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Chapter Text

When Raistlin saw the room, he wasn’t sure what it was. It was like that in a lot of the Tower, the decay of ages having set in and turned the finery and riches to rot and ruin; the grip of time as merciless in reality as in his curse. This room had clearly been beautifully decorated once, with hangings on the walls and fabric layered thick on the floor.

But no furniture. Raistlin thought that odd. A huge, round room with several fireplaces around the rooms, wide windows. It should have been a perfect workroom, but instead it had been used for- what? An art room? Showing off the Tower’s treasures?

No matter, whatever the foolishness of the past, he would not waste such an opportunity. Raistlin started casting, clearing out the limp, crumbling remains of the throws and cushions all over the floor. Around him; the Tower seemed to sigh in relief.

It was something else he was having to grow used to. The Tower was- alive, in a way. Still quiescent after so long under the curse, but starting to slowly come back to itself. Little things, even as simple as cleaning out the rooms, were strengthening it. His magic feeding into its walls and bringing it back to life. It was- pleasant. Even company, in an unobtrusive way.

Here, it felt even closer. Pressing around him, welcoming and happy. Raistlin smiled, and murmured another little cleaning cantrip, the magic sinking into the Tower. It almost sighed in relief, the air warming in pleasure.

Could this be the Tower Heartchamber? Raistlin looked around curiously. He had searched the Tower, trying to find this most important room, with no luck. He had expected something more- dramatic, but perhaps the mages who had created the Tower had preferred a more functional Heartchamber. Perhaps that was why there was no furniture, this room might have been used for testing new spells, or mage duels. The magic used would also have served to feed the Tower directly.

Yes. This was the core of the Tower; he could feel the currents of magic pouring through here, like blood through the atriums of a heart. The rush was quickening as he worked, his own magic strengthening the Tower. Like a heart indeed, slowed almost to stopping for so long, but now picking up pace, racing back into full life. Raistlin touched the cleared floor, as if to comfort it.

It was a beautiful room, Raistlin thought approvingly, the floor was polished hardwood; smoothed from millennia of use but not even chipped- so old, so enchanted that his curse could not touch it. Yes, this would be a very handsome place to have as his study. Plenty of space, he’d have to be careful moving in the furniture to avoid scratching that floor. He’d clear off the walls next and check for where to put up shelves-

Barely one spell in, and Raistlin stopped. His spell had cleared off the walls and there were artworks there. Just- not the ones he was expecting.

It reminded him a little of the mural at the inn outside; the three Gods of Magic, enjoying a pint of ale. This depicted the Three too, but they- weren’t drinking. Or dressed.

What in the Abyss- Raistlin took a step back, almost choking in shock. They were all over the walls, the cloth hangings had protected them from the centuries, leaving them as bright and vivid as they day they had been painted.

Lunitari, head thrown back in ecstasy, Solinari inside her and Nuitari with his head between her thighs. Nuitari, on all fours with Lunitari- fucking him somehow, and Solinari’s cock down his throat. Nuitari fucking Solinari, who was in turn fucking Lunitari. The Three, just their faces, sharing a hungry kiss-

And somehow that was the one that made Raistlin realise just what he was seeing, and he turned on his heel and fled.

He slammed the door behind him, gasping for breath. His heart was racing, his breathing coming too fast. He closed his eyes, focusing everything of getting his breathing under control before he triggered a coughing fit. Slowly, he started to calm down. His lungs spasmed in a short cough, but it passed quickly. Okay. Okay.

What was that about?

Raistlin glanced back at the door, so innocuous. His hand started out to touch the handle- then snatched it back. He could feel the gazes of the murals, boring into the door, waiting for him to open it again.

No. Gods no. Gods. Raistlin shook his head. They knew about this? This was blasphemy and yet They had allowed this? They had let mages debase Them like this in the very heart of Their Tower?

Oh by the magic, this had been some kind of- of- fornication room. There was no other possibility, the blankets and cushions on the floor had been for people to lie on. The many fireplaces for warmth because- dear gods- no one would be wearing any clothes. The wide windows to let in enough light so they could all see everything they were doing. All of this in the Heartchamber of the Tower-

Raistlin felt his gorge rise and stumbled back from the door. It looked so innocent, taunting. Look, it seemed to mock him, look at what so many had, and you never will. Think of all these beautiful people, throughout the centuries, and how they would have laughed at your absurd, broken body. They had pleasure, and you never will. They made love in the very heart of the magic, and you never will. Pathetic, weak, ugly creature-

He gave a low moan, and fled.

He found another room a few floors down for his study. Not as large, or as well lit, but he would make it work. Raistlin threw himself into renovating it, trying to shove the memory of the pleasure room out of his mind. It didn’t matter, he had the whole Tower, what did one disgusting room matter? Even if it was the Heartchamber. Many mages never set foot in the Heartchamber of Wayreth, after all. He could just- avoid it. He would forget it, and turn to more important things-

But he didn’t. His mind kept going back to the room, his eyes straying to the door, to the ceiling, as if his cursed sight could bore through stone and see it, see all of it-

No. Stop. Focus.

The study. He knew what he wanted. Something grand and terrible, dark and glorious and showing everything he was- everything he wanted to be. Carve away the wretched, miserable creature he had been for so long and become Raistlin Majere, Master of Past and Present. Master of the Tower of Palanthas. He would become someone he could be proud of.

A wide desk of hardwood so dark it was almost black. Tall carved chairs, not the most comfortable to sit on, but fearsome and dramatic, throwing himself into dramatic shadow when he sat in it. The walls lined with spellbooks, Fistandantilus’ blue and silver bound tomes eking undead chill into the room. It brought back sick, trembling memories, but Raistlin pushed them away impatiently. He had conquered Fistandantilus; he would conquer his memory as well.

Raistlin adjusted the chandelier above the desk, then stood back and admired the effect. There. This was what a Tower study should be. What a Heartchamber should be. He would work here, do incredible things here, and never think of the pleasure room again.

The next morning, he opened the door. And stared.

The room was- the same, technically speaking. There was the desk. There were the chairs. There were the bookshelves and the chandelier. But everything else-

The desk was now lined in leather, butter-soft to the touch. Metal rings had been fastened to the table legs, shining gold in invitation- to do what, Raistlin had no idea.

The chairs were now well upholstered and overstuffed. Raistlin sat on one and sank down, the fabric molding around him, like sitting on a cloud.

The bookshelves were still there, but the books were not. Oh, his own spellbooks were there, warm and comfortable in their places, but Fistandantilus’ were gone, replaced by books Raistlin had never seen before. He ran a hand over the bindings in confusion. The arts of pleasure. The Karma Sutra of the Kagonesti. The confessions of an Istarian pleasure boy-

Raistlin recoiled as if the books had been a nest of snakes. “What-“

No one answered. Raistlin whirled around, as if he might see who had- defiled his new study. But there was no one. Of course there was no one! Raistlin grabbed his hair, pulling painfully. This was the Tower of Palanthas! It was legendarily empty. The only one to enter was the Master of Past and Present- himself! No one could have entered, no one-

Raistlin staggered out, leaning over the landing to look up and down the interior stairway. The Tower was perfectly still and calm, nothing moved.

And yes, there was something. Something he had felt only a few days ago. In that room. A current of magic, warm and reassuring. There, it seemed to sigh in pleasure, isn’t that better?

“No it isn’t!” Raistlin shouted. The great stairwell seemed to swallow his thin voice, turning it to nothing but the weak squeaking of a lost mouse. “Where are my books?!”

And just like that, he knew. They were downstairs, safe in a crate in one of the storerooms- where the books of pleasure had been nestled for so many centuries. Isn’t it better like this? The Tower seemed to hum. Such cruel books, so selfish and small. Isn’t it better to have them tucked there out of the way? Where no one has to worry about them unless they are needed?

Raistlin opened his mouth to protest- then paused. Those were Fistandantilus’ books, and Fistandantilus had been the one to curse the Tower. He had all but killed the ancient magic animating the Tower, crushed and starved it for three hundred years. Perhaps having those books out would be cruel. A lasting reminder to the Tower of what had been done to it.

And perhaps, it would be something of a relief not to have them around.

“Fine.” Raistlin grouched. “But I will be replacing those- obscene books.”

A ripple, like a hum of agreement. Raistlin sighed and stepped through the magic to the ground floor storerooms. Surely there would be something suitable.

Raistlin doubled over, coughing harshly from the dust. Nuitari. By all the magic.

There were entire rooms of these books! Stacks upon stacks of- obscenities. Raistlin peered into this last one and sagged in despair. Manuals on positions. Craft books for- Raistlin didn’t want to know what these magic items were supposed to be for. Erotic poetry and- of dear Gods- spellbooks. Raistlin leaned back against the wall and groaned. Spells, for that!

He could leave the bookshelves empty, he supposed, but that would be worse. None of his dreams of being Master of the Tower had involves sitting in a room with empty bookshelves. That would be a far more painful failure.

Fine. Raistlin picked the best options from what he had. A few tomes of alchemy that had a few racy recipes but were otherwise functional. Several of the lewd spellbooks that nevertheless had spells that could be used for less- sordid matters. And a many more books that were as filthy as the rest but at least didn’t have anything written on the covers or binding so they could at least look the part. Raistlin finished stocking the study bookshelves and stood back, examining the effect. It looked right, at least.

He sighed and sat on the chair in front of the fireplace. It was soft and bouncy, the floor in front of the hearth covered with a plush fur rug that hadn’t been there earlier. An invitation to lie down and soak in the warmth of the fire-

“No.” Raistlin said flatly. The Tower murmured soundlessly, like a cat purring.

Raistlin scowled at the flames. He raised his hands, and touched the currents of magic and pushed. This was his Tower. It should obey him, but the currents of magic just swirled around him, feeding off his power and ignoring the command. It was millennia old; and growing more powerful by the day. Perhaps if he went to the Heartchamber-

Raistlin’s stomach lurched. No. He would not go back in there. He would just have to manage. He would train the Tower eventually, it would understand what he wanted, and would come to see it was better than whatever- vulgar existence it had before. Whatever it had gone through, things would be better now.

The magic swirled again, not convinced. Raistlin sighed.

As irritating as it was to consider, perhaps this was not something he could do on his own. He had been considering contacting the Conclave for an apprentice, and it seemed like this decided the matter.

The thought sent a heavy weight to settle in his stomach. The Conclave would send their best, of course, but their best would be a spy. By the Gods, but he felt so very tired. He had spent far too many years surrounded by people who hated him, or that miserable mess Caramon called love.

He had enjoyed the peace and silence of being alone, the quiet, wordless companionship of the awakening Tower. It was a balm to his bruised soul, a chance for it to heal without anticipating more blows. To lay himself open to more pain just felt so- exhausting. Not again.

The Tower pressed around him, like a cloak around his shoulders. Raistlin looked down and a warm blanket was thrown over his knees, beautifully patterned in deep colours. Still smelling a little musty from being shut away for so long, but heavy and comforting.

“Thank you.” Raistlin sighed, and felt a little better.

Chapter Text

Raistlin woke up and sighed. It had happened again.

The night before, he had gone to bed in his bedroom. He didn’t care much about where he slept; a small cot in the corner of what had been a storage room, not far from his study. A desk, some books, a stand with a basin for washing. He didn’t need anything more.

But the Tower had other ideas, it seemed. Raistlin woke in a large, plush bed, big enough for four people. Thick hangings shrouded the sides of the bed, but even despite the heavy cloth, little slants of light broke through, suggesting the window had been widened. He sighed, sat up and swept the hangings aside.

The Tower had managed to change the whole room. The window was now three, sweeping around the side of the Tower and letting in the morning light. A variety of thick rugs covered the floor, and the walls were covered in tapestries and paintings. They were mercifully chaste in topic, so the Tower did seem to be learning something about him. They looked to be mostly landscapes. Raistlin blinked quickly, trying to gather a little pleasure from the delicate beauty. Seascapes, a forest scene.

But there was more, and the Tower was clearly planning for the future. The desk was now expanded; big enough for two to sit side by side, and a second chair had been set up beside it. More shelves had grown from the walls; his books were in place, but there were a number of empty places, as if ready to welcome newcomers. His wardrobe was also larger, door open to invite new robes within.

Raistlin slumped back, put a pillow over his face, and screamed. He managed a second or so before his lungs rebelled in outrage at this treatment, and he struggled upright again, coughing uncontrollably.

“No.” Raistlin rasped at last, when he managed to draw breath.

The Tower’s magic shifted and twinned happily around the new decorations, as if smug.

Raistlin swallowed, and got up. “I- appreciate the sentiment.” He forced out, “But my apprentice will be staying in their own rooms, and not here.” His stomach lurched at the idea.

Another ripple, puzzled.

“I do not know what you experienced in the past.” Raistlin continued, pulling a gown over his sleeping robes. “But that was not normal. I will not be enacting such sordid acts here.”

It sparked an old, bitter pain. He’d had such hopes, even after his Test. Antimodes had sponsored him, suggested him for his Test, surely he would take Raistlin on as an apprentice?

He’d wondered why the mages he’d boasted to had snickered, laughing behind their hands. Antimodes had refused him of course, and had taken on a beautiful young woman as his apprentice only days later. She had lasted less than a year, then he’d taken another. Then another. Again and again, all pretty girls, none of them staying long. Raistlin’s gorge rose in disgust. No. Not that. He would never do that, even to a spy. Especially to a spy. Oh Nuitari he was going to be sick.

A door on the other side of the room opened; one that hadn’t been there before. Steam billowed out, scented with rosemary and peppermint, coiling in inviting spirals. The magic nudged him.

A bath would make him feel better, Raistlin allowed, and the washroom the Tower had manifested looked very welcoming indeed. “Fine.” He grumbled.

One thoroughly decadent bath later, he was starting to feel a lot better. Yes, the Tower could be challenging, but it did want to take care of him. “I do not want a lover.” He said firmly, and then felt rather stupid for saying it out loud. A ripple; faintly amused. Raistlin sighed and found a clean set of robes. “Just- do not get involved.”

Another ripple, more neutral. Then a touch through the magic, like a weight on the edge of awareness. His apprentice had entered the Grove. Raistlin checked himself in the mirror. Good. His robes were well made and cut to make him look taller, more serious. He brushed his hair back and arranged it- not too much so that it looked deliberate, but enough to frame his face to best effect. Finally satisfied, he stepped through the magic to his study, and waited.

He could feel the other mage’s progress through the Tower, as if he were walking on Raistlin’s own skin. The Grove didn’t daunt them; he felt the touch of their fingers on the front door like a brush on the back of his neck. Then their feet, climbing the stairs like the bones of his spine. Raistlin stood behind his desk, the fireplace lit and throwing him into shadow. The Tower might want to make itself pleasant and welcoming, but Raistlin wanted at least some dramatic effect.

Delicate fingers on the study door, a silent request for permission to enter. Raistlin nodded, and the hand moved to the door handle. The door opened.

And oh by all the Gods why?!

Raistlin looked around for a pillow to scream into, but there wasn’t one.

Because the figure at the door was the most beautiful creature he could ever have imagined, let alone expected to look on. He half wondered if the Tower had dug through his dreams, to find the fantasies he would not admit to, even to himself.

An elf, of course it would be an elf. How beautiful they were, how unaging. He’d been enchanted by them ever since Qualinesti, ever since he had first laid eyes on Laurana. Such beauty, even his curse could not touch them.

She had been an ideal, perfection forever out of reach for fear his touch would ruin her. But this man was not. This man was so very real. Just there, just in front of him.

The elf was hovering in the doorway, looking uncertain. That made two of them. He was tall, taller than Raistlin by a good head, his robes deep black sweeping down from his shoulders. His hair equally black, pulled back in a simple knot at the back of his head.

And his eyes, oh his eyes. Deep grey, like lowering clouds before a storm. Meeting Raistlin’s gaze boldly; and there was pride there, and hunger. This one wanted to prove himself, he wanted to meet this Master of the Tower and make him proud.

In the back of his mind, Raistlin felt the Tower hum happily; putting the last touches on Raistlin’s sleeping room to welcome this newcomer.

Oh fuck off. Raistlin wailed inside his head. He inclined his head to his apprentice. “Enter.”

The elf stepped and Raistlin swallowed hard because- that grace. Almost like a dance, so light on his feet. Oh Nuitari, but he was beautiful. So beautiful. Raistlin’s traitorous mind flicked through the hideous, wonderful murals upstairs. Solinari and Nuitari’s couplings, showing all the many, many ways two men could find pleasure in each other. Cold sweat ran down Raistlin’s neck, he bit down a whine.

The elf didn’t take the offered chair, instead walking right up to Raistlin. “Shalafi.”  He spoke, a low, sweet voice. His accent was Silvanesti. “I have come, as promised.”

Yes. Come. Perhaps Raistlin could do as that mural had depicted, order him to fall to his knees and open his robes and swallow- shut up. “Welcome, apprentice.” He managed; his throat too tight. He wanted to tell him to sit down, and didn’t want to. He wanted him here, as close as he could. “I am Raistlin Majere, as you know.” He held out a hand.

“Majere.” A deep bow; his voice was reverent and Raistlin’s heart leaped. Respect, at last. Even if this was a spy, his awe was genuine. “I am Dalamar Nightson.”

Then he took Raistlin’s hand, and kissed it. His lips, soft as damp rose petals, brushing across his knuckles. Raistlin stared at him, wondering if his heart might burst. It was unfair, to want so much, so badly and to have such a perfect offering before him. And have him be a spy, and his apprentice.

The elf raised his eyes. It would have been almost shy, if it hadn’t been so wanton. Raistlin swallowed, and felt his cock suddenly take a great amount of interest in the situation. No! He tried to think of disgusting things, to force his body under control. But all he could see was his apprentice, straightening and folding his hands coyly in his sleeves. “It is an honor to be here.” His voice sliding down Raistlin spine like honey. “You did so much for my homeland. They owe you a great debt.”

“I didn’t do it for them.” Raistlin’s mouth was bone dry.

“I know.” A smile, as bright and brilliant as Nuitari’s crescent. “But it would not be there if not for you, nevertheless. Since none of them would ever deign to thank you, it is my privilege to do it instead.”

Then thank me. Lie down on that rug, strip and let me pleasure you while you pleasure me.

And Dalamar might have overheard his thought because he stepped closer, so close Raistlin could feel the heat from his body, the soft breaths against his cheek. “My privilege,” he repeated, even more softly. “What I may do to please you, my shalafi?”

Raistlin’s mind felt like it might have collapsed. Panic and terror and want and desire and his cock so hard it hurt and he didn’t know what to do, his hands spasming helplessly. He wanted to touch, he wanted to lick and suck and swallow. He wanted to do things he had never imagined could be possible before he’d seen the murals upstairs.

He did none of these. He stood very still, managing nothing but a pained whimper. Then he vanished.

The last thing he heard from his new apprentice was a stifled curse.

“Shalafi.” Dalamar bowed and put the tray on the table.

“Apprentice.” Raistlin inclined his head at the little tray of buttered toast, fruit and honey- then quickly looked away as the rot started to set in. “Thank you.”

He bowed again, stepping back, but not too far. And yet too far. Raistlin wanted him closer. Wanted him a thousand miles away. He didn’t know what he wanted. Instead he forced his attention to the food.

As long as he didn’t look at it long enough for the curse to grip it, it was good. His apprentice was an excellent cook, on top of everything. He had also not spoken a word about what happened in their first meeting, which meant he also had a great deal of discretion.

The Tower had still not changed his bedroom. Had even added a few elven sculptures and fresh pots of flowers to line the walls. Raistlin had been trying to ignore them. “Be seated.” He said a little too loudly.

Dalamar obeyed.

“We will be working on summoning.” He managed to lower his voice. “Some sources of knowledge are held outside of this world, and we need to make certain deals to acquire them.”

“Would that be succubi or incubi, shalafi?”

Raistlin gave him a sharp look, his apprentice blinked in surprise. “I had only thought- forgive me, shalafi.”

“We will be beginning with the elemental realms first,” he said, harshly, “Then move on to the outer planes. Even then, we will not be dealing with such creatures.”

“As you will; shalafi.” He nodded. “What will be my role?”

“You will craft the summoning circle, and study the ritual.” Raistlin tried not to sag with relief at being on more familiar ground. The magic. He knew the magic. “We will begin in two days. The details are in this book.” He slid a tome across the table.

Dalamar nodded, eyes lighting up in eager delight. Raistlin tried not to whine. This was so- unfair. Such a beautiful young elf. Everything Laurana had been but- tailored so precisely to his tastes. A black robe, like him. A mage, like him. Enchanted by the magic, so exactly like him. A Dark elf, so he would not have to worry about dragging him into the darkness. He would not have to fear tainting him with his own perversions.

But he was a spy. A spy from the Conclave. He would draw him into bed, make all of his dreams come true, only for long enough to get what he wanted, and then he would leave him. It would be like Miranda, all over again. Only interested in getting what she wanted, and abandoning him to let his heart to shatter all over the floor. And Raistlin- couldn’t face that again.

Still, he watched, couldn’t look away as his apprentice fell so hungrily on the spellbook. So unfair. How many Dark elves were in the world? How many were mages? How many loved the magic as much as Raistlin did? And when he had found what was probably the only one; he was one he could not touch.

One day. Raistlin would get his hands around Par-Salian’s throat, and- well, probably he couldn’t do much with his own hands, but if he got a rope around his neck, he’d be able to pull it tight and squeeze until the light went out of that bastard’s eyes.

Chapter Text

They were sitting down to breakfast when Raistlin felt the pressure on the edge of his mind that told him that someone was trying to enter the Grove. He stood up, frowning. Dalamar stood in turn, frowning. “Shalafi?”

“We have a guest.” Raistlin reached out to the Tower. It was still a little impatient; irritated that Raistlin’s room was still empty of his apprentice’s things. Dalamar had taken a room further up the Tower, close to the Heartchamber. “You will continue to prepare the summoning circle while I find out what they want.”

“Shalafi.”

It was the third circle this week. Raistlin ground his teeth as he stepped through the magic to the garden outside. Nothing was working right. Everything felt out of synch, like elbows jutting into the smooth flow of the magic. His frustration echoing the Tower’s irritation, until he half wondered if taking his apprentice to bed would make it better- but that was idiocy. He was not Antimodes, and he refused to have sex with a spy.

The air was sharp outside, the first taste of autumn. The Grove stirred and whispered, newly unfurled leaves rustling. It was still cold and terrible; looming dark and hungry around the edges of the Tower- but it was not lashing out, not yet. Whoever was coming was not unwelcome.

“This is my Tower.” Raistlin grumbled. “I should decide.”

A soft huff of amusement, like a breath against the back of his neck. Raistlin swiped at it irritably, and straightened. Whoever this was, he would show them who he was. Raistlin Majere. Master of the Tower. Master of Past and Present. They would be in awe of him, bow, kneel-

And the figure stepped out of the trees, and Raistlin wanted to find another pillow to scream into. Because no. That was not going to happen. Dear Gods why did this always happen to him?

“Raistlin.” Iolanthe brushed her hair back and smiled. “Lovely place you have here.”

I hate you. I hate everyone. I hate me. Raistlin scowled at her. “What do you want?”

“Well, I’ve burned my bridges fairly thoroughly with Wayreth, and you have the only other Tower available, so-“ She shifted the heavy bag she was carrying over her shoulder, pointedly.

Oh Gods no. “Why would I allow you to stay, after everything?”

“Everything?” She raised an eyebrow, “I seem to recall saving your little skinny buttocks more than once in Neraka-“

“And I recall having to save the very magic from your beloved Blue Lady.” Raistlin snarled back, and she recoiled. “Why aren’t you with her, anyway?”

“Because of what she did to the magic.” The mask slipped, and she looked exhausted, and fed up and harried. “And I have nowhere else to go. And you are the only port I have left.”

Raistlin hesitated. Iolanthe was as skilled at using weakness as a weapon as she did strength. But-

She wasn’t lying. She wasn’t even trying to hide the truth. And it seemed like the height of greed to keep an entire Tower to himself when Iolanthe had nowhere else to go. Besides, at least he’d have someone in the Tower he knew was not a spy. The Conclave hated her almost as much as they did him. “Fine.” He grumbled gracelessly. “I have an apprentice. Don’t bother me or him.”

“An apprentice?” Her eyes sparkled in amusement. “Ah, so that’s why I never had any luck, you’re one for the men. You should have just told me instead of letting me keep trying-“

“Stop being disgusting.” Raistlin opened the door, stalked inside. “I am not like that.”

“No?” She followed. “You live in this Tower, and you still pretend to be living like a priest?”

“Oh by the Abyss!” Raistlin turned on her, furious. He was vaguely aware of Dalamar somewhere above, watching the show, but didn’t care. “Yes! Yes I am. Why so that so- astonishing? Am I not the perfect example of someone who has to live like that?” He spat it like poison.

Iolanthe blinked at him, thrown at the venom. “You don’t know?” A wicked smile spread slowly across her face. “You really don’t?”

“Tell me what you’re talking about or get out-“ His voice cracked on the last word, he swallowed quickly, fighting the tension in his throat and lungs.

“The Tower of Pleasure?” She smirked. “The Palanthas Pleasure Palace? It has a reputation, you know.”

A slow, sick feeling settled in Raistlin stomach. The Heartchamber. Oh no. “I- wasn’t aware people knew.”

“Knew? Oh Raistlin.” She smirked, shaking her head. “The Tower is legendary. It’s said even Magius took part in orgies here. All the mages used to come for the Night of the Eye to debauch each other. I heard even the Heartchamber was meant to be a place of pleasure for the mages to enjoy themselves-“

And Raistlin was gone. He vanished so fast he wasn’t even aware of casting the spell. He threw himself on his bed, buried his face in the pillows, and screamed until he had a coughing fit.

There was one mercy. Neither Iolanthe nor Dalamar came looking for him during the three days he spent locked in his chamber. Dalamar left meals outside his door, and quietly respected the sign of ‘Engaging in private study. Do not enter’.

A few times, he had touched the door. Raistlin shivered every time, feeling it as a caress on his own skin. But he didn’t come in. He let Raistlin keep the illusion that he was doing something productive and not just sulking.

But finally, he couldn’t keep pretending. Either he fled the Tower and disappeared and never showed his face again, or he stepped outside and faced up to the reality of his situation.

He had claimed a Tower renowned for being a place of filthy pleasure. And perhaps it was his fault for not seeing it ahead of time- the place was built like a giant phallus, after all- but couldn’t someone have warned him? Why hadn’t he heard these stories?

Because he hadn’t wanted to. Because if someone had started telling them, or he found reference to them in a book, he refused to hear or read any further. Left the room, or closed the book, dismissing both as filth. And he’d walked right in here completely clueless as a result. Gods, he really was an idiot.

Why did Fistandantilus have to pick this Tower? Raistlin grumbled, pushing the door open. Then again, maybe he had no choice. Maybe he’d been planning for Losacrum, but it and Daltigoth was gone, Istar flattened, so what else was left? Bastard.

Soft, muffled laughter came from upstairs. Raistlin looked up, and felt his stomach quail. They were in the Heartchamber.

Another soft wave of laughter, Dalamar talking, although Raistlin could not catch the words. Iolanthe, responding. They were together. They were in the Heartchamber. Together.

And something inside Raistlin seemed to- burst. A howling, helpless rage that brought tears to his eyes. Not again, it screamed. Not this again. Standing in the shadows of the storeroom seeing Caramon fuck Miranda. The boy, watching him for days, trying to muster up the nerve to speak, only for Kitiara to swoop in and take him. Laurana, so beautiful, so kind and with eyes for no one but Tanis. And now Dalamar, stunning and dark and perfect, snatched out from under his hands-

Without meaning to, he’d stormed to the door to the Heartchamber, throwing it open. He could taste fire in the back of his throat, magic sparking from between his fingers-

And stopped. Dalamar and Iolanthe looked up at him, astonished. Then Dalamar stood, robes falling delicately around him, “Shalafi! It is good to see you. Please, come in.”

He was dressed. They were both dressed. Iolanthe was sitting beside one of the lit fireplaces, a little collection of brushes, combs, ties and other decorations around her. She was smirking slightly. Dalamar’s hair was done up in knots and braids. “Iolanthe offered to show me some of her Khurian styles; and since the summoning circle has been ready, I thought we had some spare time.”

Raistlin hesitated, refusing to look at the walls. He could feel the murals watching him, laughing behind their hands. Iolanthe met his eyes, far too knowing. She slipped back towards the fireplace, giving them the floor.

And looking at Dalamar. Oh but just look at him. Such beauty. Raistlin’s starved senses drank him in. And Dalamar was looking at him much in the same way. There was no one in the world but them. His apprentice’s smile was wide, eyes dancing in pleasure at seeing him. “May I hope you have finished your- studies, shalafi? I would be glad to continue our project.”

“Yes.” It felt like being caught between two tides. Two paths; and taking one would close the other off forever. He looked at Dalamar, and Iolanthe. He could still be what he had dreamed. Raistlin Majere, Master of Past and Present. He could break the Tower to his will; become its master in truth. He could fulfill Fistandantilus’ plans, and see the world kneel at his feet. He could be a God. Great and terrible, feared and awed.

The Tower murmured, like a mother hushing a fussing babe, and Raistlin sighed. Yes. He was the Master of the Tower. And the Tower was the Tower of Pleasure. He had claimed it, and it had claimed him. To try and go against that would destroy it, or him. It would not bow to him or him to it, but there might be a- middle ground they could reach.

He shook himself and stepped over to join them. “But it can wait, and I see I am interrupted something delicate.”

Iolanthe smiled, waving him to sit down beside her. She had piled cushions around the fireplace in the Khurian style, a small carafe of juice and goblets stood beside it. A warm blaze lit the room in dancing flickers, driving out the autumn chill that had settled on the Tower. To his relief, the murals had been demurely veiled in diaphanous hangings, making the place a little less mortifying.

“Do you know Khurian braids, shalafi?” Dalamar said as he sat down. “Perhaps you could help.”

“I do not.” Raistlin looked at the confection of tiny braids and ribbons, tucking Dalamar’s hair into delicate curls around his pointed ears. His hands ached to touch, his mouth watered, he swallowed. “I only know a few Abanasinian and Qualinesti styles, nothing this elaborate.”

“I do not mind.” Dalamar found a ribbon and pulled, letting the meticulous design unravel and fall down around his shoulders. “It would not last long anyway. My hair can never keep anything for more than a few minutes.”

“It’s too straight.” Iolanthe lamented, “You need some good oil to get body into it, then we could have fun.”

“The shalafi’s hair looks perfect though.” Dalamar smiled; eyes bright with pleasure. “Perhaps you could let her do your hair, while you do mine. I would like to see your styles.”

Oh Abyss. Raistlin looked into those beautiful, rather too knowing eyes and knew he was lost. Had probably been lost from the moment he set foot in this blasted Tower. “Very well.” He found a brush. “Sit in front of me, and do not move.”

At least there was no way the Conclave would be interested in any of this, Raistlin consoled himself. And it had been several weeks already, and he would have known if Dalamar tried to smuggle a message out of the Tower. Perhaps- perhaps-

No. He would not hope. It would be too much. Bad enough that he was going this far. Raistlin shivered at the first touch of the heavy, soft black hair against his hands, running the brush through the strands. Dalamar sighed happily, leaning into the caress.

“You hold still too.” Iolanthe instructed, and undid the loose tie Raistlin kept his hair in. “He is right, you do have lovely hair, and those curls are going to look beautiful in a floral twist. Maybe we could put a bloom in there; roses were always your thing after all.”

Raistlin sighed, resigning himself. Around them, the magic of the Tower danced smugly, wrapping around them like the silk ribbons they wove into each others’ hair.

Chapter Text

This time, Raistlin felt someone approach while they were halfway through the spell. He swore under his breath. Dalamar looked at him in worry, hands out to stabilise the magic as Raistlin’s concentration broke. “Shalafi?”

“Someone is coming. Can you hold it?”

“Here.” Iolanthe stepped up, and between her and Dalamar they held the spell steady. In the circle of magic, the elemental of fire hissed and crackled impatiently. “Get on with it.” It spat, “I’m not going to stay here all day while you entertain callers-“

“Hush.” Raistlin waved a hand and the circle solidified into the bubble, trapping the elemental inside. “There, this should hold it until we’re done. And if you complain-” seeing the elemental about to say more- “I will make it airtight. I do not think your flames would last long then.”

“Meat and flesh bastards.” The elemental snapped, and settled in the middle of the circle to wait.

“Who is it, shalafi?” Dalamar frowned. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No.” Raistlin frowned at Iolanthe, who shrugged.

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me. I have no more friends than you do.”

Which was true, so should not have stung so much. “Stay here.” Raistlin scowled. “I’ll go and meet with whoever it is.”

Oh Abyss, who could it be? Not Caramon, please no. Or worse, Kitiara? Please, someone, anyone else- Raistlin racked his brains, but the only other explanation was that some horny mage who’d heard of the Tower’s reputation was coming for an orgy. The urge to scream came back, stronger than ever.

Then he was in the courtyard, the Grove rustling around him as the visitor stumbled out of the trees and- oh.

“Lemuel!” Raistlin started forwards, and the small mage almost fell into his arms. Lemuel was thin and exhausted; his robes worn from long travel. “How- what are you doing here?”

Lemuel didn’t answer at once, just hanging onto him. “I’m sorry.” He whispered at last, so softly Raistlin barely heard him. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“No! No, I am glad to see you.” Raistlin stepped back. “But, your home-“

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he realised how stupid they were. Haven. Right in the middle of the Red Dragonarmy invasion. Solace had been burned to the ground, Haven would not have fared any better. “I’m sorry.”

Lemuel’s eyes welled with tears. He wiped at them, sniffing. “Please. Even just for a night, I’ve been on the road for weeks. There was nowhere else.” He hiccupped, tears starting again.

“Of course.” Raistlin gathered himself, feeling the mantle of the Master of the Tower settle over him. In this, the Tower accepted his authority. “Please stay; there are more than enough rooms here.”

Lemuel wavered on his feet, and let out a long breath. “Thank you,” He said faintly. “Can I-“

“Come with me.” Raistlin took his arm, and gently drew him towards the door. “We’re in the middle of something, but I can send Iolanthe to get you something to eat.”

“If that is okay? I don’t want to impose-“

“You won’t be.” Raistlin pushed the door open, but didn’t walk in. He looked back at Lemuel, and smiled. “Do you know what this place is?”

“A Tower? Of High Sorcery? It is, isn’t it? You know I don’t know much about magic.”

“I know, I’m glad.” Raistlin sighed. At last, someone sane. “You know what this place is known as? The Palanthas Pleasure Palace.”

Lemuel choked. “What? You-“

“No, not me.” Raistlin sighed. “You know me. But it would be nice to have someone here who isn’t expecting that.”

“Um.” He looked around as they walked in. “Are there people doing- that?”

“No.” He scowled. “But they expect it. I’d rather have someone I wasn’t disappointing.”

Lemuel smiled- that warm, kind smile. “I’m sorry; they shouldn’t be expecting that from anyone. It’s not fair.” He took Raistlin’s arm.

Oh, the relief. Raistlin smiled. “Then you are welcome to stay for as long as you’d like.”

Dalamar bristled when Raistlin brought Lemuel in. Raistlin could almost see his hackles going up, his face tightening into hard lines. “A pleasure.” He hissed when Raistlin introduced his friend.

“Apprentice.” Raistlin scowled, Dalamar grimaced and bowed politely.

“Indeed a pleasure.” Iolanthe grinned, and shook Lemuel’s hand warmly. Her eyes darted between Lemuel and Raistlin, and Dalamar, smirking. “It’s good to have some new people to liven up the place.”

“It does seem rather empty.” Lemuel said shyly. His eyes were wide and bright when he looked at Iolanthe, darting from her perfectly done hair, the exotic cast of her face, her painted hands, and Raistlin bit back a groan.

But then, perhaps he wasn’t being fair. Lemuel deserved something good, and Iolanthe, whatever her other flaws, was loyal. Maybe he could buy some candles, and the Tower would be delighted to have a little romance to kindle. It would also serve as a distraction away from his love life. He felt a happy brush of the magic, and knew it approved. There, something we can work on together.

Dalamar was scowling. “The ritual, shalafi?” It was a little too sharp.

Raistlin shook himself, Dalamar was right. He was getting distracted with- foolishness. It could wait. “Of course. Iolanthe, would you take Lemuel to the kitchens and make sure he had something to eat? Dalamar and I will finish the ritual.”

“Finally!” The elemental huffed a burst of flame, “Calling me here, binding me in this cold and wet and soggy world-“

Dalamar looked almost as relieved. “Of course, shalafi. I have kept up the circle, where would you have me?”

“On the far side, keep the circle strong, and banish upon my command.”

“Not too soon.” The elemental grumbled.

“Shalafi.” Dalamar’s smile was tentative. “I-“

Raistlin frowned. “The other side of the circle, apprentice.”

The Dark elf swallowed, then bowed. “Of course, shalafi.”

What was he going to say? No matter, Raistlin shook it off. The ritual. The elemental knew secrets of magic crafting that they wanted, and after all this, it would be more than ready to tell it to them in order to be sent home.

“This Lemuel, he is a- friend of yours, shalafi?” Dalamar asked tentatively as they took their places.

“An old friend.” Raistlin shrugged, distracted, “From a long time ago. Focus, apprentice.”

Dalamar sighed. “Yes, of course.”

The elemental was irritated and grumpy, but was more than willing to tell them what they wanted in exchange with being released all the sooner. “Dalamar, make notes. “ Raistlin instructed, continuing the questioning.

The elemental grumbled, but answered. Dalamar quickly noted down the answers. “Very good. “Raistlin inclined his head. “You may go.”

“Oh about fucking time you combustible little shits-“ and it was gone.

“Shalafi?” Dalamar finished cleaning up the summoning circle. “Your friend?”

“Oh, Lemuel?” Raistlin smiled at the reminder. “It will be nice to have him around, and did you see how he was looking at Iolanthe? He might have set his heart on a little romance. Lemuel certainly deserves it, he was very generous for me at a time I needed it badly.”

“Oh!” Dalamar’s expression cleared, and he smiled. “Of course. That would be- very good. I will be happy to help. It would be an honor to help your friend.”

“This Tower has a certain reputation.” Raistlin smiled, starting to put the books away. “It would be happy if we find it love and-” He grimaced, “Sexual business. And it would get it off my back.”

“Yours, shalafi?” There was a soft smile on his lips, knowing and sweet. Raistlin’s heart skipped in pleasure.

“I am the Master of the Tower, so of course it has certain plans.” Raistlin sighed; Dalamar didn’t need to know who those plans revolved around. “No matter, apprentice. Focus on your work; we will be attempting to draw out one of the creatures from the outer planes next, and the circle will need modifications.”

“Shalafi-“ Dalamar started, then inclined his head. “Of course. I will begin preparations at once. If there is anything I can do to help your friend?”

It was a sweet offer, and Raistlin smiled. “I will be grateful for whatever help you can offer, thank you.”

They worked quietly for a while, cleaning up after the ritual, and adapting the circle for calling more hostile creatures. “The kitchen, shalafi?” Dalamar suggested when they’d finished. “It is time for lunch, and hopefully Iolanthe will be making enough for all of us.”

Food. Raistlin sighed. “Very well, lead on, apprentice.”

Downstairs, Iolanthe had clearly decided to rope Lemuel into helping her in cooking. He was finishing off a plate of bread and cheese, alternating bites between deftly chopping vegetables. Beside him, Iolanthe was jointing a chicken.

“Ah, there are you two. Lemuel has never had Khurian curry, so we are going to educate him. Dalamar dear, can you find us some rice or couscous? Raistlin, I don’t suppose you know where the spices are?”

“The cupboard on the left.” Raistlin bit back bile as the food blackened and rotted; flies and maggots swarming them. He quickly turned away, because it wasn’t just the food. After this long, he’d managed to- block worst of his curse from his mind, ignore how the people about him aged and decayed. But the rotting food made it so much more poignant. Iolanthe, hunching into a crone, her long hair falling out, her mouth sinking in toothlessly. Lemuel, hair white, then gone, face collapsing into wrinkles- then bloating as rot set in.

Raistlin screwed his eyes closed, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes, stop. It was so miserably unfair. He wanted to be part of this scene. He wanted to join them in cooking, talk and laugh and be- part of something, for the first time in his life. And that too had been stripped from him, never so much as giving him a chance.

But Dalamar. Dalamar was here. So beautiful, so unaging. He stood in the room like the dark moon Himself, throwing a gentling light upon the world, easing the worst of the horrors.

He was looking at Raistlin, frowning. They all were. “Shalafi? Are you well?”

He hadn’t told him. He hadn’t told any of them, even Lemuel, who he had lived with for months. He couldn’t. Before, because he hadn’t wanted to admit what had happened to anyone, even himself. Now, because the very thought of talking about it was so wretched it made him want to scream.

But perhaps he should. It would make sure they would never want to touch him, whatever the Tower tried. “I- cannot join you.” He said stiffly.

“Come on.” Lemuel smiled, “I’m worried she’ll put in so much of that firepepper that I’ll combust. I don’t think she’ll listen to us.”

“It is no shame to join in with cookery, shalafi.” Dalamar said gently, “We would be honored to have you.”

He wanted to vanish. Disappear through the magic and escape to his room. Bury his face in his pillow and scream. “I am not able to.” He tried again, then threw the whole miserable truth over edge of the world. “I am cursed, everything I see decays. I am more likely to be sick on your hard work than to help.”

There was silence for a long moment. Dalamar paled. “I have heard of something like this in legends- but it cannot be.”

“The curse of Realanna, yes.” Raistlin sighed and sat down on a kitchen chair, staring down at the table. The wood blackened, aged, threatened to crumble to nothing.

This silence was even more ringing, even the Tower seemed stunned. “Who did that?” Iolanthe whispered. “The Dark Queen-“

“No, not her.” If it had been, it might have been easier. “It was the Test. Par-Salian’s doing.”

“Oh.” Lemuel covered his mouth. “When you came, after your Test, you were so sick but you barely ate, and hated when I put flowers in your room.”

Raistlin nodded. Finally, unable to bear the decay, he looked up at Dalamar.

Oh, he was lovely, but the effect was soiled by how ill he looked. “I had no idea.” He whispered. “Shalafi-“

“Stop.” Raistlin held up a hand wearily. “I told you because I if we are to be living together, you had best understand there are things I cannot do. Any more than I could win a fistfight against any of you. If that is an issue, you know where the door is.”

Part of him hoped they would leave. A very big part was howling at the very idea of their loss. He didn’t move, swallowing against the knot in his throat.

None of them moved. None of them were looking at Raistlin. Instead, they were glancing at each other, something calculating in their eyes. Oh Abyss. Raistlin opened his mouth to tell them not to even think about it-

And closed his mouth, because why not? If they wanted to try and break his hideous curse, why not let them try? What was the worst that could happen? They’d fail, and he’d be no worse off than before. And if they succeeded-

No. He wouldn’t think about it. He had gotten this far because he’d left that hope behind. If it claimed him, he’d shatter.

“Well.” Iolanthe said at last. “Perhaps you can help with grinding the spices? They’re already dead and dried?”

Raistlin sighed. “I’ll try. Give me the pestle and mortar.”

Chapter Text

One of the many things Raistlin had become resigned to, even before his Test, had been sleeping badly. It was difficult to get to sleep, difficult to stay asleep, and too many mornings had found him already awake, blinking bleary, gritty eyes.

Until the Tower. It seemed the place was determined to look after him. When Raistlin sank into the plush, thickly blanketed bed, his eyes closed almost at once, and sleep swept over him with the covers.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept before a faint knocking filtered into his consciousness. It was distant at first, turning his dreams to the fancy that a giant woodpecker was tapping away at the side of the Tower, thinking it a vallenwood. But then it grew louder, forcing him out of his dreams.

“What?” Raistlin poked his head out from the covers, and pulled the hangings aside. The grey morning outside was turning to gold as the sun started to come up. “What is it? Is someone else coming?” He slid his legs over the side of the bed, and found a dressing gown. But when he reached out to the Tower, there was no sign of movement in the Grove.

Outside, Dalamar, Iolanthe and Lemuel were waiting, looking guilty. Raistlin groaned, and leaned on his doorpost. He pulled his nightcap off. “What happened?” The Tower was still standing, at least. Indeed, it felt almost- smug?

“You had better come and see this, shalafi.” Dalamar said at last. “We are not sure what to do.”

“Let me get dressed.” Raistlin sighed, and closed the door.

They led the way in silence towards the laboratory. Dalamar touched the door, but didn’t open it, he looked at Iolanthe and Lemuel, but Iolanthe turned away, looking embarrassed. Lemuel didn’t meet his eyes, sidling behind her. Dalamar glared at them for their cowardice, then turned to Raistlin. “We wanted to get up before you, so we could research a way to break your curse, shalafi.”

“I assumed you would be up to something of the sort.” Raistlin said, resigned. “What happened?”

“We have no idea.” Lemuel mumbled. “We just walked in and-“

Dalamar opened the door, and Raistlin stared.

The laboratory was piled full of books. Some from the shelves, some probably from the boxes downstairs. All opened, with holders in place to mark out the appropriate passage. Raistlin stepped in, bewildered.

The breakinge of curses read one.

The orbs of all seeing, another.

The crafting of lenses of sight, a third.

And more, so many more Raistlin struggled to count them, but his vision was blurring. Something huge was welling up inside him, and if it burst, he would die. He swallowed, but his throat didn’t work. So much. There was so much. Tome and grimoires, scrolls and treatises. Spells, spellbreaking. Artifacts, potions. A thousand ways to cure himself, at his fingertips.

How long had it been? The world felt like it was- falling away, a roaring in his ears. It had been five years between the Test and the war, and it was a good six months after the war now. Six years. Six years, and he had only been twenty one. He had been forgetting what the world looked like, without decay.

And all the time, there had been so many cures here. Waiting.

A low, broken sound broke the silence, and it took Raistlin a moment to realise it had come from him. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

He closed his eyes, and the magic wrapped around him as an embrace. He collapsed on the bed he had left only a few minutes ago. He buried his face in the pillows, but didn’t scream. His lungs spasmed in a sob.

Another, gentler knock on the door drew him out of his fugue state, some uncertain time later. Raistlin lifted his head. He might have been crying, he wasn’t sure. His mouth was dry and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. “Go away.”

“Shalafi.” Dalamar’s voice was gentle. “Please, I think this may help.”

He couldn’t hide here forever, no matter how much he wanted to. He sat up on the bed, and even that felt like too much. “Come in then.”

Dalamar pushed the door open, bowing deeply as he stepped in. Bowing to him. Raistlin looked down at himself. His robes rumpled, his hair a mess. He was a mess, and Dalamar still honored him. “What is it?” He hugged his knees.

“We have been going through the books,” Dalamar said tentatively. “I think this is the best we have found so far.” He put a book on the bed, beside Raistlin.

Raistlin picked it up. “We are not sure how well the cursebreaking spells would work on something as potent as yours, shalafi.” Dalamar continued, “The artifacts may work, but would have their power sapped eventually from the force of the curse. We are still investigating the potions, and that will take time, but this seemed like it might work immediately.”

It was one of the pleasure books. Spells of glory and lust. Raistlin felt the hysterical urge to laugh well up, but he felt so deflated it wasn’t hard to stamp it back down. He opened it to the marked page.

The eyes of love.

It was a spell, so short it took only a moment to scan. Simple, but all the more powerful for that, easier to focus his magic through. “A spell to see the beauty in the world.” He said softly.

“I believe it to be a more subtle approach than many in that book.” Dalamar sat on the bed, his own eyes gentle. “We have tested it, and it simply works to highlight beauty. I found it- somewhat distracting, but I assumed that given what you have been dealing with, shalafi, you will find a small irritation easy to overcome.”

Six years of horror. Death, decay and rot. And he could exchange it for a world of beauty in a matter of moments. As a choice between the two, there was no question. “You have found nothing to break it outright?”

“Little luck so far, shalafi, though we will continue to search and experiment. I thought you would appreciate something tide you over until we succeed.”

Raistlin looked down at the spell. A small spell, but powerful. And with his power behind it, he might only need to reapply it every morning. He could live with that. “Leave me, please apprentice.”

“Of course, shalafi.” He bowed again.

“Thank you.” Raistlin whispered, as Dalamar closed the door behind him. He paused, and Raistlin saw his smile, from the corner of his eye. Sweet and so very happy, lighting up his face. He would need no spell to highlight this beauty.

Then he was gone, and Raistlin was left with the tome. “Thank you.” Raistlin repeated, “To you as well. I wish Wayreth had been the one cursed, and I would have taken my Test in you. You would not have allowed Par-Salian and Fistandantilus torture me.”

A rush of warmth, affection. The Tower smiling around him. Raistlin read the spell through once again, letting it soak into his mind, then closed his eyes, leaning back against the headboard of his bed.

He felt- so tired. Even hope was too much to sustain. But inside him, a part of him was still screaming, had been screaming since the Test and had never stopped. He wanted to stop. He wanted to stop, to breathe, to look at a world that was real.

This might not give him that, but it would be a step closer to reality. At least, it could not be worse.

Raistlin waved a hand, and summoned a small blossom from the garden- the result of Lemuel’s determination to get a garden going. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t want to see it wither, just rubbing the petals between his fingers, breathing in the scent- one of the star azealas, he thought.

“Mas mata mencelik,” He whispered, “Semua emosi emas, saban daishan.”

He touched the flower to each eye, breathing in the scent, felt the sweet rush of magic, burning through him so tenderly. The tingle in his eyes telling him the spell had worked.

If he opened his eyes and saw it rot, but somehow was forced to see beauty in that, he might just give up on his eyes and get rid of them once and for all. Raistlin breathed in, breathed out. Opened his eyes.

The flower was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Shalafi!” Dalamar stood up as he stepped into the laboratory. “How are- did it- are you-“ he broke off, face flushing.

His cheeks looked like the first snows of winter, touched by dawn. His eyes soft and grey as the dawn clouds, Raistlin thought helplessly. The spell turned his thoughts to poetry, it seemed. He had been waxing lyrical all the way to the laboratory door, and now, looking at three inside, his mind was working overtime. Lemuel, so soft and warm and welcoming, like some kind god of plenty. Iolanthe, mysterious and stunning, so graceful when she stood and smiled at him.

Dalamar, standing there like Nuitari himself. Hands so delicate, hair so heavy and dark Raistlin longed to touch him, sink his hands in and-

Stop that right now. Raistlin told himself firmly. He had overcome seeing everything rot; he would overcome seeing everything as beautiful. But oh, the relief of it. He hadn’t realised how much work it had been to keep pushing the decay away, ignoring watching everything die so he could maintain some sliver of sanity. He would have to get used to ignoring this too, but even now he knew it would require so much less effort. The screaming, inside him for so long, was silent at last.

He realised he had just been standing there, looking at them, and shook himself. “I am- better.”

“We noticed.” Iolanthe smiled; deep red lips like a sliver of Lunitari. “Are we not so very beautiful?”

“The spell is very effective.” Raistlin tried to scowl, but it was a struggle.

“Your eyes-“ Dalamar took a step closer, then stopped. “Have you seen yourself?”

Raistlin blinked, “No. Wait-“ he held out a hand, and a mirror appeared. He leaned in, looking at himself.

He was- breathtaking. Gods, it was the spell; it had to be the spell. The magic had him looking at his gawky, bony scowling face and seeing a wide eyed and delicately featured young man. His hair lightly tangled, but that looked almost artful, his skin shimmering gold, and his eyes-

Ah, that must be what Dalamar had seen. His pupils had changed again. Still hourglasses, but the top and bottom were softened and rounded, in the form of hearts.

Ah Abyss. Well, no one would deny he was the Master of the Tower of Pleasure. Raistlin closed those eyes, and shook his head. Typical. But he had gotten used to living in unrelenting horror; he could live with a little embarrassment. Perhaps he could get one of them to go into town to find some of those smoked lenses that were so popular these days, for when he went out in public. “I expect you to be investigating a final cure in your spare time.”

“Of course shalafi.” He could hear Dalamar’s smile.

“Maybe we could start bringing in some plants into the Tower?” Lemuel hesitated. “The garden is doing well, given it’s getting towards winter, but I could grow some of the most common components in window boxes, so we don’t have to go down to the garden for everything.”

“And you get to treat us with some of your best flowers.” Iolanthe smiled, and Lemuel went red.

“I wasn’t sure you liked them.” He mumbled.

Gods, they were wonderful. Raistlin marveled. Such beauty, such joy, it was breathtaking. His weary, almost forgotten heart ached sweetly. Thinking of helping two people he cared about when they looked like corpses was one thing, trying to guide two creature of beauty and wonder towards love was quite another.

A raw laugh broke from his throat. “Shalafi?” Dalamar handed him a mug of tea.

Raistlin took it was a grateful nod, sipped him. “I was just thinking that if Par-Salian had really wanted to teach me humility, he would have given me this instead. It is a lot easier to care about the world when it has become a thing of beauty.”

“Par-Salian told you that?” Dalamar face tightened, then turned away quickly back to the fireplace.

Did he regret becoming a spy? Raistlin wondered. Now he knew what Par-Salian was? Or was this just a show of sympathy, to get closer to him? But then Dalamar turned, looking like every shimmering star in the night sky, and Raistlin found it hard to maintain the suspicion.

“Yes.” Raistlin said. They looked at him. “Yes to the window boxes, it would be good to have more green around here. More- beauty.” He smiled.

Chapter Text

They were all in the garden. Lemuel was fetching a large delivery of seeds and saplings from the Palanthas nurseries and Raistlin had insisted they all come out to lend a hand. Not that Dalamar had needed much persuading, he was hurrying around, checking flowerbeds and potting tools, clearly eager to get started. Raistlin found he didn’t mind either. Yes, it was going to be hard work, but his lungs were feeling manageable today in the sharp early winter air, and it would be good to indulge his new senses in the promise of new life.

Iolanthe alone looked grumpy. She had left off her jewelry and was wearing an old, worn robe she’d found in a chest somewhere, but she still looked at the exposed earth in distaste, and kicked clods off of her shoes. “You asked to be here.” Raistlin gave her a cutting look, “Behave.”

She huffed at him, but didn’t say anything.

There was a shuffling from the Grove, and Lemuel appeared. He had a potted plant under one arm, and was pulling a little trolley with the other- bags of seeds sitting inside, and a few saplings. “Oh! Thank you, help would be great. Could you- um-“

Dalamar hurried to take the plant out of his arms; Raistlin took the trolley and pulled it over to the flowerbed. “Go and get the rest, we’ll get started sowing these.”

“Oh, thank you.” He eyed Iolanthe and Dalamar, “Could you make sure- um-“

“Your plants will go exactly where you wanted them.” Raistlin said firmly. “I’m not about to let them plant your hibiscus in the shade, or drown the euphorbia.”

Lemuel smiled, a bright, lovely smile that Raistlin was fairly sure wasn’t really like the sun coming out after months of winter darkness, but then he was still getting used to the spell of beauty. Lemuel hurried out to get more plants, and Raistlin started gathering the seeds and planting them into the carefully dug holes. “Iolanthe, please get the watering pot, pour a little on each one after we plant them- I’ll tell you which ones need more. Dalamar, can you manage the saplings?”

“My pleasure, shalafi.” Dalamar purred, turning to run his fingers over the smooth bark of the little trees. Raistlin felt idiotically jealous, his skin tingling in longing to feel that touch on his skin- and stamped firmly down on that emotion. Go away.

Iolanthe huffed, but went to fetch the watering pot. She looked relieved she wouldn’t be getting her hands dirty. For long, happy minutes, they worked. Dalamar murmuring softly to the trees in elven as he planted them, and it might be the spell or his imagination, but Raistlin thought he saw the saplings’ leaves perk up, fluff themselves to please his apprentice. Raistlin knew what that felt like, rather too well.

No. He closed his eyes, patting the soil around a rosebush. Not that. He couldn’t. Dalamar was a spy, and Raistlin wasn’t Antimodes. No matter how much something in his chest ached for it.

Perhaps- just perhaps- when Dalamar was no longer his apprentice. When he was his own man, not bound to Raistlin. And he hadn’t written to the Conclave yet, maybe after that long, they’d no longer be expecting him to be a spy.

Hope was dangerous. Hope was a blade with no hilt, the edges digging into his palms. But- perhaps.

He opened his eyes, looking at the little yellow rosebush he had settled into its new home. It must have been grown in a hothouse, because it was still blooming. The petals shimmered like sunlight on gold, little beads of dew like diamonds. A treasure. He smiled. One of thousands, now, and he drank in every one. A dream, something he could never have hoped for, not so long ago.

Perhaps.

“Um, Raistlin? Everyone?” Lemuel’s voice came from the Grove, hesitant. “There’s someone here. She wants to come in.”

“Is it my sister?” Horror rushed through Raistlin.

“Um. No. Definitely not. Is that okay?”

Thank Nuitari. “Very well.” Raistlin straightened, murmured a cantrip to clean the dirt off his robes, wishing he was wearing something more fitting as the Master of the Tower.

Lemuel came into view. He was blushing uncontrollably, carrying a tray of little herb shrubs to plant in the window boxes. Behind him, carrying a chamomile plant-

“Laurana!” Raistlin rocked back on his heels in shock. He had expected Ladonna, maybe Meggin or even Tika. Never her. “What brings you here?”

Laurana tried to smile, but it didn’t look easy, or natural. She was dressed in simple traveling clothes, and although Raistlin’s eyes drew his attention to the sheen of her golden hair, and the delicate beauty of her face; it couldn’t hide the hardships she had clearly gone through. Her hair cut shockingly short; her brilliant eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep. “Raistlin;” She said softly. “I am sorry to intrude.”

“Hardly that, given the size of this place.” Beside him, Raistlin thought he felt Dalamar tense, bristle. He sighed, hoping this would not be an issue. He didn’t understand the politics of exile among the elves, but this could not be easy for his apprentice. “But why?”

She closed her eyes. “I needed- somewhere. Somewhere no one could come looking. I do not need much, just a room. I can take care of the rest. Please, may I stay? Just for a little while.”

It was on the tip of Raistlin’s tongue to keep asking questions, but she looked so exhausted. So worn. “Very well. Everyone, this is Laurana of Qualinesti. Laurana, these are my friends Lemuel and Iolanthe, and my apprentice Dalamar.”

Laurana flinched at the sight of Dalamar, and Dalamar’s eyes shuttered, his face closing off. Raistlin felt something hot flare in his stomach, “If his presence is to be an issue,” He snapped, “You are free to find other lodgings. As the Golden General, I’m sure you will have many offers.”

“Oh, so that’s the little elfmaid Kitiara was obsessed with.” Iolanthe drawled, watering the philodendron, “I’ve seen more impressive.”

“That’s far too much water for the plant.” Raistlin snapped. “And I do expect you to be polite, Iolanthe.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. Laurana gave a small smile; it looked at lot more real, this time. “Thank you. I am sorry Master Dalamar, I was not expecting- but this is your home. You will not know I’m here.” Dalamar gave a stiff nod.

“Lemuel, is that the last of the plants?” Raistlin turned, and Lemuel nodded, “Could you show Laurana inside? I think the fifth floor, it has a good view over the city, and it’s away from everyone.”

And Lemuel was the one of them Laurana was most likely to trust, if she did want to tell her story to someone.

“I’m done.” Iolanthe threw down her spade. “I’m filthy and sweaty and covered in mud, and it’s getting dark. Let’s get inside, wash each others’ backs, braid each others’ hair, and gossip about our newest arrival.”

Raistlin glanced at Lemuel; he was pink-faced from the day in the chill sunlight, rosy as the setting sun. He nodded in agreement, “I think we’re about done, most of the plants will have to wait until spring anyway. We can go inside.”

“I do not mind.” Dalamar looked up at the branching leaves of the saplings, the evening sky shimmering between them. He looked like some ancient God of nature, gazing upon his creations. “This is my new favourite place.”

“Well at the rate people are coming in, we might need your room and you can sleep in the garden.” Iolanthe rolled her eyes. “Come on, you’ve got dirt in your hair.”

Dalamar brushed the clods out, and smiled at Raistlin. “Do you want to join? The Tower has a beautiful bathhouse.”

“Of course it does.” Raistlin sighed. Then. “With you?” Something hot kicked in his stomach.

“With everyone.” Iolanthe winked. “It’s a bathhouse.”

No. But Raistlin hesitated because- he wanted to. They were looking at him. They wanted him to come with them. And maybe there was more in Dalamar’s eyes but- this much. Maybe, this much, he could do. And they would be alive, all of them alive, and beautiful. He could do this. He could give himself this.

“Very well. Iolanthe, go ahead and get everything ready while we fetch clean robes.”

She smiled, and stepped away through the magic. Raistlin nodded at Dalamar and Lemuel, and they headed inside.

The bathhouse was as luxurious and extravagant as everything else in the Tower. Tiled in white, red and black mosaics, swirling in patterns like sunlight under water, forming the three moons in the middle of the steaming pool. Raistlin swallowed, watching the other three strip naked.

Lemuel, so rounded and gentle, skin pink to the elbows, soft milky white above. A little belly and broad thighs. His cock, perfectly formed and a little stiff, bouncing between them.

Iolanthe, breasts sloping down to low points, skin deep and dusky all over, a thick thatch of dark hair between her legs. She poured water over herself, sluicing through her long, deep black hair.

Dalamar. Just- Dalamar. Skin bared and faintly bronzed, flawless but for the occasional dark mole. The deep hollow of his spine leading to sweetly rounded buttocks, to the soft, lengthy cock between his legs. Long legs, delicately arched feet, hair dark as Iolanthe’s, but with a faint bluish shimmer where hers was russet. He turned, looking back at Raistlin.

Raistlin’s hand trembled on his robes, suddenly, hideously reminded of his childhood. Washing at school, in front of the other boys; being mocked for his skinny body, his pasty skin. The bones too stark under his skin.

He couldn’t do this. He had seen himself, seen the sweet lies his new eyes told him, but it wasn’t the truth. They would see the truth. He was weak, ugly, pathetic-

“You are beautiful, shalafi.” Dalamar whispered. “You are a golden aspen, slender and strong, crowned in snow.”

Oh Abyss. He didn’t need the little nudge from the Tower. If he ran; he would never be able to respect himself again. He drew in a harsh breath, the steam catching in his lungs and setting off a cough. He ignored it, stripping off his robes.

“Here.” Dalamar took his arm, steadying him as he shuddered from the fit. “The water is hot, it will help.” His skin, so warm where he brushed against Raistlin’s side. He just wanted to turn, take him into his arms and- his cock perked up, eager for the images in Raistlin’s head. Gods no. Not here. He quickly slid into the water, glad for at least some cover.

Oh it was good. Raistlin swallowed- thank the Gods, no taste of blood- the water was hot, the steam scented with eucalyptus, easing the tension in his lungs and back. He closed his eyes and sighed, sinking down into the water. “This is good.”

“Why do you think we’ve all stayed?” Iolanthe chuckled, “The best facilities in all of Palanthas, and therefore, all of Ansalon- maybe all of the world too.”

“I would stay.” Dalamar put in. “It wasn’t the Tower that drew me.”

No. It was my secrets. Raistlin didn’t open his eyes. A spy. He wanted to forget it. He wanted to have never guessed. Dalamar still hadn’t sent any letters to the Conclave, but then what would he write?

It wasn’t like Raistlin had any plans, not anymore. All of those dark ideas; they were not welcome here. They had been Fistandantilus’ plans, and the lich had no place in the Tower. And Raistlin was the Master of the Tower.

The door opened. “Hello? Is anyone- oh!”

Laurana was frozen in the doorway, naked but for a towel around her shoulders. “Oh, I am sorry! I’ll just-“

“You can join us.” Lemuel smiled, “There’s plenty of space.”

“And close the door,” Iolanthe snipped. “You’re letting the hot out.”

Laurana hesitated, then walked in. She let the towel drop and Raistlin looked away quickly. She was not the same as the others. They were his. He didn’t know what they were his for, but they were his. She wasn’t. She had never been.

“Are you sure?” He whispered, hearing her settle in the water on the other side of the pool.

“I have very little to lose.” When he opened his eyes, Laurana had hers closed. The refraction of the water gave her a little modesty. “I’m a whore to my family and my people, and an idiot little girl to the rest of the world. I came here because- I thought this was the only place I didn’t have to be either.”

“Wrong place to come if you don’t want to be a whore.” Iolanthe grinned.

“Oh, be nice.” Lemuel nudged her, and she splashed him back.

“Well, I am an idiot little girl, so I might as well be the other too.” She shook her wet hair out, and opened her eyes, looking tired, but happy. “I heard the stories about what used to happen here. Is it true?” She looked at Raistlin.

“Not so much.” Raistlin shrugged, “I claimed it, and it’s mine. So it’s part of me too.”

“We’re certainly the most chaste whorehouse in Ansalon.” Iolanthe smirked, and got another splash from Lemuel. “Don’t worry princess.”

“Princess?” Lemuel blinked.

“Not anymore.” She shook her head. “I’m not anything.” It would be bitter, if she wasn’t so tired.

“Tanis?” Raistlin said gently.

He’d touched the raw wound, the broken bone. She shuddered. “I’m not what he wanted.”

Of all the- Raistlin couldn’t believe it. After everything, Tanis still picked Kitiara? “I’m sorry.” He managed.

“I’m not.” She sank deeper into the water, just her nose out. “I’m the one who broke it off.” She surfaced; running hands through her cropped hair. “Gods, I’m such a fool. I chased him across half the world, and when I got him, I ran away again. He wasn’t what I wanted either, in the end. The stupid little girl who loved him grew up, but he didn’t. He’s still just- the same as when we were kids. I can’t live like that.”

“And he’s coming after you.” Raistlin understood. “But he won’t be able to come here.”

“Not unless you let him.” She smiled again. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t.” Raistlin promised.

Chapter Text

Raistlin looked down at the letter. Just the sight of it sent something heavy sinking into his stomach. He hadn’t opened it, he didn’t need to. That was Caramon’s handwriting above the seal, to Raistlin Majere.

He knew what it would be about. More platitudes. More begging. Come back to Solace; live on his and Tika’s charity. The last few months had made him rethink a great many of his choices, but his decision to tell Caramon to make his own way in the world was all the firmer.

Another, agonising moment of staring at the letter, and Raistlin had enough. He took it in hand and walked down to the garden.

Lemuel was putting Laurana to work; the elf princess was on her hands and knees, weeding the flowerbed. This far north, even so deep in winter, life was determined to grow. Dalamar was taking cuttings from the trees for spell components, and smiled when he saw him. “Hello shalafi, has Lemuel roped you in too?”

“No, I-“ He felt foolish. “I received a letter.”

“More to join us?” Lemuel looked up from where he was watering the saplings. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“No. Gods no.” Raistlin sighed, and sat down on an upturned bucket. “My brother.”

“I remember him.” Laurana looked up. She was sweaty, but looked a lot happier than when she had first come here. “He seemed a sweet man, how is he?”

“Begging me to go back to Solace.” He looked down at the letter. “He keeps writing, I keep telling him to leave me, but he never stops. I just want tell him I have no brother, and send it back unopened.”

Lemuel’s face fell, “That’s harsh.”

“I don’t know what else to do.” Raistlin sighed. “So- what should I do? I just want to be left alone.”

“May I?” Dalamar stood, and walked over to him. He reached a hand out.

A spy. Raistlin looked at him. Yet what would he gain by this? He hesitated, then gave Dalamar the letter. Dalamar opened it, scanned the contents and grimaced. “Charming. Is he always like this?”

“Worse in person.” Raistlin closed his eyes. “Far too used to being needed, he cannot accept that I can make my own way in life now.”

“I could write to him.” Dalamar offered. “It means little to me. I could tell him you are well, and he doesn’t need to keep worrying.”

“Maybe he could all write.” Lemuel offered. “If he hears from all of us, perhaps he will be convinced?”

It wasn’t the worst idea. Laurana nodded her agreement. “I will certainly write, if it might do some good.”

“Thank you.” It was better than his plan. He had been ready to write it half a dozen times but to do it- to disown Caramon- made something shrivel and die inside him. Hopefully Caramon would take the message this time.

The Grove shivered. Lemuel turned. “Is that actually someone?”

“I think so.” Gods, please not Caramon, please. “It seems you will have your wish.”

Lemuel tried surreptitiously to brush his robes down. Dalamar straightened, murmuring a spell to clean them all off. Laurana looked up, but then away, carrying on with her work. Her mouth moved in a quiet prayer- not Tanis. Raistlin wasn’t the only one dreading a reunion.

But the figure who stumbled out of the grove was someone none of them knew. A young mage, her hair a blazing, vivid red, dancing in Raistlin’s enchanted eyes, her robes the grey of one who had yet to take the Test. Even through his eyes, she looked pale and drawn from her ordeal through the Grove, but determined. She blinked at the group, then caught herself and bowed deeply. “Masters,” Her voice was low, “I come seeking your tutorage. I bring a gift to honor your presence.” She tapped her pack.

Well, it was decent to have someone observing the niceties. Raistlin inclined his head. “Welcome, magus. Your name?”

“Jenna.” And Raistlin saw a flash of recognition in Dalamar’s eyes. He knew her, or knew of her. “Of Palanthas. You will take me in?”

“We will see as to that. For now, come inside and rest, the Grove is not a welcoming place.” Raistlin nodded at Lemuel, who smiled. “Lemuel, will you take her to a spare room?”

“Yes. Come this way, young lady.” Lemuel bowed to the woman, and she smiled, bright and girlish, making her look much younger.

“You know her?” Raistlin said softly to Dalamar, once the two had gone inside.

“She’s Justarius’ daughter.” Dalamar sighed, folding his hands into his sleeves. “She wanted to take the Test, but he has been forbidding her. He says she is too young, but after what you told us about your Test, I wonder if that might not be the real reason. Perhaps he intends for her to wait until Par-Salian retires.”

“I wonder how many other mages are putting theirs off because of that old monster.” Raistlin kept an eye on Dalamar, carefully. Was that a hint of shame, in his eyes? Or just disgust at what Par-Salian had done?

It had been many months now, and still Dalamar had yet to write to the Conclave. Had he really given up his spying? It was too much to hope, and Raistlin tried to shove it out of his thoughts.

“Probably many. But a Test can be taken in any Tower, so perhaps she thought it worth trying this one.”

A Test. He, Raistlin, would give a mage their Test. He swallowed with difficulty. He could do it. He had Dalamar and Iolanthe with him, and the Tower itself would remember. “You said she is young, I will need to be sure she is ready. Until that time, she will study under you.”

Dalamar smiled, but there was something still in his eyes. Was that- no. It couldn’t be. But- “Are you jealous, apprentice?”

He turned away, ducking into the shadow of his hood. “Perhaps I did enjoy it when it was just you and I, shalafi. Now the Tower is growing crowded.”

“Hardly that.” Suddenly the air between them felt- too warm, too close. They had been closer before, in the baths, or the mornings spent doing each other’s hair that had become a ritual. But this felt- more, somehow. Raistlin thought of that first meeting, how close Dalamar had been, how very obvious his interest.

It was so very clear now, burning in his eyes. “Shalafi.” He breathed.

He’d thought Dalamar had learned better, apparently not. “You are my apprentice, Dalamar.” Raistlin said stiffly. A spy. My spy.

“And this is my choice.” Dalamar stepped closer, one hand reaching to touch Raistlin’s sleeve. “There is no coercion here. I want you.”

The words sent a shock through Raistlin, a hot rush deep in his stomach. Dalamar stepped closer still, until Raistlin could see the dancing pleasure in his eyes. So beautiful. Even his eyes could not add to his beauty.

He was seized by the powerful urge to kiss him.

He is a spy. It was like an anchor, dragging him back down to the world. No. He could not. This is what Dalamar wanted, to get him vulnerable and trusting. He was just waiting, playing him for a fool, ready to run back to the Conclave once he had something to tell them.

“Shalafi?” Dalamar said softly. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Yes. He would say that. Lure him in, bait him like a fish- Raistlin lifted his head, rage burning inside him. “Take your hand off me.” He spat.

Dalamar recoiled, pulling his hand back to his chest. “Shalafi. Raistlin.”

“Do not say my name.” Raistlin snarled, stepping back. “Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me.” How dare he? Standing him, so beautiful, so perfect. Begging for the touch of his hands, his lips-

“I am not going to harm you-“ Dalamar started, but Raistlin was gone.

He slid down the wall inside his room, burying his face in his hands. His arm burned from the touch of Dalamar’s hands. The Tower crackled around him in displeasure. “He is a spy!” Raistlin screamed; high and fracturing into a coughing fit.

The Tower was not convinced, but Raistlin felt it settling around him, comforting. It understood loss, and betrayal. So many mages must have fought and broken up and lashed out at each other, it knew this pain.

“Hold still.” Jenna instructed him.

Raistlin sighed, but did as he was told. The promised gift Jenna had mentioned turned out to be several stacks of cloth from her father’s mageware shop. Raistlin wondered if Justarius would come demanding it back- but then put it out his mind, after everything he had done to spite the Conclave, stealing a few bolts of silk and velvet would hardly be the crowning crimes.

This one was lambswool, deep black and sinfully soft. Jenna pinned a length of it to his sleeve. “How is that?”

“Very good.” Raistlin admitted.

“Have you chosen yours?” She called over to the others.

“Yes.” Dalamar smiled, holding plush, thickly piled velvet. “Me next.”

“Um.” Lemuel hesitated; he had an armful of red-brown wool, but kept looking over at a deep green at his feet. “I guess-“

“Shut up and take the green.” Iolanthe sighed. She was wavering between two shades of black silk, one more bluish, the other trimmed in red. “You’re not a member of the Conclave; you can wear any colour you damn well like. Luckily for you.”

“But-“ he wavered.

“Your father isn’t going to come and yell at you for not wearing red.” Raistlin sighed, “And if he does I’ll throw him off the top floor. Take the green.”

Lemuel sighed, and let the red fall to the ground. He picked up the green, stroking it. “Tafetta.” He sighed, “I’ve never had anything this fancy.”

“I’m fairly sure none of us have.” Raistlin shrugged. “My father was a woodcutter, and I doubt any of you were much wealthier.”

“Am I the richest one here?” Jenna said after a moment.

“By quite a lot.” Dalamar agreed. “I was a servant.”

“Gods. Hand me the pins.”

She finished fastening the last of the fabric in place, then helped Raistlin take it off. “Done. Who’s next?”

“Me.” Dalamar smiled. Jenna’s eyes brightened, looking him up and down.

Raistlin hopped down off the stool, pulling the robes off and looking for a needle to get started. The Heartchamber had good light, at least.

“We can send it to the seamstresses for that.” Jenna pointed out. She took the black velvet, and started pinning it around Dalamar, her hands moving easily over that him. Raistlin felt his hackles start to rise, fighting the urge to bear his teeth.

“May as well get started and make sure they get it right.” It came out a bit too harsh.

“Peasants.” Jenna huffed. Her hands drifted down, a little too intimately.

“Halilintar.” Raistlin snapped, and Jenna yelped as a jolt of lightning shocked her, sparks flying between her pins. “And hands off my apprentice.” He added in a grumble, quickly huddling over his new robes.

Dalamar didn’t say anything, but there was a knowing smile on the edges of his mouth.  Jenna growled under her breath, but her hands didn’t stray again.

“Do I at least get my Test?” She grumbled. “Or are you going to tell me it’s dangerous too?”

“How old are you?” Iolanthe looked up from her final choice, the black lightly embroidered in deep scarlet. “Twelve?”

“Twenty one.” She scowled. “Like him.” He nodded at Raistlin.

“And one day I will murder Par-Salian for demanding that of a child.” Raistlin finished the sleeve, and admired his line. Neat as a pin. “You have a year at least to convince my apprentice that you are ready.”

“A year?” She looked up at Dalamar through her eyelashes. “So long? And you know this Tower has a reputation-” she yelped again as Raistlin sent another shock of lightning at her

“At least a year.” Dalamar corrected coolly. “And now you have to convince Iolanthe as well.”

“Make it three years.” Iolanthe agreed. “And you need to convince Lemuel you know your herblore.”

Lemuel beamed.

Jenna looked around at them, pouting. It might have worked with Justarius, but they just looked back at her. “Fine,” she grumbled.

Dalamar glanced back at Raistlin, and that smile was still there, broadening.

Chapter Text

“Your brother wrote back to me.” Laurana hesitated at the door. “I thought you might want to see the letter?”

“No.” Raistlin sat back at his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Summoning imps was far more fraught than elementals and this was not helping. He pushed the grimoire away. “What did he say?”

“I have it here-“ She dug into her pocket.

“No. Just tell me. I don’t want to see his writing.”

“He wants me to bring you home. He’s been drinking.” She looked away. “He was angry, and sad, and angry again, and painfully happy, all in one letter. It reminded me a little of my father, when he was trying to get me to come home.”

“Tell him no.” Raistlin closed his eyes. Gods, he felt tired. The Tower rustled around him, soothing.

“I already have.” Laurana smiled. “I don’t suppose my father has written.”

“If he has, the letters wouldn’t be coming in. I haven’t allowed them.”

“But you allow his in?”

Yes, that was the question wasn’t it? Raistlin wasn’t sure what to say, but was spared when he felt the shift in the Tower. Laurana felt it too, turned around. “Is that someone new?”

“It must be.” Raistlin frowned, unlike the others, this felt- uncomfortable. Unwelcome. As if whoever it was forcing their way in, fighting for every step-

Oh Abyss. Raistlin stood up.

“Who is it? Your brother?”

“No. Worse.” Raistlin sighed. Gods, he should just push the Grove to kill her, but-

But.

“My sister.” He sighed.

Laurana paled, but Raistlin didn’t wait to hear any more, stepping through the magic to the courtyard.

Dalamar and Iolanthe were already there. Iolanthe knew; she was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, hands on her components. Dalamar looked between her and Raistlin, one hand on his dagger hilt. “Shalafi, who is this? Should we fight?”

“Not yet.” Raistlin lifted a hand. “I want to hear what she wants.”

“What she wants?” Iolanthe whispered harshly. “You remember what she did.”

“She did a lot.” Raistlin agreed. “More than you know. She’s still my sister.”

“The Lord Kitiara, of Sanction.” Dalamar said softly.

He knew- of course he knew. He was a spy. Sometimes, Raistlin forgot. Sometimes, he wished he could forget.

“And Takhisis’ catspaw when she trapped the Three.” Iolanthe spat.

“And the only reason I am here to stand with you now.” Raistlin snapped. “Enough.”

That shut them up, at least. Raistlin heard the door creak behind them; he didn’t need to look around to know it was Laurana. She walked to join them, sword drawn. “Sheathe that.” Raistlin snapped. “It will not be needed.”

“She-“

“I am very well aware what she is.”

There was a distant crash, the sound of wood against armor. A faint curse.

“Can you let her in, shalafi?” Dalamar frowned.

“I am letting her in, I am not about to make it easy. If she wants to, she will get here.”

It took long moments. More crashing, the sound of someone trying to cut their way through the trees- “If she damages the Grove, Lemuel will be very upset.” Iolanthe scowled.

And finally, Kitiara staggered out of the treeline. She was ragged and bleeding, her sword in her hands. So much, so familiar, but there was something in her face that he had never seen before. Even his spell on his eyes couldn’t improve on that- or perhaps by some mercy it didn’t work on family members. Kitiara was drawn and pale, her eyes smudged from lack of sleep, and red lined. She looked around at them, saw Laurana, and sagged. “Fuck.” She whispered, and sank down, leaning on her sword. “By the fucking Queen, not you.”

“Good to see you too, sister.”

“Oh, shut up.” She wiped his face and- were her hands shaking? “Just- stop.”

Raistlin had been about to snap back but- that last word. Soft, almost broken. A trick, his gut warned, but Kitiara would never use weakness as a weapon. She didn’t get up, leaning on her sword, her sides heaving- she was exhausted. And there was more.

“What did you do?” Laurana whispered.

Kitiara’s face twisted, she turned away. “Nothing.” She spat. “I won, didn’t I?” There was so much pain there. “I won him in the end.”

“You killed him.” Laurana breathed. Raistlin flinched.

Kitiara gave a high, wild laugh. “Fuck no. I can’t. I couldn’t. I had him at my mercy, you damn fool, right there in Neraka. I could have cut him in half. And I didn’t. I couldn’t. I knew he’d come back to me. And he did.” She broke off, shuddering.

Tanis. Tanis was dead; he could see it in her eyes. Raistlin felt like something had been- cut away. More of his past gone. Sturm, and Flint, and now Tanis. Gaping holes like missing teeth. It was hard to mourn them when they had all hated him so much, but they had all been part of him, part of his life.

Dalamar put a hand on his arm, warm, gentle. “I am sorry, shalafi.” He said softly.

“I ran.” Kitiara laughed again, broken. “I had nowhere else to go. Nowhere he couldn’t find me. He murdered Tanis, and now he’s coming to take me away too.”

“He?” Raistlin felt himself lagging behind.

“You fucking idiot.” Iolanthe whispered. “I warned you. He was obsessed with you-“

“Thank you.” She panted, “I may have noticed.”

Oh. “Lord Soth.” Raistlin whispered.

“Yeah.” Kitiara staggered to her feet, “Tanis came to me. He’d had enough of little bloodless elf girls, and he wanted me back. Fuck me, I was so fucking happy! And then Soth- it was so fast. I didn’t have time to say anything before it was done. He was gone. And Soth wanted me. Told me; fuck it was insane. That I belonged to him. That was going to die and be his forever. I ran. I couldn’t think of anywhere else he couldn’t get me.”

And Raistlin could feel it. Him. The Death Knight had indeed followed her, and he was there, waiting outside. He couldn’t cross the Grove, there was too much magic there, and it was older even than him. But he could wait. He could wait for a long, long time.

“She cannot stay here.” Laurana was ashen, looked ill. “After what she did-“

“I never killed Tanis! Gods, I told you-“

“You killed Sturm!” The shout was so loud it actually shut Kitiara up. “You stuck him down and murdered him right in front of me! He was my friend! He was your friend!”

“It was a war!” Kitiara stumbled to her feet. “He was a warrior, as am I. He understood what I had to do!”

“You fought for an army of slavers and murderers!” Laurana roared, eyes blazing, her hand on her sword. “You fought for an army that would have killed every one of my people, children and babies too! You are filth! Sturm hated you and everything you stood for!”

“Enough!” Raistlin stepped in, holding his staff between them. “If you want to fight, you will do so outside the Grove.”

That shut them up. He wondered if they could feel it, that undead presence, not so near and not so far. Dalamar shifted uncomfortably, looking pale. “Kitiara.” Raistlin said firmly, “You can stay.”

“But-“ Laurana started.

“Until we can find a way to get rid of your- unwelcome suitor. Then you are gone, understand?”

“Crystal, little brother.” There was a shadow of her old smile on her face. “Can’t say the company is tempting me to overstay my welcome, although-“ She looked at Dalamar and Raistlin felt something hot and furious lock in his stomach. “There might be some compensation.”

Dalamar met her gaze coolly. “Children and babies too, you said?” He said to Laurana.

“Ariakas’ bullshit,” Kitiara shrugged, “And you know who killed him, and who had it done. You can show me in if you want to thank me, elf?”

“Iolanthe.” Raistlin gritted out. “Do show Kitiara to a room, one she will not mind leaving sooner than later.”

“And the good witch too!” Kitiara was smiling, but it still felt too forced. “It seems like it’s a day for meeting old friends today, and maybe some new friends.” Another glance at Dalamar that made Raistlin grit his teeth until he worried they might crack.

Then she and Iolanthe were gone. Laurana gave him a furious look, and stormed inside. Then it was just him and Dalamar, standing in the garden. The silence was almost deafening after the shouting.

“Shalafi.” Dalamar started, but Raistlin shook his head. No. He slipped away through the magic.

He didn’t scream into the cushion. It was tempting, but the day had just drained him. Everything about his family was so utterly exhausting and now he’d agreed to house one of them. Gods, he must be mad.

But she wasn’t lying about Soth, and leaving her to that fate- no. She had once saved him, when he had been too young to save himself. This would pay back that debt, and then she could just leave and never come back.

And not too soon. They way she’d looked at Dalamar-

When he thought of that, he didn’t care about Soth, or anything Kitiara had done. He wanted her gone. He wanted her as far away from Dalamar as he could. He could happily see her dead and eaten by undead.

It would be dinnertime by now. She’d be looking for him, Kitiara liked to hunt in the evenings, a glass or two of wine, and into her bed they went. One after the other. If Raistlin wanted them, Kitiara or Caramon would make sure they got there first.

And now, Kitiara wanted Dalamar.

The urge to scream was suddenly very tempting.

It was hardly surprising, Dalamar was utterly beautiful. They could all see it, but at least Jenna was too young for Dalamar to be interested. Kitiara though-

There was a knock on his door.

Oh Nuitari no. “Go away.”

A pause, then another knock. “Shalafi?”

Raistlin let out a deep breath of tension he didn’t realise he had been holding; then his lungs stuttered and he doubled over, coughing- oh for fucks sake not now-

“Shalafi,” Dalamar pushed the door open. “I have your tea. And dinner.”

Raistlin nodded, holding out his hand. Dalamar put the mug in his hand and he inhaled the scent, feeling the cough ease a little, allowing him to draw in a clear breath. He wiped his mouth- no blood, good- and opened his eyes. Dalamar was waiting at the table, hands in his sleeves, and perhaps it was the spell making him shine like the stars themselves, beautiful beyond compare. But perhaps not. Behind him, a dinner for two was sitting on the table.

“Just the two of us, apprentice?”

“The others are dealing with Kitiara. I did not feel like joining them, and I imagine you do not either.”

“You are correct.” Raistlin got up, and walked over to the table. The dinner looked very appetizing, the spell on his eyes highlighting the sheen on the roast chicken, the plumpness of the beans and peas in the salad, the perfect crispness of the bread. Raistlin felt his stomach growl.

He sat down, and waved for Dalamar to join him. Dalamar poured them both a glass of chilled water. For a moment, they ate in silence. “I do not expect you to understand.” Raistlin said softly.

“That you might hate someone, and love them still?” Dalamar’s voice was low, “That you would be happy to never see them again, but need to know they are well, or at least alive? That someone can hurt you so badly, and yet your heart is bared to them?”

Oh. He would understand. “Then should Alhana Starbreeze come knocking on our door, I will return the favour.” Raistlin smiled and lifted his glass in an ironic toast.

“I may hold you to that.” Dalamar said drily.

The silence stretched, not tense but- sweet. Fresh as the water, satiating as the food. Raistlin finished the salad and managed a few bites of the chicken and bread. His throat was still raw. “Thank you, apprentice.”

“Shalafi.” Dalamar met his eyes, that too knowing look in his eyes. Raistlin tensed but Dalamar said nothing. Just looked at him, and seemed satisfied by what he saw. “What should we do to get rid of this most unwanted guest?”

Raistlin let out his breath in relief, glad to be back in the more welcome world of the magic. “There are two main options. The first would be a form of banishment, which would work with most lesser undead, but not, I think, with Soth. However, we simply wish for him to leave Kitiara alone, and that suggests we may find a way to make her less palatable to him.”

And you to her went unspoken, but Raistlin suspected Dalamar heard it anyway.

Chapter Text

“You need to what?” Kitiara almost dropped her toast.

“I said it once; I’m not going to say it again.” Raistlin felt his face burn, wanting the ground to open and swallow him. The Tower had been entirely too helpful. “I hardly thought you would be outraged, of all people.”

“I’m amazed you could even get the words out.” Kitiara snorted. “So I’m going to fuck Soth away?”

“Not with him.” Raistlin’s stomach lurched at the very thought. “The- act is repellent to the undead, as long as you do it relatively regularly, he will be unable to come near you.”

“Fuck.” Kitiara closed her eyes, rubbed her face. “That’s why he killed Tanis. He knew I was going to be out of reach if he stuck around.”

“Precisely. I suspect he might have been planning to take you in Neraka, but that little tryst with Tanis in Flotsam kept you out of his reach.”

What would have happened to him, if he’d had more luck in that area? If he’d- bedded someone, before his Test, would Fistandantilus have been able to come near him?

He wouldn’t, if it had been taken in this Tower. If he had taken his Test here, no doubt it would have been tradition to have sex before the Test. No wonder Fistandantilus locked this place away. No wonder he made sure no one could use it while he was hunting. It made a miserable amount of sense.

“Well fuck.” Kitiara gave her sharp, crooked smile. “It turns out your Tower does live up to its reputation. Sex magic. Who will I be bedding?”

“My apprentice is out of the question,” as Kitiara’s eyes strayed towards him. Dalamar had that familiar smile again. “I, I hope, am also out of the question for obvious reasons, and I would not recommend going near Laurana without your plate mail. Otherwise,” Raistlin shrugged, “Ask.”

“The witch, her fat boyfriend, and the kid.” Kitiara pulled a face, “What a choice.”

“I’m sure they’ll be delighted to take you on with that attitude. Or you could go down to the docks, find a brothel and get it done as fast as possible.”

“I’ll see if Iolanthe will be up for one more session for old time’s sake.” Raistlin looked at her, Kitiara smirked. “Come now, you’re hardly surprised.”

“I shouldn’t be.” Raistlin shook his head. “Go away.”

“Do come and find me if you slip the leash.” She winked at Dalamar, “My brother wouldn’t know pleasure if it fucked him up the arse.”

“Out!” Raistlin snarled.

Kitiara cocked a hip and swayed out. Raistlin ground his teeth.

“What is that about, shalafi?”

“I am astonished it surprises you. This Tower has a reputation, as everyone is keen to inform me. No wonder our magics tend towards more carnal solutions-“

“Not that.” Raistlin looked up in surprised at the interruption. Dalamar walked over to stand beside his desk, one delicate, long fingered hand resting on the dark wood. “You, shalafi. You keep doing this, whenever you see someone looking at me.”

Oh no. Please no. Raistlin’s hands clenched. “I-“ have no idea what you’re talking about he wanted to say, but Dalamar had that knowing look in his eyes, that faint smile on his lips. Raistlin was not about to start playing stupid, to him least of all. “I am your shalafi.” He said instead, “As you often tell me. That means I am responsible for your health. As you may have noticed, my sister’s paramours do not tend to last long.”

Dalamar nodded, but didn’t look away from him. “It’s not just her. It was Jenna as well. Are you suggesting a girl of barely twenty summers is a danger to me?”

Raistlin bit the inside of his cheek. Fuck. “She is an apprentice, such a relationship-“

“Is against no Conclave laws.” Dalamar finished firmly, “Is that what is holding you back, shalafi?” The hand on the desk moved, their hands just brushing. “Do you think you are somehow taking advantage of your position?”

Oh Abyss no. “We are not talking about this.” Raistlin snatched his hand back, stood up.

“Do you think you are forcing me?” Dalamar didn’t let him go, walking around the desk to stand beside him. “Should I be more obvious? I find you incredible, shalafi. You are beautiful, and powerful, and wise. My time at your side has been by far the best in my life-“ Raistlin turned for the door, but Dalamar was there, standing before him. “And yes, I wish for more.” He continued. “And so do you.”

“Get out of my way.” Raistlin hissed.

“What do you want of me?” Dalamar continued, taking a step closer and gods, he was so close now. Raistlin could smell him, that rosemary soap he used, the jasmine oil he brushed into his hair. Every detail of his face highlighted in beauty, all but shining. Raistlin bit back a whine.  “What is standing in your way? Let me remove it, that we can both have what we want.”

Raistlin met his eyes. Spy, he tried to grasp the knowledge, hold it as a barrier against temptation. But it was- pale, and fragile. Dalamar had not written the Conclave as much as a word since he had come here.

“I do not want it.” He said at last. “I am not one of these- disgusting creatures who take out their lusts on their apprentices. I do not care if you agree; I do not want to do it.”

That did set Dalamar back, a flicker behind his eyes. “Your master was Antimodes, was he not?” His voice was soft. “Did he-“

“No! Gods no. I have the wrong parts for that, but I saw how he behaved. That parade of apprentices, all those young girls. He’s probably responsible for half the bastards in the Conclave-“

“Stop.” Dalamar touched his forearm, Raistlin flinched. “I am sorry, shalafi. I didn’t realise.”

“I don’t want it.” Raistlin breathed. Maybe if he kept saying it, it would be true.

“Then why can you not bear the idea of me with anyone else?” Dalamar didn’t remove his hand. “I understand you do not want to be like your master, but you are not. I am more than willing, and you need not worry about siring bastards with me. Besides, if you were to do something I did not like, I am quite capable of defending myself.”

Raistlin couldn’t look at him. He was too beautiful, it hurt too much. Spy, the miserable knot inside him sobbed. Would he be doing this if he didn’t want to pry into your secrets?

He wasn’t. He wouldn’t. And yet, that doubt. Gnawing at the back of his mind like a rat. “Please go away.” Raistlin whispered.

Dalamar’s face fell, but he took his hand away and bowed; then vanished.

Raistlin closed his eyes, sinking down into his chair and trying to find a cushion. He didn’t want to scream. He wanted to cry.

The door to the Heartchamber was firmly closed. Raistlin was about to try the handle- and recoiled. He could feel what was happening inside like a pulse throughout the Tower. It seemed Kitiara had indeed found someone. Raistlin backed away, fighting the urge to wipe his hands on something.

Please. Please not him. He knew he had no one to blame but himself if it was, but please. Just- some mercy. Please.

But oh there was Dalamar. In the kitchen, helping prepare lunch. Raistlin almost sagged in relief. Still his. Not hers. His. Dalamar looked up when Raistlin came in, and there was that smile. He knew what Raistlin was thinking, but mercifully didn’t say anything.

Raistlin let out a long breath, his lungs hitching painfully, but the fit passed. “Tea, shalafi?” Dalamar washed his hands and walked over to the fireplace.

Raistlin nodded, looking around the kitchen. Not Dalamar then, thank the magic. So who was missing?

Lemuel was hard at work jointing a brace of capons for the stew, keeping the kitchen buzzing along like a beehive. Iolanthe was with him, neatly dicing herbs. Laurana was washing dishes, up to her elbows in soapy water. So that left-

“Jenna.” Raistlin sighed. “I’d hoped she’d had more sense than to bed my sister.”

“She rather jumped at the opportunity, actually.” Iolanthe scraped the herbs from the cutting board into the stewpot. “That girl has been champing at the bit to do something stupid; probably to get us back for delaying her Test. I thought it would be good for her to get it out of her system. Plus it gets her out all the faster.”

“I suggested a few sessions, just to make sure.” Raistlin took the mug of tea from Dalamar with a nod of thanks. Somehow, his apprentice managed to make even that bitter brew taste good. He swallowed it, sighing in relief as the ache in his chest relaxed. “So a few more days yet.”

“Lovely.” Laurana grumbled. “I don’t know why you agreed to let her in.”

“I would think you would understand.” Raistlin shrugged, “You have your own wretched slaver of a sibling, after all. Would you leave Porthios to get eaten by undead, if you were in my place?”

Laurana flinched, and looked away. “He didn’t murder one of your friends.” She whispered.

“He exiled me.” Dalamar growled. “That is fairly equivalent.”

“Actually, he almost murdered me.” Lemuel put in, adding the chicken parts to the stewpot. “I was part of a group of refugees from Haven, he sent us right in the middle of a band of draconians in the hope we’d be a distraction while his people fled.”

“I didn’t know that.” Raistlin blinked in surprise. He’d wondered why Lemuel had not been in Pax Tharkas. He’d feared the worst. Laurana was sinking into the basin, unable to look at them.

“Well no, it’s not something I like to talk about.” Lemuel sighed. Iolanthe stepped up to stand beside him, and put an arm around his waist. Lemuel closed his eyes and leaned against her. “It was rather horrible, and I almost died.”

“I am sorry.” Laurana whispered. “I had no idea.”

“It was hardly your fault.” Raistlin shook his head. “But I assume you feel the same way about your brother as I do about Kitiara. I never want to see her again, I would not shed a tear if she did die, but no one deserves Lord Soth.”

“Fine.” Laurana said at last. “You are right. At least your sister has had- some consequences for her crimes. My brother will become Speaker of the Suns, and Speaker of the Stars, and would do it all over again if he could.”

“I would not be sorry to see Porthios get eaten by Soth.” Dalamar carried a basket of vegetables over, and started peeling a turnip. Raistlin found a knife and joined him. “He is a miserable creature, and almost broke my arm when he tied me up.”

“Then he will have no sanctuary here.” Raistlin offered, and got a sharp, brilliant smile back. “He could wait outside the gates as long as he cares to, if he sets foot in here, the Grove will eat him.”

“Please don’t talk about killing my brother.” Laurana started drying the pots.

“Nothing personal, princess,” Iolanthe smirked, “Just a little assassination for the good of the elven kingdoms. Who’s next on the throne after him then, you?”

“Gilthanas, but he hasn’t been back since the end of the war.” Laurana sighed, “He fell in love with a dragon, I suppose he didn’t want to come and see what father and Porthios would do, after how they treated me for being with Tanis.”

“Sensible man. Well, if both of them are gone, that just leaves you then?” Iolanthe grinned, “We’d support you.”

“Oh hush, this is all but treason.” But Laurana was smiling, a real smile this time.

“Goodness, three black robes talking treason,” Dalamar said ironically, “What are they going to do, exile me again?” The quip landed oddly, Dalamar shivered a little, as if at a touch on an old wound.

Laurana’s smile faded, she paled. “No one is getting exiled.” Raistlin cut in. “And if Porthios does turn up, I’ll have him rescind yours on pain of pain. There. Now, Lemuel, what are we making for this evening? It smells wonderful.”

“Thank you.” Dalamar said softly as Lemuel started waxing lyrical about the rice, herb and chicken stew they would be enjoying soon. “I am used to it, but it is a deep pain, and too raw to jest of it so easily.”

“Hardly much effort on my part.” Raistlin shrugged, “I doubt I will ever get the chance to make good on such a promise.”

Chapter Text

It was early in the morning. Raistlin had cast the spell of beauty and was sitting beside the window, enjoying the view. The first snows were starting to fall, turning Palanthas into a veil of white lace, but the study was warm and comfortable. And yes, Raistlin knew he had the Tower to thank for that, his original plan for the room would have been hideous in winter.

The fire was blazing, pale sunlight slanting through the windows. Raistlin closed his eyes as Dalamar worked on his hair. Oh, it was blissful. Those slender fingers carding through the strands, working it into a comfortable braid for the day. He sipped his mug of tea, feeling the warmth burn away the morning chill.

He could snap your neck, that nasty voice inside his head. The Conclave would reward him handsomely for your death.

Shut up. Raistlin shoved it away. If Dalamar wanted him dead, he would have done it long ago. And he didn’t. One looked at him could tell Raistlin that, so clearly.

Gods, could he have been wrong? Maybe Dalamar wasn’t a spy at all. But why would the Conclave have sent him otherwise? Raistlin had never so badly wanted to be wrong, but it made no sense.

“There.” Dalamar tucked the last strand in place, and tied off the end. “You are beautiful.”

“As you say many times, apprentice.” Raistlin sighed. “You now, turn around.”

It was his most guilty pleasure, something he looked forward to every day. Dalamar’s long, heavy fall of hair, blue-black like a raven’s wing, shining as if stars were caught among the strands. Raistlin found a comb, and started brushing it through his hair. “What style would you like today?”

“Something simple, for the summoning.” Dalamar sighed deeply, pleasurably. “I don’t want anything complicated in case it comes loose.”

Raistlin nodded, and reached for the pins. Working them in one at a time, pinning Dalamar’s hair up in a careful knot on the back of his head. “Have Kitiara and Jenna come out yet?”

“Jenna came out last evening for dinner, she looked very smug. Iolanthe gave her a seeing-too, and she was a bit ashamed, but she went back in to spend the night.”

“Almost a week.” Raistlin rolled his eyes, “The indomitability of youth. I wonder how Kitiara can keep up.”

“There is something to be said for age and experience.” Dalamar murmured.

Raistlin stopped. “No.”

A deep sigh. “Shalafi.”

“No.”

“If I were not your apprentice, would it make a difference?”

“It is irrelevant, you are.” Raistlin affixed the last pin, and slid the comb in the hold the whole. So beautiful. Gods, why was fate so wretchedly cruel?

“Raistlin.” Dalamar turned. Raistlin shivered at the sound of his name, on his apprentice’s lips. “I could wait, if it was just that. But it isn’t.”

Raistlin’s stomach sank. No. “It is.” He snapped, getting up.

“There is something else. You are Raistlin Majere, if it were just that I am your apprentice, you would have found a way.” Dalamar got up as well. “What is it?”

And then, mercifully, blissfully, Raistlin felt something in the Grove. “We have a visitor.” He said coldly. “I will need you to prepare another new room.”

Dalamar didn’t move, his eyes burning. “I will tell Lemuel, or Iolanthe to fetch them. Do not move!” Raistlin stopped, stunned. Dalamar caught his breath, almost white with shock at his own nerve. “I will not let you run from me.” He said, lowering his voice. “What have I done? There is something that makes you flinch from me.”

He should punish him, for speaking like this. How dare he! He should kill him, burn him to ashes. Strip that beautiful face from his skull and rip him to pieces-

“Stop.” Dalamar whispered.

Raistlin drove his nails into his face. Stop. Please stop.

He’s a spy. He’s a spy. He’s a-

“Spy!” Raistlin roared, the word ripping out of his throat, almost bloody.

Dalamar recoiled as if Raistlin were indeed about to kill him. His mouth opened; his eyes wide. There was something- broken, in them. Guilt. Oh Nuitari no.

He'd been right.

Raistlin choked, and vanished through the magic.

He was alone in the courtyard. None of the others had noticed and Dalamar-

Dalamar wouldn’t be coming near him now. Dalamar would probably be gone by the time he came back. He’d flee back to the Conclave, horrified that Raistlin had known all along. Raistlin would never see him again.

Raistlin closed his eyes, feeling the tears burn under the closed lids. No. he would not cry. He would not. But Gods- how empty the Tower would be without him. How stripped and miserable without his warm, sweet presence. He could feel the Tower aching, mourning. He had hurt it too with this wretched mess. And he’d have to tell the others, break the news that their little group was going to be so much lesser and smaller now-

“Raistlin?”

Raistlin started, but it was Laurana. “I thought I saw you down here. Are you all right?”

No, never. And never will be again. “I am fine.” Raistlin said too harshly, the tears caught heavy in his throat. “There is someone coming.”

“Your brother?” She touched his shoulder.

Gods, if it was Caramon, he’d kill him and then himself. He couldn’t do this, not today. “Please no.”

“What is it?” She said; her eyes so soft, so gentle.

So like Dalamar, but she was not his. He could not touch her; drag her down into the disaster of him. “No.” He breathed, and she nodded, stepped back.

The Grove stirred again, whoever was coming was almost through. Raistlin sighed, and straightened, trying to compose himself. He was still the Master of the Tower, for all his heart felt like it was splitting in two. If Dalamar wanted to leave, then he would leave. He was a free man, and Raistlin would not stop him. He would just have to deal with it.

He should have kept his mouth shut. He should never have let himself get so close.

The trees moved aside and Raistlin choked a harsh, miserable laugh. Oh, of course. Of course it was her. Because the world would not spare the chance to really rub his face in what he had lost.

“Alhana Starbreeze.” Raistlin spat.

The woman recoiled at the poison in his voice, but held her ground. “I have come to you, Raistlin Majere. And Princess Lauralanthalasa, good. I heard you were here.” She turned to Laurana. “I wished to speak with you and perhaps stay for a little while.”

It was on Raistlin’s tongue to scream at her to get out, but- perhaps there was something he could do. He’d driven his apprentice out of what was probably the only home he had, he could make it up to him like this. “On one condition.”

Alhana blinked those strange, haunting eyes. “I- yes, of course. What do you need?”

“My-“ He swallowed, no. Not apprentice, not any more. “One of the people in this Tower. You have wronged them. I will have you apologise, and take back the harm you have done them. Then you can stay.”

Alhana shook her head. “I have not harmed anyone-“

“You have,” Raistlin grabbed her arm. “Come. Now. You will apologise, and make amends, or you can leave. I believe there is still a Death Knight outside, I’m surprised he let you through once, he will hunt you down if you leave.”

She paled further, “Very well. If that is what you need-“

Raistlin reached through the magic and- good. He was still in the study, thank Nuitari. He spoke a word and dragged Alhana with him, up to the study again, and shoved the door open. “There.” He snarled. “As you promised.”

Dalamar had been packing his books. He started back when they came in, and recoiled bodily at the sight of Alhana. “What?” He gaped.

Alhana was ashen, shaking. “I cannot. He is an Exile, a Dark elf. Such a thing cannot be-“

“Well, you had best find a way for it to be, or else you can leave. I’m sure Soth would love to add to his collection of elfmaids.”

She rocked back on her heels, looking between them; then turned to Dalamar. “D-Dalamar.” She wavered, then straightened. “Dalamar Argent-“

“Nightson.” Dalamar corrected coldly. He was pale to the lips, but holding himself up proudly. “Dalamar Nightson, now.”

“Nightson.” Alhana swallowed. “I- apologise for how you were- treated. In Silavensti. We were- wrong, to cast you out.” She glanced back at Raistlin, but he scowled and jerked his chin. Go on.

“I cannot.” She breathed.

“You will, or by the Gods I will kill you myself and throw your body to the undead.”

“I-“ she turned back to Dalamar. “I- rescind your- Exile.” The words sounded like they were being dragged out of her with red-hot pokers. “When I return, your name will be- replaced, as long as you give up your dark ways-“

“No.” Raistlin snarled, “Like this. No conditions.”

“As long as you- do not harm any citizen of Silvanesti.” She stumbled. “You can return.”

“I never did.” Dalamar didn’t move, stunned. He was still holding one of his books, his eyes so wide Raistlin could see the whites all around. “I never wanted to. Everything I did was for our home. You exiled me for it, while you ordered statues to be built to honor your father, who ruined us all.”

Alhana flinched. She turned away from Dalamar, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. “There. It is done. Are you satisfied?”

“Go.” Raistlin spat. Laurana was coming up the stairs. “Go with Laurana, she’ll find you somewhere to stay.”

The door slammed shut behind her, and the noise seemed to ring in the room between them. Dalamar was still, hands white knuckled on his book. “Shalafi.”

“No.” Raistlin breathed. He tried to back away but there was nowhere to go. He ran into the door. He fumbled for the handle, but it would not open. He could feel the Tower’s gaze on him, angry. No. You spoiled this, you fix it. “I am sorry. Please.”

“No.” Dalamar stepped forwards, laying the book down on the desk. “No, don’t. You cannot. Please.”

For a moment, they just started at each other; then Dalamar bowed his head and knelt down on the floor. “Shalafi.” He breathed. “My name is Dalamar Nightson, and I have come to be your apprentice. The Conclave was sent to spy upon you, but I have no intention of doing so. I only agreed because they would not have allowed me to go if I did not. I hope that you can come to see past this betrayal of trust, and you will accept my service despite it.”

He swallowed, looked up at Raistlin. “I wanted to tell you, when I first came. But I- thought you didn’t know. I didn’t want this hanging over us. I thought it would spoil everything.” His mouth twisted in what could have been a smile if it wasn’t so painful. “And instead, I was the one who ruined it instead.”

Raistlin caught his breath, he was panting as if he had run a mile. His lungs were raw and threatening a fit. He stumbled over to the desk and found his tea, discarded from this morning. He took a rough swallow, only just realizing that he was shaking. “I knew.” He said roughly.

“And you know that I never contacted the Conclave.” Dalamar looked up at him, pleading.

“I know.” Raistlin took another drink, the world settling a bit more solidly around him. His heart starting to slow from the beating roar in his ears. “When did you change your mind?”

“A few days in.” Dalamar admitted. “I needed to know you were not what the Conclave claimed to be. It seemed clear from the beginning, but I wanted to be sure.”

“And that first time you came.” Raistlin’s lips were numb. “What you asked what pleased me, was that the seduction of a spy?”

“It was not.” Dalamar held his eyes. “I would not do that. Not for the Conclave, not for anyone.”

Raistlin didn’t look away, for a long moment, then nodded. He was telling the truth, and- he should have known. Dalamar would not lower himself to something like that. “Thank you.” He whispered.

“No.” Dalamar shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Please don’t thank me.”

And he looked so lost, so broken that Raistlin- couldn’t. He stumbled forwards, fell to his knees and pulled his apprentice into his arms. Dalamar was slender and powerful and brittle, and held still for a moment before buckling, burying his face silently in the crook of Raistlin’s neck. “I’m sorry, shalafi.” He whispered.

Raistlin closed his eyes, cupping the back of his head. His hair was already coming loose from the comb and pins, long strands running down his back, and over Raistlin’s shoulder. He smelled of jasmine and the fresh winter morning, and tears, although he would not let them fall. Raistlin nodded. “I forgive you, apprentice.”

And Dalamar relaxed against him, limp and wrung out. “Thank you,” he breathed.

They sat there for a long moment, just holding each other; Then Dalamar sat back, and wiped his eyes, brushing away the unshed tears. “Did you- really just make Alhana Starbreeze withdraw my exile?”

“I did say I would do it, if I could.” Raistlin shrugged.

Dalamar just looked at him, for a long moment, As if Raistlin were something- spectacular. Something too wonderful for this world. Awe and joy and adoration.

“Oh, fuck it.” Raistlin breathed, and kissed him.

Chapter Text

“Finished?” Raistlin walked into the study.

“Here you go.” Dalamar handed him the letter. “I haven’t sealed it, if you wish to read it first.”

Raistlin hesitated. He wanted to say no. He wanted to say he trusted him. He wanted to tell him to send it as is. But things were still raw, uncertain between them. He opened the letter.

A quick scan was enough to confirm what he already damn well knew. Dalamar’s official resignation from the Conclave as a spy. “Very good, Dalamar. Seal it, and I will send it to Wayreth.”

Dalamar melted the wax over the candleflame, and dripped it onto the letter. He pressed the Tower’s seal into the soft wax, and handed it back to Raistlin. “I wonder what they will do.” He whispered, swallowing. “It would be- ironic, if one exile ended only for another to begin.”

“If they do, I will go in person to make them rescind that one too.” Raistlin hesitated, then rested a hand on Dalamar’s shoulder. “And you will always have a place here.”

Dalamar sighed, nodding. “In spring-” He started, then broke off, taking a deep breath, “I will go to Silvanesti. Not to stay, not for long. But I wish to see it again.”

Raistlin nodded. “Understandable.”

“I would have you come with me.” Dalamar gave a small smile. “There are parts of the land that escaped the Nightmare’s grip. I would have you see it as it should be, not the horrors you ended.”

“Then I will come.” Raistlin agreed.

“Perhaps I will help with the land’s healing.” Dalamar gave a small smile. “It would be a chance to gloat, and I am not above that.”

“I will enjoy watching you.” The wax dried, Raistlin took the letter, and sent it away through the magic. Done. Dalamar was no longer a spy. It was- such a huge weight off of his shoulders. And Dalamar looked different. Softer, more approachable. The wall between them had broken down and he was within reach now.

“Gods, I am tired.” Dalamar rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Barely midday.” Raistlin sighed. “This is going to be a long day.”

“Perhaps lunch will help.” Dalamar got up, “We could both do with some energy.”

“Let us see what Lemuel has prepared.” Raistlin took his hand, and got a smile in return. Dalamar squeezed gently.

Lunch turned out to be fresh bread, with butter and vegetable preserves. It was being taken in stony silence.

Kitiara smirked at Alhana, clearly enjoying her discomfort. The princess was refusing even to look at her, and when Raistlin and Dalamar came in, she raised her head haughtily. “I should be glad you did not ask me to apologise to a murdering Highlord instead, or to a Khurian witch. You welcome a nest of vipers into your home, Master Majere.”

“That reminds me.” Raistlin turned to Kitiara. “You, out.”

“So ready to be rid of me, brother.” She smirked. “And here I was hoping for another night with this cute one.” She squeezed Jenna’s hip. Jenna was bright red, and irritatingly smug.

“No. Go.” Raistlin waved his hand, and Kitiara vanished.

Alhana and Laurana let out deep breaths of relief, almost in unison. Jenna yelped, starting to her feet. “I didn’t even say goodbye! She was-“

“You will not finish that sentence, or you can leave with her.” Raistlin scowled. “You did something idiotic, and will never mention it again.”

Jenna sat back down, grumbling. Lemuel handed her a piece of bread spread with preserve, then, when she didn’t shut up, Iolanthe took it and shoved it in her mouth. “Do be quiet dear, no one wants to know.” She frowned at Raistlin, “What happened with you two? You look odd.”

“It isn’t every day you are no longer exiled.” Dalamar sat beside Lemuel, and drew out a chair for Raistlin.

Alhana pulled an ugly face that even Raistlin’s charmed eyes couldn’t make look attractive. She dug a piece of bread into the preserves as if stabbing something.

“You’re looking better.” Laurana smiled to Raistlin, “I’m glad.”

“Did you find out what she’s running from?” Raistlin waved at Alhana.

“I am not running.” Alhana glared.

“You are.” Laurana nudged her, and got a glare in turn. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of; we are all running from something.”

She wasn’t wrong. He was running from his past, and his family. Dalamar from his lies. Iolanthe from the Conclave. Lemuel from the ruins of his home. Laurana from Tanis and his memory. Kitiara from Soth. “So who is it for you?”

Alhana looked between them furiously, then sighed and sagged in her chair. “Your brother.” To Laurana.

“Oh.” Laurana winced. “The wedding’s off, then?”

“I will stay here until he accepts that.” She scowled at the bread this time. “He is completely unsuitable, both as my husband, and as the future ruler of my people.”

“Oh Abyss.” Laurana groaned, rubbing her face. “What did he do?”

“Let us say, I would prefer to see him on the throne before I see Porthios there.” She nodded stiffly at Dalamar. “He has made it clear that since he had- lowered himself to marrying me and bringing his people to help save our land, my people are to be no better than servants, in the new society he means to found.”

Dalamar gave a snort, shaking his head. “How ironically fitting. How does it feel marry one who seeks to make you a slave, Lady?”

“Most foul. Hence why I am here.” She nodded at Laurana. “I also hoped you might send word to your father. This will be difficult, diplomatically speaking. This marriage was meant to unite our people, and I would like it made clear I did not intend it as a slight against the Qualinesti.”

“Just my brother.” Laurana raised her eyebrows. “Who right now is the only child my father will acknowledge.”

“If Gilthanas is amenable I will certainly accept him as a replacement. I heard of his deeds from my people, and he seems a noble and worthy soul.” She rubbed her chin. “Or perhaps-“ She looked Laurana up and down, evaluating.

Laurana looked confused for a moment, then went bright red. Iolanthe choked on her tea, spluttering, and Jenna was wide eyed, looking between Alhana and Laurana. Raistlin glanced quickly at Dalamar. “Ah, did we not leave a very important ritual waiting in the study? We must be getting back to that.”

“And excellent idea, shalafi.” Dalamar quickly grabbed a few rolls of bread and a pot of relish. “Have a good day, ladies.”

“Bastards.” Laurana grumbled.

“It is a great honor-“ Alhana started, and then, mercifully, they were gone through the magic.

This time Raistlin felt the newcomer not as a pressure within the Grove, but a touch on the outskirts of its boundaries, asking for permission. Dalamar sat up, “You felt that?”

“A little more polite than the usual, at least.” Raistlin got up. “Come with me, we will go together.”

“I like that word.” Dalamar smiled, standing with him.

“What?”

“Together.” Dalamar met his eyes, gentle and happy.

They stepped through to the courtyard, then walked into the trees. The Shoikan Grove was still dark, still terrible, but the terrible grip of undeath had broken with the curse. The oaks had put out leaves now, and acorns, and somehow they were more terrifying than any dragon’s bared teeth. Dalamar slipped his hand in his, and held on a little too tightly. At least Soth's cold presence was gone.

The ground was lightly dusted in snow, crunching underfoot. Palanthas must be beautiful, Raistlin thought wistfully, with or without his charmed eyes, it would be worth seeing. Perhaps he and Dalamar could go into town one of these days. Yule would be soon, and there would be a market-

“Someone is there.” Dalamar nodded towards the gate.

Quite a lot of someone, it turned out. A tall, well built Ergothian, with broad shoulders and an even broader smile. He seemed to shine in the morning, as if he was a sun in turn. Crowned in brilliant light. His eyes were warm and kind and he was dressed in practical but well cut white robes, with a thick cloak of white fur over his shoulders against the chill of the day.

“Ah! It is an honor to meet you both at last!” He boomed as they opened the gate. “Master Majere; and apprentice Nightson. Thank you for coming to see me.”

“Our pleasure, Master-“ Raistlin frowned.

“Dunbar, isn’t it?” Dalamar cocked his head. “Dunbar Mastermate? You were there when the Conclave gave me- my mission.” He glanced at Raistlin.

“Yes, they are very annoyed you didn’t hold up your end of the deal.” The man guffawed. “They’ve been digging around, trying to find some of us who’ll agree to come and be a spy instead, so I thought I’d volunteer.”

“And admit to it directly?” Raistlin could feel Dalamar blushing beside him, embarrassed. He squeezed his hand. It is forgiven.

“Could you imagine me as a spy?” Dunbar chuckled again. “No, not my style, but you do have a Tower in one of the biggest port cities in Ansalon, and I have a ship that needs a dock, so-“ he spread his broad hands. “Here I am. Not to mention the tales of this place make it sound rather inviting.”

“I am sorry to say its reputation is very much exaggerated.”

“Ah, a challenge.” He looked them both up and down approvingly. “If you are interested-“

“Thank you.” Raistlin’s face burned. The man was very handsome, he was sure even without his eyes he would find him beautiful. “I will warn you that the head of your Order is not likely to look kindly on you staying here.”

Dunbar snorted, “Par-Salian is not heading anything. Oh, he is still nominally in charge, but no one heeds him. Not after what happened with you.”

“Losing a Tower to a renegade, and then the spy sent after him?” Raistlin smirked. “How humiliating.”

“Not just that.” And he was no longer smiling. “He- may have let slip what he did to you. It’s caused something of a schism. I have no interest in his opinions anymore.”

“Very well.” Raistlin stepped back, holding the gate open. “I will warn you, the Grove is not always pleasant.”

“I think I’ll survive.” Dunbar smiled, looking up at the Tower looming above. “That one feels friendly.”

“It is.” Raistlin led the way in.

“I’m glad you’re all right too.” Dunbar added to Dalamar. “I was worried when we didn’t hear anything from you, in case something had happened.”

“Hardly.” He heard the smile in Dalamar’s voice. “My shalafi takes very good care of all of us.”

“It is good to see a follower of Solinari here.” Alhana nodded in approval when Dunbar walked in. “House Mystic has permission to officiate marriages, so perhaps-“

“Gods, enough!” Laurana ran her hands through her hair- she must have been doing this for a while, because most of it was standing on end. “I said I’d think about it! My father will probably refuse to even consider it!”

“The Golden General, the Hero of Abanasinia and Solamnia, it would be a fine union.” Alhana smoothed Laurana’s hair. “And you are a striking woman, far more attractive than your brother.”

Dunbar blinked, thrown. “What did I just walk into?”

“Diplomacy.” Raistlin sighed. “Am I correct to assume you would prefer a room on the higher levels?”

“Yes. We sailors don’t like being out of sight of the sea.” Dunbar shifted away from the two women.

“And you’re very pretty too, but I just left the man I thought I loved and he ran off to his old lover and died almost at once! Give me a few days!”

“Well, as a princess you should be used to putting your feelings aside to marry for the good of your nation.” Alhana shrugged. “I doubt I will ever love again, but I am determined to see my land well governed.”

“Oh.” Laurana covered her mouth, her anger slipping away. “You loved Sturm. I saw your starjewel.”

 “Yes.” She said shortly. “A- very brave man. A noble man. You cared for him too, I see. I was very pained to see his murderer harbored here.”

“She is my sister.” Raistlin cut in, “And she is gone. I am no more inclined to forgive her for Sturm’s death either. We grew up together.” Not a friend, but- of all of those he’d lost, he was the one that stung most. Perhaps they could have been friends, eventually. “Now, if you want to continue courting, the garden is available for romantic walks.”

Laurana narrowed her eyes at him, but couldn’t hide the smile. “And who is this?” To Dunbar.

“One of the rare people coming here for a reason other than running from something. Everyone, this is Mage Dunbar, who will be staying here because we have a harbor nearby.”

“Dunbar Mastermate, ladies.” He bowed to the princesses, “Iolanthe.” She held out her hand for him to kiss, which he did. “And gentleman?” A smile at Lemuel.

Lemuel flushed, then went an even brighter red when Dunbar kissed his hand too. Iolanthe glanced between them, one eyebrow climbing thoughtfully.

Right, this was their chance to leave quietly before they actually started to have sex on the kitchen floor. Raistlin found Dalamar’s hand, and they were gone.

Chapter Text

In the end, they all went to the Yuletide market together.

It made for a surprisingly handsome procession. Him and Dalamar in their best velvet robes and thick cloaks of black foxfur. Iolanthe in her finest Khurian robes, lined in soft wool, Lemuel on her arm, in green and sable. Dunbar, dressed in white as perfect as the snow. Even Jenna was cheerful, eager to get to the market and meet old friends after weeks in the Tower; her robes perfectly cut red merino. Alhana and Laurana took up the rear, Laurana in a simple dress of deep russet brown and a sheepskin cloak, Alhana in the best of elven finery, grey winter silk; a silver diadem on her brow.

“Behave.” Raistlin heard Laurana hiss to her as they stepped out of the Grove. “I don’t want to see you sneer and make snide comments about anyone. We are guests in this city.”

“Were you not given the keys to this- hole?” Alhana wrinkled her nose. “Shouldn’t it be your city, by rights?”

Raistlin didn’t catch what was said then, because Dalamar took his hand, and his fingers were so wonderfully warm against the sharp chill of the day. Raistlin smiled, relaxing as they walked, their shoulders bumping.

The snow was heavy underfoot, and more was falling in thin streamers from the sky. Raistlin leaned on his staff, the ground was slippery and the last thing he wanted was to topple over and drag Dalamar with him.

The Yule market was bright with banners and lanterns, the whole of the town seemed to have come out to enjoy the day. Normally, Raistlin detested crowds, but behind the gentling veil of snow everything seemed softer and easier to bear, his eyes bringing out the beauty and wonder of the day. He bought Dalamar a sprig of holly to pin to his robes, and Dalamar found him a little trinket in the shape of a golden star. Raistlin hung it on the staff of Magius.

He was- happy. It was a strange thing to realise, like a slow bloom of a sunrise inside him. He was among people who respected and cared for him, in a home he loved, doing work that he had always dreamed of, from when he was a child. Those who hated him were all gone, and he would never have to see them again.

“We should all get decorations.” Dunbar boomed happily, coming over with an armful of pine branches and winter jasmine. “Hang them up in the Heartchamber for tonight.” He gave Lemuel a roguish wink.

Lemuel went as red as the holly berries, looked away. Raistlin felt something sinking in his stomach. “What is tonight?”

“Well, it’s Yuletide.” Lemuel was even redder. “And Iolanthe say there are- um. Traditions. For Yule. Where she comes from. And Dunbar says it’s the same with him. On ship. Um.”

“And you three are going to have an orgy.” Raistlin sagged. Dalamar squeezed his hand.

“Is there an orgy?” Jenna perked up. “Can I come?”

“Young people,” Iolanthe bemoaned, “Only thinking with their groins.”

“The more the merrier, I say.” Dunbar beamed. “Some of us are trying to bring back the old traditions in the Conclave, but with those dried up old fossils in charge we’ve had no luck. No offense to your father, of course.” He added to Jenna.

“Nah, he’s a dry old stick alright.” Jenna shrugged, “What about the princesses? They’d make lovely Yuletide decorations.” She grinned.

“Why are you talking about us?” Laurana walked over. She and Alhana were wearing matching pins in the shape of snowflakes.

Raistlin took a surreptitious step back. Dalamar gave him a curious look, but followed him. They were just about to slip away to safety behind a stall selling fragrant Yule logs, when Dunbar remembered them.

“And what about you two?” He beamed at them, “Will you be joining us? Even if you’d prefer to stick to each other, it would be good to have all the mages in the Heartchamber tonight. The magic is always so much closer when the moons are in the sky for the longest night.”

Raistlin felt a trickle of cold sweat running down his spine. No. But his mouth was too dry.

“We will consider it, certainly.” Dalamar said smoothly. “Now, we should have a good Yuletide feast. The shalafi and I will find a goose, the rest of you choose other dishes you want with it and go buy what we need.”

“A goose?” Raistlin said once they were out of earshot.

“Is that not the tradition for Yule here? I thought it was usual to have a fowl.”

“In Abanasinia it was usually venison, I suppose fowl were too precious for eggs to have them slaughtered, even once a year.”

There were indeed a large number of geese and chickens hanging in the butcher’s stalls. Dalamar scanned them with a practiced eye before motioning to a particularly plump goose. The man nodded and cut it down. Dalamar felt it and nodded. “This will be a good one; I do not suppose you have the makings for a good sauce with it?” To the butcher.

“Very fine cider sauce, master mages.” He pulled out a terracotta pot. “The finest in the city.”

They were walking back to the center of the market, and Raistlin was hoping he might have escaped any more questions, then-

“Have you thought on their offer, shalafi?” Dalamar said gently.

Oh Abyss.

“I-“ he didn’t know how he was going to continue that sentence, let alone finish it.

“We do not have to.” Dalamar licked his lips and Raistlin was unable to think for a moment, his mind blank as he saw that soft pink tongue flick out. “I know we have not spoken of this, shalafi, but I am still very much interested. I meant everything I said, you are the most incredibly person I have ever met.”

“As- are you.” Raistlin managed, his voice raw, the words so difficult he half expected them to come out bloodied. “You are beautiful, and brilliant, and- far more patient than I have deserved. I do not know if I can. I- never have.”

“Never?” Dalamar cocked his head, but his eyes were kind. “Truly? Not Lemuel, or Iolanthe, or any of these beautiful people in the Tower?”

“No.” Raistlin felt hideously humiliated.

“My opinion of our companions’ intelligence and perception has plummeted.” Dalamar turned, taking Raistlin’s hands in his. “You are stunning.” He said firmly, “The most beautiful man I have ever met. I have come to care for you so much.”

Raistlin wanted to protest but- this man had seen him naked in the bathhouse, and had no spell on his eyes. He might be mad to see Raistlin the way he did, but he wasn’t lying. “Thank you.” He managed.

“I know you are not comfortable with our positions,” Dalamar continued, “But I will not be your apprentice forever, and you are not Antimodes.”

“I know.” Raistlin sighed. “I know it is different. But it is difficult for me. Please.” The last was a whisper.

“Of course.” Dalamar squeezed his hands. “We will take things as slowly as you like.”

Raistlin looked at him, and knew the curse was not adding anything to this moment. He was already more beautiful than anything in the world. The snow resting in his hair, the pale winter sunlight haloing him among the flurries. The chill had brought out the pink in his cheeks, and whipped his dark hair into a sweetly tangled muss. His eyes were shining, bright as the morning. “I think I am coming to love you.” Raistlin breathed, and kissed him.

The Yuletide dinner was just as extravagant as expected. Raistlin picked at pieces of everything, a little goose and sauce, just as good as the butcher promised. A few pieces of the honey roast vegetables Lemuel had cooked. Iolanthe had made little bites of flaky pastry soaked in syrup, utterly delicious. Laurana and Alhana had worked together on a beautiful winter salad of peas, apples, mint, and pomegranate seeds. And Dunbar had outdone them all with a magnificent Ergothian pudding full of spices and dried fruit, soaked in rum.

But now they were all finished, the leftovers packed away in the icebox for tomorrow- and the others were looking at each other. Lemuel to Iolanthe and Dunbar, Dunbar to both of them. Iolanthe to them too. Jenna to everyone, as if they were a pile of Yuletide gifts, ready for unwapping. Even Alhana and Laurana; Laurana in short, thoughtful glances. Alhana evaluating and bold, not ashamed of anything.

And Dalamar, at him. And him at Dalamar

“I’d have thought you would wait for the wedding?” Raistlin murmured to Laurana.

“It would help press our case.” Laurana replied softly, “It would get Porthios to leave her alone, and father may be pushed to agree.”

“And are you ready to be the Queen of Silvanesti? The Speaker of the Stars?”

“I’m not sure.” But there was the faintest smile on her lips, “But perhaps I could come to be.”

Raistlin glanced at Dalamar, who was stacking the dishes in the sink to soak for later. He met Raistlin’s eyes and smiled. The firelight played off his hair, shimmered on his skin, glowed in his eyes. Oh, he was wonderful. Perhaps Raistlin was coming to be ready too.

And as Master of the Tower, they were waiting for him to announce the moment.

Raistlin swallowed, drew in a breath. “The Heartchamber is waiting for us, it seems.”

A wave of joy washed through him, bright and brilliant, making him shiver. The Tower rejoicing, welcoming him in after he had held himself apart for so long. Raistlin held out his hand, and Dalamar took it, pressing close to his side. Then Lemuel and Iolanthe. Dunbar and Jenna. Alhana and Laurana. He could have magicked them all to the Heartchamber, but it seemed more- fitting, to walk up the stairs together. Besides, the exercise helped to work off all the food they’d eaten.

The Tower had been busy. When Raistlin pushed open the door to the Heartchamber, the room was all prepared.

This was how it must have been, hundreds of years ago, in its glory days. The floors laid thick with rugs and blankets and cushions, the fireplaces blazing, candles set in brackets on the walls. The windows wide to let in the light of the moons, the beautiful murals peeking eagerly from behind their hangings.

There were a few curtains across the room, cutting it off into sections, offering a little privacy. Raistlin touched the wall. Thank you. He felt the Tower’s smug pleasure. It had him here again, and the Heartchamber would return to its true purpose as a place of pleasure and joy.

There were small tables along the sides of the room, with glasses and uncorked bottles of wine. Dunbar took one and poured glasses for all of them. “A toast before we begin?”

Raistlin took his glass and lifted it. “To the future; and to the Abyss with the past.”

The Tower sent a wave of pleasure through him. Deep joy, it was happy to have him as Master, and was looking forward to that future, with him. Together. All of them, together.

They toasted together, and drank. Then it began.

First it was Iolanthe and Lemuel. They had been sharing a room for weeks already and had no secrets. Lemuel first, pulling his green robes off, then Iolanthe, stripping and catching him in her arms, holding him close. Then Jenna, getting naked with wanton abandon. Dunbar watched them happily, finishing his drink-

Then Dalamar caught his hand, pulling him close. “Shalafi.” He breathed.

Raistlin could feel it, that hot, hungry rush of lust. Flowing from one to the other, growing and building like an avalanche. He closed his eyes, and let it flow through him, leaned in for a deep and hungry kiss. “Not that.” He whispered as they broke apart. “I’m not your master here.”

“Raistlin.” Dalamar purred. “Say my name, my own.”

“Dalamar.” Raistlin kissed him again.

On the floor, Lemuel and Iolanthe and Jenna were getting going. Dunbar was beside them, looking eagerly but happy to watch for the moment. Even Alhana and Laurana were sitting together, still dressed, but their touches were becoming very intimate indeed.

Raistlin felt his face burn. He couldn’t do this. This wasn’t a world he had a place in. He met Dalamar’s eyes, desperately.

“Come.” Dalamar took his hand, and pulled him away from the scene, through the veils of hangings and to a little cubby, tucked away for probably this very purpose, for mages who didn’t feel comfortable doing it in front of others. Raistlin exhaled, feeling the worst of the tension slough out of him, and sank down to the deep plush of the blankets under him. Dalamar lay down next to him, and started unbuttoning his robes.

“Stop.” Raistlin breathed. “Let me.” He touched Dalamar’s robes. Dalamar looked up at him, eyes wide and liquid and hungry.

Raistlin undid his robe, button by button. Dalamar arched into the touch, one hand coming up to cup the back of Raistlin’s head, pulling him down. Raistlin kissed the bared skin of his chest, tracing down his breastbone, then his abdomen, then-

Dalamar lifted his hips, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his underclothes, easing them down. He was- already half hard, his cock long and trim and beautiful, dark at the head, smooth and lovely. Raistlin’s mouth went dry and his heart started hammering in panic. Gods, what was he going to do? He had no idea what he was doing, none-

“Shh.” Dalamar stroked his hair. “You are doing well, so well, shal- Raistlin. Kiss me, my love.”

He hadn’t said it before. Raistlin’s heart skipped a beat, and came back hammering even harder. “Thank you.” He said, and felt stupid for saying it.”What should I do?”

“Here.” Dalamar sat up, and gently pushed him down. “Let me, now.”

His hands moved almost like a dance, undoing his robes with all that elven grace Raistlin had admired for so long. Around them, he could hear the soft groans and sighs of pleasure from the others. He shivered as the cool air touched his skin. “What are we going to do?” Raistlin managed. Maybe if he knew, it would be easier to imagine what would happen next.

“That one.” Dalamar smiled, and waved to the wall. The murals. That mural. That of Solinari and Nuitari, finding pleasure in each other. Solinari on his knees, Nuitari behind him, buried up to the hilt as their moons shone down on both of them. Raistlin felt his cheeks burn. Dalamar laughed softly and kissed them. “Can you get on your knees?”

Oh, so he would be in- Solinari’s place. It felt more than a little blasphemous still, but Raistlin could see the moons through the window, gleaming eagerly as if they were enjoying the show. Raistlin shrugged off his robes, and let Dalamar pull them the rest of the way off. “Will it not hurt?” He sat up in his elbows.

“Not with this.” Dalamar reached for something along the wall, and rolled a small bottle of oil between his fingers. “It will- ease it, stop it from hurting. And it feels so very good after that.”

“Do I need to do it like that?” Raistlin waved at the mural.

Dalamar frowned, turning the bottle in his hands. “If you do not want to?”

“I want to see you.” Raistlin felt his cheeks burn. “To- look at you. During.”

That got him a beautiful, breathtaking smile. “Yes. Lie back.”

Raistlin did so, finding a pillow and tucking it under his head. Dalamar lay down next to him, and Raistlin closed his eyes when he kissed him. So hungry, so deep. Like drowning, his lungs trembling with the force of it. Dalamar’s hands; mapping across his chest, stroking over the stiff bones of his ribcage, the thin flesh of his pectorals. “I’m sorry.” Raistlin whispered against his lips.

“Do not be ridiculous.” Dalamar kissed him again. “Although you do need to eat more.”

He uncapped the bottle of oil, and poured it over his fingers. “Just breathe.” He pressed a kiss to Raistlin’s forehead, and reached down. Raistlin yelped at the first touch of his fingers, damp and cold against the cleft of his arse.

Dalamar grinned, and kissed him again. “Hush, breathe.”

One finger, two, then three. He was right, it didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel as amazing as Dalamar had said, but that was just typical where his body was concerned. And Raistlin- wanted to do this. With Dalamar, but also to have it done, so he didn’t have to be Raistlin that laughable virgin any more. He closed his eyes, breathing steadily as Dalamar moved his fingers inside him, pressing and stretching him deeper. At least his lungs were behaving today-

Oh! Raistlin gasped. There had been something- some spot- and Dalamar had pressed on it and- oh, indeed. His cock, which had been already more than half interested in the situation, now perked to full hardness, stiff and eager for attention. Dalamar smiled, running his free hand down Raistlin’s waist to stroke it. “Well, look at you,” He cooed, “Aren’t you lovely?”

“It’s my cock, not a pet.” Raistlin managed.

“But I will have to make sure to pet it properly.” Dalamar leaned down and kissed the head, and Raistlin gave a harsh, desperate whine. “Are you ready?”

Raistlin nodded, not trusting his voice. Dalamar smiled, and gently withdrew his fingers, drawing another desperate groan from Raistlin. He wanted- he didn’t know. Probably there was a mural describing this, but he hadn’t seen it yet. He ought to pay more attention. Dalamar had the bottle of oil again, generously coating his cock. He was very hard now, the head almost purple, the veins standing out starkly. “I want you.” Raistlin whispered.

“I know, I noticed.” Dalamar gave him a sharp, quicksilver smile, “Lift your hips.”

Raistlin braced his legs, canted his hips up. Dalamar cradled them, lifted him a little higher- then he felt the dull, blunt head nudging between his buttocks.

Oh, that was- bigger than his fingers. “Shh, relax. Breathe.”

Raistlin closed his eyes, tried to steady himself, and Dalamar pushed in slowly, little by little. There was no pain, just the slow and hungry stretch of muscles around Dalamar’s cock. “Is it good?” Dalamar choked. His eyes were half closed; his mouth open and panting. “Gods, you feel wonderful.”

“Yes.” Raistlin swallowed. “Just- get in?”

He got another grin, so sweet. Dalamar swooped down and kissed him. “Of course.”

Then he was- inside him. Big and lovely and so wonderful Raistlin could barely breathe for the fullness of it. “Yes.” He whispered.

“Here,” Dalamar eased him up a little and- oh. There, oh there, that sweet place. And Dalamar started to move, slow, gentle motions, rocking into him. Deep, oh so deep. It felt so good. Like Dalamar becoming part of him. Raistlin reached up and found him, pulling him down and wrapping his arms around him. Gods, that was good.

“You really are sweet, aren’t you?” Dalamar kissed him, reaching down to find his cock. “Who would have believed it?”

Gods, he was hard. Raistlin couldn’t remember having been so hard and ready before, even as a teenager. “I’m not going to- last long.” He panted as Dalamar started to stroke him.

“Good, come. You’re more than welcome to.” Dalamar’s breathing was growing ragged. “I- won’t be long either. Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?”

“A long time?” Raistlin smiled helplessly, looking up at Dalamar, His apprentice. His lover.

“Since I first saw you.” Another kiss; and Raistlin was whining as Dalamar rubbed his thumb over his cock, pushed himself further in. Gods, he was close. He could feel his balls drawing up, the pleasure tightening in the pit of his stomach.

“Dalamar. I- I-“ Raistlin didn’t know what he was going to say, just sharp little cries with every thrust, with every caress on his cock. The pleasure building higher, higher-

And gone, a bright, incredible unknotting and the world bursting into gnomish fireworks behind his eyes. Raistlin arched up, gasping, and came hot and desperate in Dalamar’s hand.

“Lovely.” Dalamar panted, his thrusting growing ragged and rapid. “So beautiful. Raistlin. My Raistlin. You’re so beautiful. So perfect-“

And he was coming too, wet and shockingly hot inside him. Dalamar arched his head back and groaned, buried deep and slick and messy and it was all so wonderful-

And it was over, and somehow that was even better. Dalamar pulled out and slumped down beside him, sweat-damp and spent, nuzzling his neck. And Raistlin turned over, throwing a leg over him and tucking him close. Their bodies fitting so well; like puzzle pieces. Raistlin inhaled his scent. Gods, it was good. It was all, so very good. Why hadn’t he realised it, for so long?

But then, maybe he was right to wait. It brought him here, after all.

“I love you.” Dalamar kissed him.

Raistlin lifted his head and kissed back. “You know.” He said softly. “The Tower has been very set on having you move into my chambers, since the day you came.”

Dalamar choked a laugh. “A perceptive place, isn’t it? Is there space for my robes?”

“Hmm. And your books.  And a desk big enough for two. A bed as well, although that would be comfortable for four.”

“I will have to thank it.”

Dalamar found a spare blanket, and threw it over them both, coming in to pull Raistlin close and snuggle up against him. Around them, the sounds of lovemaking were slowly fading as the others reached their climaxes, lapsing into cuddling or sleep or soft words, the muffled behind the hangings.

“I think we should all do so.” Raistlin agreed, and leaned in for another kiss.