b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

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He woke before dawn, as usual. Groggily, he pulled his robe over his bare shoulders and made his way to the kitchen. Raistlin had a habit of forcing himself to function on very little sleep. After brewing his tea and starting up the steps, he condemned this habit, as he usually did in the morning. Just like they always did, every bone in his body cried out for rest. He overworked himself; that much he knew. For what? Personal pleasure? Self-satisfaction? A deeply-rooted masochistic streak? It wasn't worth pondering, he decided.

By the time he was back in his room, all thoughts of going back to bed had disappeared. Instead, he remembered suddenly that Sikeen had stayed here. The curtains were still drawn, and he'd been quiet – she was probably still asleep. As if to confirm that she was, in fact, still there, he slowly made his way around the bed to where she was curled up under the blankets. Her closed eyes barely peeked out from the covers. From what he could tell, she looked… tranquil. So the potion he'd given her had been working.

She sighed slowly and the hair that had fallen over her face fluttered a bit with her breath. An inexplicable dread suddenly rushed through Raistlin. His thoughts felt muted in his head as he realized he couldn't look away, and the dread only intensified when he realized how disturbing his behavior was. If she were to wake right now, he'd have no explanation for himself. Feeling like a slave to the reflex, he gingerly pushed the hair from her face. Instantly, her head disappeared completely under the blanket. The corners of his mouth barely turned upward – she was skittish in her sleep.

Thanking Nuitari that she was still sound asleep, he let the backs of his fingers brush slowly against her hair, which still stuck out from under the covers. His heart dropped again. What was he doing? He felt as if he'd lost control of himself, and some other force was determining his actions.

Was this what Dalamar had felt like?

Instantly, he drew his hand back and vanished into the stairwell. He'd stay in the library until he could forget the morning.

| - - : - - x - - : - - |

Figures shifted silently around her, impossible to distinguish from one another in the darkness. Her eyes couldn't move fast enough to follow them. Frustration formed a hard ball in her chest as she struggled to lift her arm, perhaps to reach out and catch one in her fist. It was no use. They moved too quickly.

Several slow heartbeats later, something sliced through the air toward her face. There was no way to brace herself – her body was too slow. Just before it cut through her skull, she sucked in a deep breath and awoke, sunlight flooding her vision. Blinking rapidly, she sat up straight and tried to remember where she was. Right. Raistlin's bed. She let her vision adjust completely and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before checking to see if he was still there.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Of course he was already out of bed. Across the room, he sat at his desk. He didn't glance up from his journal as he spoke.

"Perhaps time to go back to sleep," she mumbled, closing her eyes and pulling the blanket up to her shoulders. Raistlin sighed, putting his pencil down.

"It's half past one. You haven't eaten in two days."

"How unfortunate," she said absently, forcing herself to get out of bed. She knew what he wanted her to do. And he'd been hospitable enough. Suddenly, hiding out here felt cowardly, though she still paled at the thought of facing Dalamar. But she needed a change of clothes and scenery – after last night she was forced to consider the condition of her pride, not just her reflex to avoid her attacker at all costs.

She would avoid him anyway, somehow. But right now, in the cold light of day, she knew what she had to do.

Raistlin watched as she stretched, raising her arms high over her head with her back to him. Her shoulder blades pushed against her skin and Dalamar's shirt almost grotesquely. There was something fascinating about the way she didn't even look at him, didn't say a word, as she made her way to the door. Before exiting the room, she glanced over her shoulder and met his eyes for a single, loaded second. It wasn't until after she was gone that he realized what she'd meant to say. This is what you wanted, right?

The first thing she did was march down to her quarters. She needed a shower, desperately. As she reached the landing, she hesitated at the bottom of the steps. There was no sign of Dalamar – no footsteps, no shuffling of papers, nothing. Deeming it safe, she paced into her room and shut the door carefully behind her. It was empty, thank the gods. She half expected him to be waiting for her there.

When she was done, she carefully braided her hair and wrapped it around the top of her head. With her hair down, she felt exposed, in a way. She wore a deep blue tunic with short sleeves and gray pants, and then made her way to the kitchen. By now, she figured, she owed Raistlin at least one cup of tea.

She was adjusting her hair as she walked into the kitchen and immediately stopped in her tracks when she saw Dalamar at the table. To her surprise, he looked haggard. Instead of reading, his book lay face-down on the table as he stared hollowly into his omelet, picking at it. He looked up and his eye caught hers, sending a shudder down her spine.

There couldn't have been a more potent reminder of what he'd done. Now, when she looked at him, she could see nothing but the heartless gaze he'd given her as he pushed her onto the floor. It seemed to dwell there, beneath the tired look he had on his face now.

He didn't say anything at first, as if trying to figure out if she was really there. She almost turned around and left. Instead, she strode past him without giving him another glance, setting the water to boil.

"Where have you been?" he asked, staring at the back of her head. She didn't reply. "Sikeen, I'm sorry." She didn't look at him when she finally spoke.

"And you think that means something to me?" Silently, she thanked the gods that her voice didn't shake. She stared at the water. It was still. It had only been a few moments, after all.

He was speechless. How did one take back what he'd done? He approached her slowly, and she heard him coming. Her rage built up with every step she heard him take across the hardwood floor. Slowly, he reached out to touch her arm. It was a grave mistake.

She moved like lightning. As soon as his fingertips brushed her skin, her arm shot out and grabbed a knife from the counter. How had he overlooked that she could be armed in moments? She almost laughed at his stupidity as she shoved the blade into the side of his arm, expertly dodging the bone. She made sure to get his left arm, which she was sure was his dominant one. Killing him wouldn't teach him a lesson. She watched, delighted, as his eyes widened. The pain was spreading through his body in slow motion, flowering from the wound and making his brain tingle as internal alarms went off. His lips moved as if to say something but it was obvious he couldn't find a single word.

"How does it feel?" she said, leaning against the counter with a smirk on her face. "Did you consider us friends? How about after that?" The blade had gone straight through the muscle, emerging from the other side of his arm and leaking blood where it pierced his skin. She moved closer to him again, his face an inch from hers. Slowly, she reached for the blade's handle. His eyes widened further as his expression fell into raw horror. With great care, she twisted the blade ever so slightly, just a few degrees. A peculiar noise escaped his lips. That's the sound of pain, she thought happily before kneeing him in the groin with as much force as she could exert after two days of starving. Dalamar fell to his knees, finally letting out a roar of agony. "How is it?" she shouted, a maniacal grin spread across her face. Upstairs, Raistlin blinked. Something was definitely going on in the kitchen.

If he'd succeeded in raping her, she decided, she would have killed him. But he'd stopped. So, for the sake of fairness, she leaned down to his level and drew the serrated blade out just as quickly as she'd pushed it in, and then tossed it in the sink. He screamed again and his other hand shot immediately to his wound, trying to quell the bleeding. She glanced at the water again. It was simmering slightly. "Oh! Dalamar, I'm so sorry. Sorry about that," she chirped. Nothing was quite as sweet as revenge. He looked up at her from the floor, desperation painted all over his features.

"Please," he whimpered, as if she could do something to help him.

"Please what? I'm not really in the business of tending to wounds," she said with a dry laugh. "Don't you know the spell yourself? What kind of mage are you?" He let out another groan as the pain spiked once more – it didn't seem to be getting any better as the moments dragged on. Similar to when she was unconscious, his mind was under too much stress to recall the spell he needed to stop the bleeding. "Try Shalafi," she said dismissively, hunting for a mug. She was measuring out tea leaves when he finally managed to get out another phrase.

"I'm sorry," he hissed. This time, he meant it. She could hear it. She raised a brow at him, glancing over her shoulder with disgust.

"Oh, I know. Now you must be." The tea was finally brewing. She could watch him suffer for three minutes more, and then she would have to go back upstairs.

"What have you done?!" Raistlin stood in the doorway, staring at Dalamar's slumped figure with more shock than she thought he was capable of feeling.

"It's just a flesh wound," she said casually, resisting the urge to laugh. Raistlin had killed hundreds of people during the war. But his apprentice doubled over in pain for five minutes had him this concerned? It was comical. "He'll be fine."

"When will he be fine?" He had a habit of stressing words of inquiry, she noticed, when he was tense. The fact that he was concerned about how long it would take Dalamar to heal also revealed why he was standing there in the first place. Dalamar was primarily his apprentice, but he was also his errand boy. Sikeen viciously fought back an amused grin.

"Dunno. Two weeks, maybe. Dalamar was breathing more evenly now, but he still remained on his knees on the floor, staring at the wood panels. "He's really looking better already."

Raistlin seemed to relax a bit at that, leaning against the doorway.

"Gods. Leave him," he said, peering at the blood splattered on Sikeen's shirt. She raised a brow at him.

"You're not going to heal him?" Dalamar used his good arm to grab the back of a chair. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, but immediately returned his hand to the wound, horrified at the mess and still delirious from pain. He gave his master the same desperate look he'd given her. Raistlin met his eyes, indifferent.

"No." Dalamar's eyes drifted upward, as if asking the gods how this could be happening to him. "Dalamar, when you're less preoccupied, clean up the… carnage," said Raistlin, glancing distastefully at the stains on the wood. Sikeen scoffed as she heard him over her shoulder, sifting out the leaves and putting the teacup in a saucer. She paced carefully over to Raistlin and gave him the tea. As he took it from her hands, she glanced up at him. He looked regal again, like he had the night she'd met him. The black robes suited him, she decided. But when she met his eyes, he was giving her a look that seemed like a cross between disapproval, concern, and curiosity. Overall, he looked more or less uneasy with her. She returned his look with a slow, frosty smile.

He would have shuddered if he didn't possess such thorough control over himself. The look in her eyes was downright satanic sometimes. Dalamar deserved what had come to him – that much was clear. But the fact that Sikeen had taken revenge so quickly and expertly was something to be considered. Aside from that, it was a miracle in itself that she hadn't killed him. What was this – her idea of fairness? When he thought about it, it seemed more or less right.

And why hadn't Dalamar immediately fought back? He wasn't as strong as Raistlin, but he knew defensive spells. Did he, too, realize he deserved this? No, Raistlin knew the real reason. Though he hated to admit it, Dalamar had an inherent weakness for Sikeen. Whether it was platonic, romantic, or sexual was difficult to tell. He may have realized he deserved the wound, but he had taken what he deserved because deep down, he wanted Sikeen to have her revenge. He was truly sorry.

She noticed him looking over at Dalamar with a sort of cold thoughtfulness. What was he thinking? It was impossible to tell. Raistlin had a way of never quite looking critical. He always looked… open. Never welcoming, but willing to consider anything. As if nothing could truly surprise him. So in that moment, he could truly have been pondering anything at all.

Satisfied with her revenge and fed up with the dynamics in the room, she shoved past him. Instantly, he snapped out of his reverie.

"I haven't dismissed you." She was already in the stairwell.

"Pity," she called over her shoulder. Raistlin bristled. Before she could get halfway up the steps, he shoved her against the side of the stairwell, the Staff of Magius pressed against her collarbones horizontally. It cast its usual blue light over them both. Though it made Raistlin look eerie, it lit up her pale skin and eyes in a surprisingly flattering way. He pushed the thought out of his mind and glared at her, jaw tensed. She rolled her eyes, annoyed. "Sorry, Shalafi. Must've damaged your pride a bit with that one." The Staff pushed into her throat and she flattened herself further against the wall, the railing pressing uncomfortably against her lower back. He remained silent, his eyes boring holes into her skull. She stared back at him, confused. "If you're not going to teach me a lesson, why are you bothering with the restraint?"

She shifted slightly, slowly growing nervous. He wasn't like Dalamar – she couldn't just stab him in the arm and hope to get away with it. He could be casting a silent spell. Or he could be trying to decide what horrible fate to leave her to. The expression on his face was absolutely unreadable. As she squirmed, the Staff pressed more against her throat, making it harder to breathe. "Shalafi—" she choked, trying to maintain her aloof tone. It didn't work. He cocked his head at her, and she thought she caught a moment of approval on his face. The staff once again pressed forward. When she began to feel lightheaded, she decided it was time to act. Though he wasn't far enough away from her to build much leverage, she shoved him as hard as she could. He didn't budge. In fact, the staff only restrained her breathing even more. She gasped desperately, horrified. He wasn't going to use magic to kill her? It didn't make sense. Her chin involuntarily tilted upward as she gasped again, the rod forcing the base of her neck flat against the cold stone wall.

Just when she thought she would pass out, the pressure vanished. The Staff once again stood vertically by his side, but he didn't move. After she was done drawing in desperate breaths, she gaped at him, her heart still racing.

"You're at my mercy, Sikeen." He waited for her reply, which came through gritted teeth after a great deal of hesitation.

"Shalafi," she murmured, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

"I trust you won't forget it." He disappeared up the steps, satisfied. It suddenly felt imperative to remind her of her place. Otherwise…

His mind jumped back to that morning, at dawn. How she'd disappeared under the blanket. The same dread he'd felt then welled up in his chest once again. It was still difficult to place why, exactly, the thought of her breaking down the wall between them made him so uneasy. Perhaps it was the same reason why he didn't want to get in bed last night. She was… young. And in his care. And horrifically unstable. He could think of a thousand reasons why they needed a solid barrier between them.

He kicked himself. Why did he even have to consider these things? It shouldn't be an issue. The fact that it was an issue made him feel like he'd already done something wrong. And what was the issue, anyway? They were too close? She'd insisted on provoking him? She'd tried to kill him? It was difficult to put into words. He was having a hard time deciding what would happen if there wasn't a distinct space between them.

In the stairwell, Sikeen's hand floated idly up to her throat. He'd almost strangled her with that stupid stick he carried around. She glared after him as she heard him close his bedroom door at the top of both flights of stairs. Annoyed, she made her way to the library. So he wanted her respect. Fine. He'd get it.

Maybe that would convince him to let her leave.