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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
- 4
- 5
A/N (Aroihkin’s Notes) 01.18.2006:
The only opinion I got on whether Dalamar should be in the story or not was a yes, so that they could have a threesome. ::shakes her head and laughs::
Guys, serious. I’m barely going to manage to get him to shag one elf, let alone two of them at the same time! XD Hot though that may be for the rest of us to imagine, I think poor Raistlin would faint away for days!
Review-replies can be found on the newly-opened arowrites dot net. Yay!
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Silver Tongue and Golden Wit
( five )

“Just relax.” Tannusen’s voice was warm air against the side of his neck, a light vibration against his shoulder-blades as the mage finally allowed himself to be pulled back against the elf. He remained tense, waiting to see what would come of this small cooperation, but the blond’s hands did not shift, and the assassin made absolutely no move to restrict him.
In fact, the arms wrapped loosely around Raistlin seemed intended for exactly what their owner had said; plain physical contact. Grudgingly, the archmage began to do as he was asked, slowly beginning to relax... or at least as much as one could really force themselves to.
“Good, good.” the elf said after the mage was fully slumped against him, nearly rag-doll, “Now, how deeply can you breathe without problems?”
“Not very.” Raistlin admitted quietly, unconsciously lulled further by Tannusen’s continued calmness. Later when he would think about it, he would realize what the blond had done. But he would also draw a connection between this use of body language, and the way he had tried to use the setting itself to subdue the elf. A pair of expert manipulators at work, truly, it was no wonder the Conclave had sought the blond out for this supposed job.
“Breathe as deeply as you may without issue, Mister Majere.” the assassin instructed, and Raistlin did so, quickly realizing that Tannusen was matching his breath. The elf he leaned against inhaled when he, Raistlin, inhaled, and likewise for exhaling. Tannusen’s heartbeat began to slow down with the restriction on air, for Raistlin’s deepest breath was shallow at best to most.
The matched rising and falling of the chest against his back lulled him into an almost trance-like state, the archmage not noticing when he began to match the elf in return. Tannusen gradually deepened their breathing, so slowly that the mage continued to mimic without realizing what was happening, and without so much as a hint of his airway threatening to close.
In, pause. Out, pause. Even their heartbeats began to match after a while, and hours passed unmarked as Raistlin’s mind also slowed down. It was almost like sleep, but not quite so focused as that. There was nothing but the breathing in, the breathing out, and the heartbeats gradually coming to pulse in synch. Hypnotic, like watching snow fall outside of his window...
“There, you see?”
Raistlin was pulled out of this almost meditative state by the elf’s voice, and he blinked to realize that the room was darkened. How long had they been this way? And how had he lost track of himself so thoroughly as to be completely relaxed against the elf, held up only by the arms wrapped loosely around his torso? Even his neck had rebelled against him, his head resting back against the elf’s shoulder as the hours had worn on.
“See what?” he snapped, sitting up. The archmage was distinctly angry at himself.
“Your breathing, mister Majere.” Tannusen’s voice was soft, lulling. Raistlin’s shoulders slumped as he relaxed again despite himself, although not nearly to that same state. He took stock of his breathing, realized how deeply he was allowing his lungs to fill, and his throat immediately closed.
Raistlin saw stars as he coughed, raggedly, his vision sputtering as his airway rebelled further. Tannusen let go of him at the first sign so that he could lean forward, instinctually, as he struggled for air. No matter how he gasped, his lungs wouldn’t fill enough to sustain him before he coughed again.
The mage panicked as he always did, clawing at his throat with one hand as a pair of warm hands settled against his neck and shoulders, unnoticed. Slowly, Raistlin found his throat opening again, and he slowly became aware of the gentle massage taking place.
“What,” he snarled between wheezing breaths, “are you doing?”
“Making you calm down enough to breathe.” Tannusen said, unworried. “You panicked when you realized how well you were breathing before.”
“I did not... -panic-.” Raistlin snarled the last word out, shoving the elf’s hands away.
“Oh?” the blond said, his tone innocent, “My, funny how that timing works out, then...”
This gave the mage pause, and he considered it. It was certainly true that he’d breathed just fine when his mind wasn’t involved... whatever the elf had done to him to make his head shut down earlier had left him breathing even better than he had before his Test. Was it triggered by panic? Anger? Strong emotion in general? His head swam with the implications.
“I have you thinking, I see.” Tannusen, nearly forgotten entirely, said from behind him. Raistlin jumped slightly and then seethed. The damned assassin was already playing with him again, apparently. He took up the nearby Staff of Magius and struggled to his feet, turning to glare down at the elf.
Who simply spread his hands and smiled, looking distinctly rumpled in the faint light.
Raistlin snorted, and walked around the desk to light one of the oil lamps standing nearby as the elf, stiffly, climbed up off of the floor. He plucked the cushion Raistlin had been seated on from the rug as well and returned it to its chair, moving as though his legs were both mostly asleep. And they probably were, considering.
“Schedule for the week, Mister Majere?” he asked, walking to just within the range of the newly-lit lamp.
“Just come back at noon.” Raistlin said, sounding distracted as he sat down at his desk.
“All week?”
“Yes.”
“Every day?”
“Yes, fine, now get out!” the archmage snarled, waving his hand impatiently at the door. He had to think this over, and he couldn’t do that with the damned assassin gabbing on like an overgrown Kender. Tannusen smiled at this and bowed, leaving without another word.
The next day went much the same way, with Tannusen convincing the mage to sit closely in front of him and then matching breathing. Just as before, the elf managed to deepen their breathing over the course of a full session, though his bringing Raistlin back out of it was much less jarring than before. Much the same happened the next day, and the next, and so on.
By the end of the week the mage no longer required coaxing into place, and was able to relax around Tannusen without nearly so much effort or time. But it was the last session of that week that would prove to be the next step, and Raistlin hadn’t a clue of what he was getting into.
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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.

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Silver Tongue and Golden Wit