Tika, I'm self-employed, so to speak. Any day I spend in bed is a day unemployed."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "You know how small this town is. Dezra and I fussing over your prone and ill personage, as well as summoning Meggin the Healer, pretty much told everyone with half an interest in you that you were under the weather."

"Dezra…" he blinked. "Oh no…"

"Oh, would you relax already," she rolled her eyes. "Dezra only ran supplies back and forth and has been covering my shifts. Otik sent some mulled wine over last night and after taking that you slept like a baby. You'll be fine, and after a few days off your feet—"

Raistlin objected, but didn't have a chance to even make a noise as all he had a chance to do was open his mouth, "—And I mean it!—you'll be as right as rain," she finished.

At this point he finally gave up, realizing now that once this fiery woman had made up her mind there was really no changing it back. He lay back in his pillows and said, "Fine. I give up. But I see your point."

"You'd better," came her reply from his kitchen.

Why did he suddenly have this eerie feeling that his kitchen was now her kitchen…

* * *

With the harvest weeks, at the earliest, away, Caramon had finally found time to go home for a visit. He walked up the spiral stairs and through the boardwalks towards his home. Seeing it, he broke into a grin. While he liked his work, and liked the Sedge's, there really was nothing quite like that first glimpse of home.

But something seemed off… not quite right…

As he drew closer he noticed the flowers in the windowboxes. The curtains. The clean windows, the fresh coat of paint. Caramon stopped and made sure that he was approaching the right house. Raistlin would have never, ever, planted flowers. Herbs, yes, flowers, no. Frilly, feminine curtains were also out of place, as was the relative cheeriness of the entire house.

He opened the door to his house, that same strange feeling stealing over him, like he was half expecting some stranger to yell at him for entering the premises without permission. Pushing open the door and walking in, he could see that it was indeed the Majere home… but something was very different.

As if in explanation, a most definite feminine laugh met him.

Caramon stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly feeling guilty for walking in on his twin in such a personal moment.

By the departed Gods… wondered Caramon. Did Raistlin get married when I wasn't here?

He was about to turn and leave, or in the very least, knock on the door. It sort of seemed absurd to knock on his own door but given the present circumstances…

At that moment the red-haired young woman bounced out into the main room. For a moment they simply stared at each other in stunned silence. "Hi…" began Caramon.

"Tika, is everything all right?" called Raistlin's voice from the bedroom.

It just seemed so alien to Caramon, like it was all out of place. Wrong. The young woman, Tika, answered, "Raist… there's a man in your house…"

"Hi, Raist… it's me!" called Caramon. "I'm…uh… home…" I think, but he didn't say it aloud.

For a moment silence reigned supreme in the Majere household. "Caramon? Oh dear Gods… Tika, it's all right, he's my brother."

"Oh," answered Tika, as if still unsure. "Your brother is in the bedroom."

Yes, I can see that, Caramon bit his tongue and said instead, "Thank you."

Caramon excused himself and entered the bedroom and saw his brother laying in his bed. Judging by the way the covered were neatly arranged and by his bedclothes, Raistlin had been there the entire day. It suddenly clicked. "You were ill," stated Caramon, just as his thought turned down that same direction.

"Yes," answered Raistlin, then slightly sarcastically, "What did you think I was doing here? Never mind, I don't want to know."

"Uh… right…" said Caramon. "What happened?"

"I worked myself into nervous exhaustion during the plague," explained Raistlin. "I collapsed from overwork. I really should have known better. Tika found me on the floor and has been taking care of me. She's a great help."

"Jeez, Raist… I'm really sorry…"

"Caramon… there was nothing you could have done. And you didn't know," said Raistlin gently, tiredly, and punctuating things with a yawn. "Give this to Tika, I've had enough."

Caramon took the winecup from his brother's hand and patted his shoulder, "Night, Raist."

"Good night, my brother," said Raistlin, rolling over to fall asleep.

Walking back out to the kitchen where Tika was deftly cleaning dishes and putting them away, Caramon gave her the winecup. "He's sleeping."

"He should be," said Tika. "Mistress Meggin said that the mulled wine would relax him. It really does. He sleeps like a baby every time."

"All night?"

"Usually," Tika shrugged. "Sometimes he has nightmares. Was he always like that?"

Caramon blinked. Now that he thought about it, Tika knew her way around like she had been here for far longer than Raistlin had been ill. She knew his sleeping patterns.

Abyss… realized Caramon. This woman knew Raistlin just as well as Caramon did. "Well… yes…"

"Oh," she sighed. "That's too bad."

"How well do you know my twin?" asked Caramon.

Tika stopped for a moment before she shrugged, then continued with the dishes. "Well, I guess about a month now, really. Maybe longer. I met him late-spring… it's mid-summer now… so yes, actually about three months, going on four."

"And… you two get along all right?"

"Heh?" she looked at him. "I suppose so. We talk a lot. We've been on picnics, I usually come over and cook him supper. He's very nice, your brother."

Caramon blinked, then smiled a slow smile.

Tika was Raistlin's girlfriend.

His brother—a girlfriend! Caramon had been trying for literally years to get Raistlin to even look at a girl, and now it had finally happened. To tell the truth, Caramon had been more than slightly worried that Raistlin wasn't interested in girls. And, although Caramon didn't have a problem with that sort of thing (being the experimental type himself), he was more comfortable with Raistlin being with a girl.

And Tika was such a nice girl. Normal. Just the thing Caramon felt Raistlin needed to get his nose out of his magic sometimes. "So you're almost at home here?"

He could hear a slight sigh from her, "Almost. In almost every way except the way I would like."

"Oh?"

She glared at him, and he suddenly knew better than to pry that one out.
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Unlikely Romance