Chapter 10:
Alira and Raistlin were walking down the hundreds of steps that swirled around the vallenwood. He kept his hood up, concealing his features. She, as usual, left her face and hair bare to the world wearing her robes.
People stared. People tend to do that, stare at things they are curious about, or don't understand. In this case, no one could understand why such a beautiful young woman was the company of such a forbidding looking mage. They glared at him, but their gazes softened upon her. Raistlin noticed. Alira didn't.
"It's so beautiful here!" she sighed, leaning close to him. His body was a pillar of strength, and she could instantly feel the tension in him by the way he stood.
"What?" Alira asked, afraid of some sort of attack or danger. No wonder. She should have noticed before. She was always preparing for an attack.
"Do you not notice!" he whispered fiercely. "They gawk at us like we're circus freaks. No, correction, the gawk at me like I'm a freak!"
To her, his pain was an obvious thing, as palpable as a chill in the air. Her maternal, protection instinct sprung forth like blood from a wound. Alira's eyebrows furrowed as she leaned closer and suggested that perhaps he should pull his hood back.
He hissed. "What do you mean? Give them more to laugh at! Better they laugh at my robes and demeanor than laugh at my skin and eyes."
"Why? Have you not learned anything? They will accept you, I swear. They don't look at your appearance so much as they way you act! If you hold yourself with more confidence, start looking at people with more trust, maybe even go as far as to smile at random people, or compliment them, and perhaps then they'll look at you differently. No one ever said being liked was easy." She lectured, pulling his arm up and sticking her hand in the crook at his elbow.
"For you it is!" he fought back, instantly wishing he hadn't said that. She looked at him calmly.
"Because I've had practice at being nice."
He was silent. Raistlin contemplated her words, then slowly pulled his hands up and drew his hood down. People stared worse than ever, this time wondering what a gold-skinned freak was doing with the beautiful young mage. He made an effort to be nice, not exactly by smiling, but by trying to give off a more approachable feeling. It didn't work immediately, but gradually people stopped staring at him for his looks.
However, that wasn't because of his change of attitude. It was because they recognized him. Girls gaped open-mouthed at him, barely recognizing the sickly young boy who had studied magic in his youth. The boys and men were surprised that he was still alive, after hearing rumors about his being Tested.
Once they realized it was Raistlin Majere, the same young man who was rumored to be an extremely powerful mage, they stopped glaring.out of fear more than out of respect. Raistlin didn't care. He was busy showing Alira the town, pointing out landmarks and telling short stories of incidents that happened as they walked.
For them, time was non-existent.
That night Alira had the strangest dream:
She was in a forest. All around her, the silvery-barked trees had mist prowling along their trunks. The tall, majestic plants reared high, slender and beautiful as the Elves that lived amongst them. This forest, however, was virgin, and held great power of earth. The leaves of these strange trees were the deepest green imaginable, with their undersides as pale as the mist that moistened the ground.
Alira breathed deeply, the scent of pure land filling her with calm surety. She wore a pale green dress, the shade of the undersides of the leaves above her head, which flowed from her shoulders to her slippered feet. She felt beautiful. Alira felt Elven.
She turned around, as though expecting someone, and was not at all surprised when, from the dappled shadows and ethereal mist, a small girl stepped free. She was garbed similarly to Alira, only her dress was the palest hue of blue.
Her hair, silvery as the bark of the trees, flowed unchecked to her waist. Thick and free, it was soft and shined with aching beauty. Her perfectly formed face showed the finest Elven features, and the ever-so- slightly pointed ears at the sides of her head only accented her face.
But the feature that truly caught the imagination.the feature that filled one with an awe almost as powerful as that of dragonfear, was her eyes. They had an indescribable color, a color that everyone from poets to the everyday, common shepherd would ache to try and describe. Alira, however, knew in her heart what those eyes were.
The Elven girls' eyes were the souls of stars. Two, perfectly matching souls, united in one face for a perfect unity that went unmatched by any beauty.
The sight of this pure, untouched little child was enough to melt even the foulest dragon's heart. Enough to bring Queen Takhisis, Her Dark Majesty, the Unholy Seductress herself to believe in love, hope, and mercy. She was all that is good, and all that could be good.
The girl pointed to Alira, a look of plain trust flecking her bright, almond-shaped eyes. She gestured, and Alira came close as she bade her to. The little girl gripped her hand, the slender bones of the smaller girl's little, fine-fingered hand closing gently and pulling ever-so-softly in a silent command. Alira did as the girl wished, and bent low to listen to what she had to say.
Her voice was as beautiful as the rest of her, as clean, pure, and holy as anything could ever be. It was sweet, and yet bell-like, low and yet high. She whispered, but Alira could not make out the sweet syllables.
She could only hear several words, but only two were imprinted on her mind well enough to follow to her to her grave. "- love Raistlin."
Yet, though Alira had no idea what came before or after that short phrase, Alira somehow understood. She rose to her full height, looking down on the Elven child. Compassion shone on their faces, sympathy, and love followed. Alira didn't have the time to thank the girl, for all dreams must come to an end.
Alira awoke in a cold sweat, with tears stinging against her cheeks and sorrow pulling at her like weights. She closed her eyes, sitting upright and rocking back and forth, cradling herself in her arms as she remembered the poetic beauty of the child whose name she never learned. She almost screamed when she heard the softest sound at her door, and her own whispered name. Raistlin. He had a tendency to show up at moments like this, but she was not in a state to care. She made a strange sound, somewhat like a whimper, and Raistlin took it to be an invitation. He entered, quietly, wearing his robes.
He needn't ask her if she was okay. Raistlin just walked quietly to her bedside, sat down, and watched as her eyes turned to his. They welled with tears that he knew would spill once her eyelids twitched. They did, and before either knew it, she was crying softly. Awkwardly, Raistlin leaned forward and hugged her. Alira rested her cheek on his strong shoulder, wishing her tears away, hating herself for such weakness, and at the same time reveling in the remarkable changes in the man before her. Where once he would have ignored her pain, he now comforted her, eased her of it. He had become, amazingly, sensitive.
She cried until she became drowsy, almost drunken on her own salt tears. He knew she was in no state for anything she said to be taken seriously. But he still felt the astounding effects of the way she said his name.
"Raistlin."
She need not go further, he understood. Shifting to a more comfortable position that he would be able to keep up for the night, he sat up on the bed, her cheek rested against his chest, and listened to her cry, patting her awkwardly, occasionally smoothing her hair. He began to mutter words meant to soothe. She didn't listen to what he said, but she listened to his voice. Before long, she was lulled into a drunken calmness. Total trust was all that existed between them at the moment.
"I love you." Alira whimpered.
Raistlin didn't reply.
He stayed with her until both of them fell fast asleep.
Note: I want lots of feedback on this one, and I certainly expect some! Things are moving along nicely, though every chapter seems to be shorter than the next. I just wanted to mention, that I have NO control over how long these chapters are. Think about it this way.could you ever write something, and then drop it when it was ready to be done? Or perhaps stretch something out longer than it should? Trust me, you who criticize me for length.I do it all for a reason!
ALIRA IS MINE, though Dragonlance is not.enough said.
Alira and Raistlin were walking down the hundreds of steps that swirled around the vallenwood. He kept his hood up, concealing his features. She, as usual, left her face and hair bare to the world wearing her robes.
People stared. People tend to do that, stare at things they are curious about, or don't understand. In this case, no one could understand why such a beautiful young woman was the company of such a forbidding looking mage. They glared at him, but their gazes softened upon her. Raistlin noticed. Alira didn't.
"It's so beautiful here!" she sighed, leaning close to him. His body was a pillar of strength, and she could instantly feel the tension in him by the way he stood.
"What?" Alira asked, afraid of some sort of attack or danger. No wonder. She should have noticed before. She was always preparing for an attack.
"Do you not notice!" he whispered fiercely. "They gawk at us like we're circus freaks. No, correction, the gawk at me like I'm a freak!"
To her, his pain was an obvious thing, as palpable as a chill in the air. Her maternal, protection instinct sprung forth like blood from a wound. Alira's eyebrows furrowed as she leaned closer and suggested that perhaps he should pull his hood back.
He hissed. "What do you mean? Give them more to laugh at! Better they laugh at my robes and demeanor than laugh at my skin and eyes."
"Why? Have you not learned anything? They will accept you, I swear. They don't look at your appearance so much as they way you act! If you hold yourself with more confidence, start looking at people with more trust, maybe even go as far as to smile at random people, or compliment them, and perhaps then they'll look at you differently. No one ever said being liked was easy." She lectured, pulling his arm up and sticking her hand in the crook at his elbow.
"For you it is!" he fought back, instantly wishing he hadn't said that. She looked at him calmly.
"Because I've had practice at being nice."
He was silent. Raistlin contemplated her words, then slowly pulled his hands up and drew his hood down. People stared worse than ever, this time wondering what a gold-skinned freak was doing with the beautiful young mage. He made an effort to be nice, not exactly by smiling, but by trying to give off a more approachable feeling. It didn't work immediately, but gradually people stopped staring at him for his looks.
However, that wasn't because of his change of attitude. It was because they recognized him. Girls gaped open-mouthed at him, barely recognizing the sickly young boy who had studied magic in his youth. The boys and men were surprised that he was still alive, after hearing rumors about his being Tested.
Once they realized it was Raistlin Majere, the same young man who was rumored to be an extremely powerful mage, they stopped glaring.out of fear more than out of respect. Raistlin didn't care. He was busy showing Alira the town, pointing out landmarks and telling short stories of incidents that happened as they walked.
For them, time was non-existent.
That night Alira had the strangest dream:
She was in a forest. All around her, the silvery-barked trees had mist prowling along their trunks. The tall, majestic plants reared high, slender and beautiful as the Elves that lived amongst them. This forest, however, was virgin, and held great power of earth. The leaves of these strange trees were the deepest green imaginable, with their undersides as pale as the mist that moistened the ground.
Alira breathed deeply, the scent of pure land filling her with calm surety. She wore a pale green dress, the shade of the undersides of the leaves above her head, which flowed from her shoulders to her slippered feet. She felt beautiful. Alira felt Elven.
She turned around, as though expecting someone, and was not at all surprised when, from the dappled shadows and ethereal mist, a small girl stepped free. She was garbed similarly to Alira, only her dress was the palest hue of blue.
Her hair, silvery as the bark of the trees, flowed unchecked to her waist. Thick and free, it was soft and shined with aching beauty. Her perfectly formed face showed the finest Elven features, and the ever-so- slightly pointed ears at the sides of her head only accented her face.
But the feature that truly caught the imagination.the feature that filled one with an awe almost as powerful as that of dragonfear, was her eyes. They had an indescribable color, a color that everyone from poets to the everyday, common shepherd would ache to try and describe. Alira, however, knew in her heart what those eyes were.
The Elven girls' eyes were the souls of stars. Two, perfectly matching souls, united in one face for a perfect unity that went unmatched by any beauty.
The sight of this pure, untouched little child was enough to melt even the foulest dragon's heart. Enough to bring Queen Takhisis, Her Dark Majesty, the Unholy Seductress herself to believe in love, hope, and mercy. She was all that is good, and all that could be good.
The girl pointed to Alira, a look of plain trust flecking her bright, almond-shaped eyes. She gestured, and Alira came close as she bade her to. The little girl gripped her hand, the slender bones of the smaller girl's little, fine-fingered hand closing gently and pulling ever-so-softly in a silent command. Alira did as the girl wished, and bent low to listen to what she had to say.
Her voice was as beautiful as the rest of her, as clean, pure, and holy as anything could ever be. It was sweet, and yet bell-like, low and yet high. She whispered, but Alira could not make out the sweet syllables.
She could only hear several words, but only two were imprinted on her mind well enough to follow to her to her grave. "- love Raistlin."
Yet, though Alira had no idea what came before or after that short phrase, Alira somehow understood. She rose to her full height, looking down on the Elven child. Compassion shone on their faces, sympathy, and love followed. Alira didn't have the time to thank the girl, for all dreams must come to an end.
Alira awoke in a cold sweat, with tears stinging against her cheeks and sorrow pulling at her like weights. She closed her eyes, sitting upright and rocking back and forth, cradling herself in her arms as she remembered the poetic beauty of the child whose name she never learned. She almost screamed when she heard the softest sound at her door, and her own whispered name. Raistlin. He had a tendency to show up at moments like this, but she was not in a state to care. She made a strange sound, somewhat like a whimper, and Raistlin took it to be an invitation. He entered, quietly, wearing his robes.
He needn't ask her if she was okay. Raistlin just walked quietly to her bedside, sat down, and watched as her eyes turned to his. They welled with tears that he knew would spill once her eyelids twitched. They did, and before either knew it, she was crying softly. Awkwardly, Raistlin leaned forward and hugged her. Alira rested her cheek on his strong shoulder, wishing her tears away, hating herself for such weakness, and at the same time reveling in the remarkable changes in the man before her. Where once he would have ignored her pain, he now comforted her, eased her of it. He had become, amazingly, sensitive.
She cried until she became drowsy, almost drunken on her own salt tears. He knew she was in no state for anything she said to be taken seriously. But he still felt the astounding effects of the way she said his name.
"Raistlin."
She need not go further, he understood. Shifting to a more comfortable position that he would be able to keep up for the night, he sat up on the bed, her cheek rested against his chest, and listened to her cry, patting her awkwardly, occasionally smoothing her hair. He began to mutter words meant to soothe. She didn't listen to what he said, but she listened to his voice. Before long, she was lulled into a drunken calmness. Total trust was all that existed between them at the moment.
"I love you." Alira whimpered.
Raistlin didn't reply.
He stayed with her until both of them fell fast asleep.
Note: I want lots of feedback on this one, and I certainly expect some! Things are moving along nicely, though every chapter seems to be shorter than the next. I just wanted to mention, that I have NO control over how long these chapters are. Think about it this way.could you ever write something, and then drop it when it was ready to be done? Or perhaps stretch something out longer than it should? Trust me, you who criticize me for length.I do it all for a reason!
ALIRA IS MINE, though Dragonlance is not.enough said.