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Dissolution	By : sinaline Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 1659 -:- 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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter Five

Ladonna was one of the few who did not greet the newest guest right away. Dalamar guessed
that she wanted to make sure she appeared to be Marinda Talvines for Caramon as well.
Caramon now sat, after a good walk up the stairs to Raistlin’s study, in a chair before the fire.
“Abyss!– it was a warm summer day in Palanthas then suddenly a cold, un-welcoming winter in
that Grove. But the gardens are not what I expected. Nor this,” he said, gesturing around. “I–
oh...”
Dalamar and Kitiara turned to see Ladonna, as Lady Marinda, dressed in a gown of slate grey
with ice blue and white beadwork on the bodice. Delicate white lace and an off-white silk
chemise under the massive bell sleeves completed the look, “Ah! You must be Caramon!”
Caramon looked at Kitiara, then Dalamar, “Uh, yes...”
Marinda swept gracefully into the room to grasp her nephew’s hand. “And I am Lady Marinda
de Talvines...” she saw his confusion, patted his hand. “If Raistlin looks like my sister, I do say,
you must look like your father.”
“Eh?”
“Lady Marinda is our Aunt, and Rosamun’s elder sister,” said Kitiara flatly, a vague glare aimed
at their aunt.
Caramon’s brows lifted in surprise, “Our... Aunt?!”
“Oh you poor dears...” mused Marinda. “That only cinches it– she didn’t say anything of family at all. And I had so hoped...” she patted his hand again. “But don’t you worry, we’ll catch up.”
“Of course, Aunt Marinda,” said Caramon, smiling. “I can’t believe it, that’s all. Have you seen Raistlin?”
“I have, and I have spoken to him,” she said, but when he went to get up, she held him down.
“He’s resting now. Let him sleep. The poor dear hit his head and hurt himself rather badly and,
unfortunately, there is only one way to rest and heal such an injury.”
She winked, and said, “But don’t you worry, your Auntie has been keeping a close eye on him.”
“Thank you Aunt Marinda,” said Caramon.
It was clear that Caramon had been thoroughly fooled.

Caramon was there the next time Raistlin awoke, and for a moment the two brothers could only
look at each other. Caramon well remembered Raistlin’s parting words, and his letter,
remembered that each and every letter Caramon had sent Raistlin had returned, unopened,
marked clearly, but just as clearly it could be seen it had been Raistlin’s own handwriting, ‘I have
no brother!’
That had hurt, and Caramon had been lost for two years. For two long years, he had been the
town drunk in Solace.
Then one day when he had been sober as he had no money stashed away for drink, he noticed
something different about Tika. As they remained broke, Caramon remained sober, and the more
he remained sober, the more he started to notice that Tika didn’t touch alcohol even though she
worked in the Inn. Wondering if maybe she just didn’t drink at home, he went to the inn.
Otik, suspiciously, had allowed him in the back, and had noticed that for once Caramon had been
cold sober. When Caramon asked if perhaps she had some drink from patrons, Otik coldly told
him otherwise. With a slight crease, standing there in the Inn, Caramon put the puzzle pieces
together and left in silence with a concerned Otik staring at his back.
Later he would learn that Otik had told Tika that Caramon had been there.
And that Caramon had not asked for money, nor for drink.
Actually, he hadn’t asked for anything.
In the past two years since his slow breakdown, Tika saw progress and light at the end of the
tunnel. She couldn’t have been more correct in her assumption as Caramon had sworn off drink
altogether, and this time he meant to keep it. Ironically, it wasn’t until months afterward that she
found out about this particular promise as it was a promise to himself and no other.
Didn’t mean she was any less happy about it, and about having the Caramon she had fallen in
love with back.
After Caramon had proven that he was capable of holding work, he began to cut wood like his
father before him and the pair finally had money. Tika didn’t have to work at the Inn to make
ends meet, although she still did as it was the only thing she knew how to do, and they moved
into a better house. When Otik had a stroke, Caramon took over the Inn to help Tika and Dezra
with the workload.
He might make the ale now, and occasionally taste it, but he never, ever, drank more than a tiny
teacup per batch. He followed Otik’s recipes without fail, and even came up with a few of his
own. The Inn of the Last Home, which had been in a slight slow decline as Otik’s health began
to fail, was revitalized. Again, the Majere’s experienced a new prosperity and the town saw the
return of their hero.
Then again, the soft life had meant that Caramon’s middle was also soft, but his arms were still
strong from hefting barrels of water and ale, and chopping wood. It was not from hefting a
sword and slicing enemies in a war. The only slicing in Caramon’s life was that of a kitchen
knife as he helped prepare the spiced potatoes the Inn was still very famous for.
This was the Caramon Majere that Raistlin woke from his still concussed heavy slumber to find.

“Hello, Raistlin,” greeted Caramon quietly.
For a moment Raistlin didn’t say anything, but there was also a vague uncertainty in his eyes. “I
know you,” was all he said.
“Well, at least, from what I hear,” smiled Caramon. “That happens to be progress around here.
Rumor has it that you didn’t know anyone.”
“Dalamar tells me that I must have hit my head rather hard,” admitted Raistlin, a ghost of a smile
on his lips. “I think Kitiara is simply angry at me... and Marinda... I don’t know her at all. But
you... you I know... I just can’t place where... or who you are... why are you so familiar to me?”
Caramon’s stomach clenched. Raistlin looked lost. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he answered,
“My name is Caramon Majere, I’m your–”
“My brother?” asked Raistlin. “I remember now, Kitiara and Marinda told me of you. You came
all the way from Solace?”
“Do you remember Solace?” asked Caramon.
“No... At least I don’t think so,” admitted Raistlin. “Some of my memories are like ghosts in my mind, I see them but can’t place them or even place other memories with them. All unrelated...
all so hard to grasp onto...”
It was clear that Raistlin was falling back to sleep and Caramon let him with a whispered, “I’ll be
here when you wake again, I promise.”

And he was, although he was nodding off.
“Caramon?”
Caramon startled himself awake and stared at his brother, who was sitting up on the edge of his
bed. “Raist, should you be up so soon?”
“I’ve been up and around, although only as far as my bath chamber and this one,” the tone in
Raistlin’s voice was near his former sharpness, although still uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure about
his own ability.
Or his own Tower.
Not that Caramon blamed him.
“How much can you remember?” asked Caramon, then blushed and said. “I’m sorry, Raist, I’m
sure you’ve been asked that dozens of times already by everyone else.”
“I don’t mind,” said Raistlin. “The truth is; not much. I know that I’m in the Tower of High Sorcery because Dalamar told me as much. I know my own name because he called me that
when I first awoke... like this. Aunt Marinda called me Raistlin as well...”
“You didn’t even remember your own name?” Caramon was stunned. “But yet... you know me...
but yet don’t?”
Raistlin shook his head, “I can’t explain it. I remember your face and that I should know it, but
until you told me your name, I didn’t know who you were. What else am I missing?”
“Lots,” said Caramon, then he caught Raistlin’s darkening gaze. “But there are memories you
can afford to lose.” With a shudder he punctuated the statement. “Trust me on that.”
“Then maybe you can answer a question for me,” said Raistlin. “I see you, our Aunt, and Kitiara.
I know I must not have always looked like this, nor had eyes that see things rot... and age... How
did it all happen?”
Caramon froze, then swallowed in stunned silence. “That would be one of those memories you
could afford to lose,” he said in a haunted tone. “But it’s hardly fair that you cannot even
remember why they did it to you, Raist, and yet you still bear that scar– that curse.”
“Who?” asked Raistlin. “Who is responsible?”
“The Conclave– or, at least the three leaders of it,” said Caramon. “Ladonna, Justarius, and
especially Par-Salian. It was Par-Salian who cursed you, but Ladonna who suggested it. As for
Justarius, he did nothing to prevent it. I blame those three for that.”
For a moment Raistlin was silent, “I know that name, Par-Salian. I did not know why. I did not
know why every time I tried to remember, I felt cold. Now I know. I still don’t understand why,
though.”
“Neither do I, Raist, neither do I.”

Kitiara walked around town, only dressed in one of those gowns like Ladonna wore when she
wished to appear as Marinda. Kitiara had found the gown in a shop and had bought it for the
specific use of blending in with the local nobility. To hide her short hair she wore a head bund
with a silk veil wrapped to make it appear that she had more hair hidden beneath. She wore
another, similar but more sheer veil pinned to the head bund and let it trail down her back.
All in all, she looked just like another female member of the nobility with her delicate slippers
and skirts. Although she cringed to look at her reflection, judging by the looks of the men of the
city that seamstress had picked the right dress for the job as she still attracted attention, but it was
the attention that she liked from men.
The only problem was getting used to walking with the yards of fabric covering her and
preventing her usual long strides. She had to walk with careful steps and keep one hand on her
skirt to prevent tripping over it. She could not walk swiftly as the head piece and veils would
have fallen off her head.
Another visit to a local stylist and jeweler completed her look as her face was powdered to
prevent the tan from showing too much and jewels chosen to complement her dark hair and dark
eyes.
When she finally garnered enough courage, she looked into a mirror and had to agree that she
looked rather stunning, if a bit like a peacock.
At least it should get her into the real Lady Marinda’s house long enough to talk with the old bird
and tell her that a Black Robe dared impersonate her. Ladonna’s little plan would surely come
crashing down after that. Kitiara grinned a hard grin, but schooled her features into that which
her mother had tried to school her into doing.
Little had Rosamun realized just how well Kitiara had really listened to her mother. While
Kitiara did prefer the company of men and men of war, she knew that everything had its time and
also knew that sometimes, beautiful women in beautiful clothes could sway even the strongest
men to her wiles and her aims.
Her father had a saying that would fit in this situation, “Honey catches the fly surer than vinegar–
even if the vinegar is required to keep the fly.”
The dress was the honey, her message would be the vinegar.
She walked up to the door, nodding to the guards as she followed a few giggling women into the
manor house. With a slight smile, she turned into the more opulent hallways, sure that her ‘fly’
was in this direction. She knew from listening that the Talvines lived in this wing while the
younger daughter of a brother, ironically an Uncle of Kitiara’s, lived with his family in the other
wing. With a wistful look back, she knew that she had likely just followed an unknown cousin
and a few of her friends into the very home she had never had the chance to know.
Maybe that would change.
Maybe it would not.
Kitiara walked through the halls and came to a sudden halt at the sight of a family portrait that
stole her breath away. Mother! was the only thought was she recognized a younger version of
her mother, Rosamun, standing in between who was unmistakably a younger Marinda, only the
real Marinda, and this nameless Uncle.
As well as her grandparents.
Kitiara experienced a sudden twinge of pain in her chest that she had never felt since her father
had disappeared, never to be seen again, all those years ago.
“And who are you?” came an imperious, but weary voice behind her.
Kitiara turned and faced the real Lady Marinda de Talvines.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Dissolution