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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.

Chapter List
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Title: Farewell
Series: Leaves from the Shoikan Grove 4
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: R
Warnings: angst
Disclaimer: The world of Dragonlance and all the characters belong to Weis/Hickman and Wizards of the Coast
Summary: Raistlin finally gives in to his desire

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It was still the same night when Dalamar left the mage’s conclave. He had told them what he knew about his Master’s plans, and in return would now be able to tell Raistlin about their arrangements. Everything had happened the way his Shalafi had planned. Par-Salian would send Crysania, the cleric, back to the time before the Cataclysm, together with Raistlin’s twin brother Caramon. In that time, powerful clerics still existed who would be able to save Crysania.
And thus, his Master would be able to use Crysania in the past as well.
Anger rushed through him at the thought of the Revered Daughter of Paladine, she who was so pure in her belief, who saw only the light, and - thus blinded - could not see her own darkness. It was almost too easy for his Shalafi to seduce her...
He bit his lip and leaned against his wardrobe. No, he should be honest to himself. It was not her false virtue, her arrogance, that angered him so.
It was envy and jealousy that took hold of him whenever he thought of her. Oh, he knew that his Master harboured no real feelings for her, and yet he gave her such attention... Raistlin needed her for his plan, and even if she would die at the end, she would still have known more closeness to his Master than he would ever be granted.
Involuntarily, Dalamar’s hands went to his chest, where blood was still trickling from five holes. The pain was almost unbearable, and yet he was grateful for his Master’s lesson. Never again would he allow himself the hope of wresting a semblance of feeling from the Master of the Tower.
The mage cared for nothing, nothing... except magic. And that was the way Dalamar should feel as well. It was a painful lesson, but it was necessary for someone like him who wanted to wield the same amount of power as his Shalafi did.
Dalamar had to smile despite the pain. No, not the same amount of power... He still believed that his Master’s plan was insane. To visit Takhisis, the Goddess of Evil, in the Abyss only to draw her into this plane of existence to kill her once and for all... His mind refused to consider that plan. And yet he knew that his Master was powerful enough, that he could be successful.
His hands clenched, and he knew that his legs would not be able to bear his weight for much longer. He was swaying as he held onto the wall, slowly moving towards the bed where he finally sat down with a moan.
No, the thought that his master could be successful scared him. He would become a God, would rule in place of Takhisis, and with a gruesome certainty Dalamar realised that his Master would not tolerate somebody like him. He would not tolerate anybody with power, this the mages knew as well, and like them Dalamar could only pray that their desperate plan would be successful...
“Apprentice...” a gentle voice close to him whispered. He turned around, his eyes widening with horror as he found his Master sitting on the bed next to him, dressed in his robe of black velvet. Dalamar’s heart needed a few heartbeats to recover from the shock, and during that time he could do nothing but fearfully look into the golden eyes.
“I see that you are back...” Raistlin softly said. “Tell me, what is the conclave planning?”
Dalamar was panting for air. He was in pain and exhausted; his face was white as chalk and his lips were trembling. The black mage sighed and all of a sudden a glass of brandy seemed to appear from nowhere in his hand. “Drink this, it will help,” he murmured and raised the glass to his apprentice’s lips. The dark elf swallowed obediently, and while the liquid was burning hotly down his throat, he fought against the feelings this seemingly tender and concerned gesture roused in him.
“Well... apprentice?” The ridicule in Raistlin’s voice was all too obvious, and for a moment Dalamar closed his eyes, feeling beaten. When he opened them again, they were cold and without expression; even the pain had been forced away.
“As you have foreseen, Shalafi... They will send Crysania back in time, to the Kingpriest of Istar before the Cataclysm. Your brother will accompany her...”
Raistlin’s cold, derisive laughter made him stop.
“Ah, brother, so you are still trying to protect me... So be it. I will grant you this wish.”
Dalamar felt how the remainder of his strength left him. The room began to turn in front of his eyes; he could no longer keep himself upright. But just when he thought he was about to lose consciousness, the arms of his Master came up to hold him and gently lowered him to his bed.

“We all have certain desires, don’t we?“ Raistlin murmured softly while his golden eyes held the elf captive. “I know the height of my ambitions... but what are yours? Tell me, what moves you to accept this risk? I know that you love the Art,” he added with wry amusement, “but certainly that cannot be all. Is it truly only the desire for revenge on your people, the control of Silvanost? I see it in your eyes, apprentice, you have changed lately.”
His eyes narrowed as a thought came to him, but Dalamar was too exhausted to see it.
“Perhaps it is my sister? Kitiara, the Dragon Highlord? Do you desire her?” He was annoyed by the thought that somebody else might touch the pale skin, might kindle flames of passion in the eyes of the dark elf. He leaned forward until his face was above that of his apprentice, so that Dalamar was forced to helplessly endure his gaze.
“Well? Is that true, Dalamar? Tell me, is it her you are dreaming of?“
The dark elf had paled even more, but he could not escape the eyes of the mage. “No, Shalafi, I could never trust her...” he whimpered, while the pain in his chest grew into an unbearable agony that made his eyes fill with tears.
Raistlin smiled. It was a dark smile, twisted and strangely triumphant. His sister would not get him, he would make sure of that, even if he himself had to hand over her lifeless body to Lord Soth. He would not be mocked ever again, would not be denied... he would be a God.
The elf was trembling with pain beneath him, and the heat of his body made Raistlin focus on the situation once again. He could feel Dalamar’s body arouse desire in him once more, the overwhelming need to bury his face in the dark hair and possess him completely.
When he realized that he could do just that, he carefully put his staff down. Nothing would stop him, neither the elf nor he himself. He would allow his lust to take over, and afterwards he would follow his plan. Once and for all he would prove that he was truly able to sacrifice everything for the magic. He had sacrificed his life, his brother, and now he would offer the heart of the only being that awoke tenderness in him.
Gently he ran his fingers over Dalamar’s chest, pretending that he did not hear the pained gasp when he came too close to the robe-covered wounds.
“Ah, but do you trust me...?” he asked softly while he hungrily took in the helplessness and confusion on the delicate features of the elf. Then he took hold of the collar of Dalamar’s robe and ripped it open, only to pull the black fabric off his shoulders.
The dark elf‘s entire body was trembling, his lips forming words that did not leave his mouth, while new tears glistened heavily on his lashes.
Raistlin’s lips moved tenderly over the wet cheeks until they finally found Dalamar’s mouth, still as sweet and warm as in his memories. But this was better than it had been last night... infinitely better, because this time the elf’s arms wrapped around his body to hold him tightly while his lips hungrily parted, teased, welcomed him.
Feverishly he bared the smooth skin of his apprentice and pressed himself against the body that was clinging to him. Although Raistlin’s robes moved against the wounds on Dalamar’s breast and soaked up the ever-flowing blood, the dark elf did not even seem to feel the pain anymore. He passionately drew Raistlin deeper into the kiss, waking unknown desires in the mage, until Raistlin too forgot his plans, his ambitions and even the magic. All that was important was the devotion in the brown eyes of the elf, the scent of heat and aspen leaves that arose from the sweaty skin beneath him.
Once the mage had shed his robe as well, Dalamar hid his face against Raistlin’s throat, whimpering. He clutched the thin body tightly,as if he were afraid it would only be another dream, or – even worse – that his master would turn from him with a taunting smirk any moment now.
But Raistlin would no longer have been able to do so. The arousal burned in his veins as only magic had done before, it made him go on and on, searching for something which all of a sudden hotly burned his body when the elf moved against him sensuously. Both of them gasped, the mage in surprise, Dalamar in desperation. Again Raistlin’s lips moved to seek out those of his apprentice, closing on them in a greedy kiss, and so hindered the words from escaping which Raistlin would never be allowed to speak.
There were still bitter tears running down Dalamar’s face, and yet he did not resist when slender, golden fingers pushed his thighs apart. This was what he wanted, yet still... all of a sudden his dream seemed to have become a nightmare.
He sobbed into Raistlin’s kiss when he finally felt him inside. Helplessly he moved beneath him, running his hand through the silver hair again and again while Raistlin held down his other hand next to his head.
The mage moaned and moved faster. For so long he had denied himself such passion that it now seemed too much for his human body to bear. The thought of hurting this man, to deny him love until he broke, was unimaginable. Nothing in Krynn, not even the Gods would ever be able to give him something as intoxicating as the trembling body beneath him.
If he had only known sooner what the longing in the eyes of the dark elf meant, if he had understood sooner that the power of the Queen of Darkness was nothing compared to the power Dalamar gave up so willingly...
The despair that made his apprentice cling to him fomented his own, lust and desire and yearning and finally an end to loneliness and coldness...
Ecstasy of the kind that had so far only ever been caused by an accomplished spell exploded in his blood all of a sudden, and was mirrored in the soft cry of the dark elf.
Raistlin allowed his exhausted body to rest in Dalamar’s embrace, while at the same time the doubts, the bitterness and the unquenchable thirst for power began to replace the temporary balm of peace in his head.
Feelings meant nothing in his world. Only magic counted, magic and power, and they did not suffer any rivals. Not even the beautiful dark elf...
Stiffly he moved out of his apprentice’s exhausted embrace. Dalamar was still trembling, but he could not utter a single word while his brown eyes watched his Master dress.
Raistlin bent down to take up his staff and walked towards the door. There he turned around again to give the sweat-covered elven body a cold look.
“You are weak, apprentice,” he whispered tauntingly, “because you still have not learned that there is nothing except the magic... But maybe it is enough for you to adorn the bed of a powerful person as their pretty plaything? My sister would certainly be interested...”
Dalamar lowered his eyes and felt how the agony in his chest made way for an emptiness that was somehow even more gruesome. But it promised calm and peace, and even if it was the peace of eternal frost, Dalamar’s broken soul now accepted it with gladness.
No tears would come, now that the door closed after his Master, no grief, no anger. His Master had done well, Dalamar had learned his lesson.
“No, I do not trust you...” he finally whispered in answer to Raistlin’s question. Kitiara, the mages, Raistlin – he would trust no one. He was alone, like his Shalafi had always been.
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Leaves from the Shoikan Grove