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Silver Tongue and Golden Wit	By : Aroihkin Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 2364 -:- 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 (Aroihkin’s Notes) 12.21.05:
I still haven’t decided if Dalamar will be in the story, what do you guys think? In the meantime... first session, go!
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Silver Tongue and Golden Wit
( four )
Noon. Raistlin met Tannusen at the base of the Tower again, although this time his hood was down and the sun was allowed to play off of the metallic skin of the Archmage’s features. The blond halted a moment just inside the tree-line to take this in, before entering the clearing, and Raistlin’s expression turned somewhat more... guarded, at that pause.
“Alarming?” rasped the Mage once the blond had come to a halt several feet away.
“Not at all.” Tannu smiled gently.
“You... hesitated, most pointedly.” the Mage replied, nearly attacking the elf with his voice alone.
“Mister Majere... at the risk of sounding as though I am attempting flattery--do you know what jewelers often display their wares upon?” Tannusen was simply frowned at for a moment, and then Raistlin nodded shortly. So the blond continued, “It simply struck me as poetic that you wear black velvet, Mister Majere. Poetic but... apt.”
“Again, flattery.” Raistlin retorted.
“I do not attempt flattery around you Mister Majere, it simply comes naturally and without effort.” the blond’s smile didn’t waver, and he was quiet for a moment before coming to the point. “Have you decided whether you will try me or not?”
“I will try your...” he seemed to have issues with this announcement, “methods, Mr. Ashkeveron. If only out of morbid curiosity.”
“We may as well start today, then, unless you have other plans...? No? Well then, if you would choose a room for us to work in this time...”
“Certainly.” Majere inclined his head, smirking coldly, before he turned to lead the way into the Tower. Again. The blond followed without further comment, curious as to what battleground--so to speak--the Mage would choose for their first session.
- - -(The Library)- - -
Tannusen’s gaze swept the room, twice, as the blond turned to look at everything. In the first round, he took in what he was supposed to--the towering book cases stuffed full of what had to be at least -mostly- magical books and artifacts, the expensive rugs, the carved furniture. It was daunting and cold, more than a little bit like standing in a museum.
By the second round, however, he’d shifted his focus entirely.
His booted feet slowly turned him once more as he took in a frayed cushion here, a ring from a tea mug there, a scuffed bit of carpet, a tiny bloodstain on one of those same carpets near the leg of a table. He wasn’t supposed to notice the organic things, the signs that this was a well-lived-in room, and so that’s exactly what he focused on until he’d turned all the way around again.
Raistlin was watching him, staring hard with cold, calculating golden eyes.
“And this room will suffice?” asked the Mage.
“Oh, certainly.” Tannu smiled cheerfully, “Why wouldn’t it?”
The blond watched for the flicker of carefully-suppressed surprise, and was not left disappointed. Barely a trace, barely a hint, but it had been there--just for that one split second before being trapped and pulled behind the mask. Such an expert manipulator, this Raistlin Majere was, that he would attempt to use the very -room- as a tool against Tannusen.
/ I can see why I was the only real choice for the Conclave. / the blond thought, / Unfortunately for them, I cannot be bribed into killing someone I don’t want to kill. /
“You thought that I would be daunted at best, distracted at worst, from doing whatever I had planned if you chose this room?” asked the elf, after a long enough pause in which it seemed Majere would simply not say a word in reply.
/ Ironic that I will do exactly what their lie--their cover story, perhaps--said that I would do. /
“I suppose that was the idea.” Raistlin finally admitted, his tone dry.
“Ah ha, well.” Tannusen strode across the room to the fireplace and plucked the large cushion off of a nearby, intricately carved wooden chair. He returned to the desk’s side of the room, beaming at the Mage. “Your desk is fairly sturdy, isn’t it? Heavy? Hard to move?”
“I... yes?” Majere blinked, clearly taken by surprise by the seemingly random questions. He eyed the bit of furniture, its dark surface entirely taken up by books and scrolls and bits of parchment. Three different ink wells containing three different substances sat next to one another, right by an assortment of quills from various types of bird.
“No need to look worried, Mister Majere. I’m not going to disturb your...” a vague gesture at it all with the hand not holding the pillow, “...uh... stuff.”
“How eloquent.” the Archmage sneered, eyes flickering back to the elf.
“So I’m told!” said the entirely undaunted blond, beaming at Raistlin. And then--much to the Mage’s bemusement--he abruptly turned and sat down on the floor in front of the desk. Leaning carefully back against the paneled front of the heavy furniture, he pushed a bit deliberately and was pleased to find it didn’t move.
Squirming a bit, the elf went about getting as comfortable as one could really manage while sitting on a floor and leaning against a carved wooden surface. Tannusen looked up after a moment of this to find that Raistlin had walked around the side of the desk to stare at him in puzzlement. His smile, which had faded naturally to a simple quirk of the lips, came back a bit as he set the cushion down in front of him.
“Have a seat? Back to me, if you don’t mind.”
“I--what--” Raistlin blinked, looking from elf to cushion and back again. “Why...”
“I’m going to teach you a breathing technique.” the assassin said, cheerfully, “Even if it doesn’t end up helping my cause, you should find it useful in the future... what with the way your lungs are.”
“But the cushion...”
“Is between my legs, yes.” Tannusen finished for him, looking down a moment. His legs, white-clad again, were splayed off to either side of the large cushion, which was pulled close. But really, there wasn’t anything suggestive about it.
But then, he -was- dealing with Majere. And Majere, he knew, had some serious issues. That was why he was here, after all. The blond considered this for a moment before turning his face back up to the faintly-blushing Mage, who looked like he’d just been asked to strip for an audience rather than simply sit down.
“I’m not going to molest you, Mister Majere. I promise.” Tannu patted the cushion and smiled reassuringly. It wasn’t until the Archmage grudgingly leaned his Staff against the desk next to them and settled down that the blond gave in and added, “Well, yet anyway.”
Raistlin tensed visibly, and Tannusen sighed.
“Mister Majere... I promised not to hurt you, and that includes unwanted sexual contact. It was an ill-timed joke, I apologize.” Tannusen said, relaxing as much as he could manage so that hopefully Majere would pick up on it. “Besides, you’d have a demon eat me if I was the sort to try.”
That earned him a snort, and a--gradually--somewhat less rigid Archmage.
“Now what?” Raistlin finally asked when it became apparent that Tannusen would truly move no further without his prompt.
“If I may have permission to touch you?” his question was rewarded with a startled choking sound that quickly devolved into a coughing fit, the Mage’s thin shoulders shaking with the force and his back bending him forward. When it passed, Raistlin slowly sat back up, dabbing away the blood with that ever-hidden handkerchief.
“You want to -what-?” Majere finally demanded, turning a bit to glare at Tannusen, “If this is another ‘ill-timed joke’...”
“It isn’t.” said the blond, spreading his gloved hands, “It’s just that I won’t so much as touch another person’s shoulder without some sort of permission. And if this is going to work, then...”
“Fine.” Raistlin snapped, eyes narrowed daringly.
“Excellent!” Tannusen beamed, and wrapped both of his arms carefully around the frail Mage’s torso, one over the stomach and one over the chest. Raistlin actually -hissed- in surprise at the sudden embrace, but was pulled firmly back against the elf before he could protest. “There, now. Just use me as a back-rest of a sort, alright?”
“What are you -doing-!” the Mage had gone stock still again, as tense as a spooked horse about to bolt. But he hadn’t gone for his spell components just yet, so Tannu figured he was at least avoiding being lit on fire. Raistlin’s arms were both free, his mouth was unhindered, nothing would stop the Mage from blasting him if he decided to do so.
“Relax, this is all I’m doing.” his always-purring voice was pitched quiet, soft even.
“Let go!”
“If I let go, then I’m going to have to leave, Mister Majere. Calm down, it’s alright.” this was one of those situations in which he strongly wished the purr was intentional and not simply built in. It was doing very little to help him convince Raistlin that his intentions were honest, and he knew it. The Mage himself was shaking just slightly, sitting perfectly upright within Tannusen’s loose embrace, not leaning back against him at all.
“Physical contact is necessary for this, as is your relaxing.” the elf continued after a moment, resting his head back against the desk, “Take your time, Mister Majere.”
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Dragonlance © someone else.
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.
Never steal if you value your spleen.
Reviews are lovely, reviews make the Aro happy, and a happy Aro is more inspired to write. However, they are not absolutely required, and flames will result in a very annoyed Aro. I’m not forcing you to read my stuff, you must realize. So I’ve no sympathy for you if you read it, hate it, and yet can’t keep your pointer off the review button.
Constructive criticism is awesome, but I can tell thinly-veiled sarcasm when I see it.
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Silver Tongue and Golden Wit