Chapter 11:
Raistlin awoke, slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb the slumbering woman lying next to him. Her head still rested on his chest, and he could feel her soft breathing against his robes. Her soft hair was insane; it was tangled and thrown about everywhere, pell-mell. Even Raistlin had to admit that it looked kind of funny, but as he rested his head against her, and breathed in her scent, he no longer thought about her appearance.
It was too much for him. Raistlin had never in his life been bombarded with so many strong feelings, and it confused him thoroughly. He hated it, not having complete control. Above all, he had always prided himself on his supreme will power, his ability to rise above all humanly feelings with his ambition.and now that was being torn from him.
But a remarkable change took place that morning. He heard an audible snapping crackle, as though chains were being broken. Suddenly, an indescribable change took place. It was amazing. It was almost as though Raistlin's soul was.release. Freed. Raistlin was unfettered by something.
He didn't know it was Fistandantilus.
When Alira woke, she was surprised to see that Raistlin was still there with her. She vaguely remembered falling asleep with him near, but she hadn't remembered whether or not he left. Now, however, she was fairly certain he hadn't left.
Quietly, slowly, she lifted her head from his chest; glad to see she hadn't drooled in her sleep. She knew she was a mess, yet still she looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back down at her, warmth radiating from his face.
"The Elf-child." She whispered. "We need to find her."
"What Elf?" he asked.
"The one in my dream." She replied.
"The one from last night? What happened?"
"I don't really know. She said a lot of things, but I can't remember them! She was so beautiful.and I met her in the forest.she must be a Silvanesti Elf. We have to find her.that's why we need to go to Silvanesti. I'm sure of it!" she cried, suddenly frantic. He hushed her, trying to calm her down. After a while, she finally calmed enough to come to her senses.
"Do you think we can leave today?" she asked.
"As you wish." He said, hearing the order behind her words. Raistlin was packed and ready just as she finished with her own packing.
They retrieved their horses and were soon riding on their way to Silvanesti, pointed towards the Elven land by a few of the kind people of Solace. They were riding through an area rather densely packed with people when Raistlin saw from the corner of his peripheral vision red-gold curls. Few people of Solace had curls, and few people carried them the way a certain person did. He paled, his gold skin losing luster. Jerking his hood to cover his face, and snapped his head away. Alira picked up on his actions immediately.
"What?" she knew that after their talk he wouldn't put his hood up again without good reason. They stopped riding. She saw a heedful of glimmering red-gold curls bouncing her way in a hurry, as though trying to catch up with them. She didn't know anyone who carried herself such a way, and those who did were often not the kind of people Alira associated with. The woman's painted face was probably once beautiful, but now taut and lined. It spoke of the stresses of life in a small-town, with nothing to do but bear children and keep house. She had a fairly good figure, though she had probably borne a child, guessing by the teeniest, noticeable-probably- only-to-other-women pooch at her waist. Aside from that, though, she was pretty, though her best feature was the wild, seductive curls.
"Majere!" she cried, her voice worn as her face.
"Raistlin, who is that?"
"Miranda." He whispered, pain and fear stemming out from that one name.
"How? What?"
Alira was fully confused. The woman caught up with them rather quickly. She seemed out of breath. "Where's Caramon?"
Her question was quick, and eager. Raistlin had to grip his saddle to keep himself from reaching out and slapping her or punching her, or SOMETHING. His eyes narrowed. In sudden spite and hatred, he pulled his hood down, not bothering to conceal the simmering pain and anger he felt for her. She nearly fainted when she saw him.
"Caramon," he spat the word the way you spit a vile curse, "isn't here. He will likely never come back. And if he does, I sincerely doubt it would be for love of you. You were not his first. Neither were you his last. He probably wouldn't remember you if you threw yourself at him the way you did years ago. Now, I will insist that you leave before your doltish company drives me to insanity.or worse, stupidity!"
Alira was shocked. This was the Raistlin she was told about. This was the cruel, hard, barely human person she had been warned against. She thought she knew his bad side before, but this was unspeakable. She was nearly overpowered by the sudden aroma of rose petals, spices.. and something more. Something smelled like death.
Miranda's eyes sparkled with tears. She stared open-mouthed at Raistlin. "But.Caramon."
Despite the news she received, she couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. Until Raistlin crushed that as well.
He sneered at her, glaring, delighting in the pain on her face. "Caramon. Caramon! Go back to your husband stop dreaming about when Caramon will take you back. He will never, ever come for you. Your time was over years ago. And now, I will leave, and you can snivel all you want about your long lost love."
The last three words, spoken with spite and sickeningly sweet hatred sent the tears rolling down Miranda's face. She clutched her skirts about her as though they were all that remained of her honor, and turned around. She was gone. The wound in Raistlin's heart re-opened, though this time it might have a chance of healing.
"I hope you had a reason to crush that poor girl!" Alira turned on him, the acid in her voicing matching his own tone when he spoke to her.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You need to. If you don't, you'll never get better. What happened? What about your brother?" she softened, seeing that he was truly wounded, not just holding a childish grudge.
Quietly, they rode on, and he whispered the story to her.
"It was very long ago, and I was rather taken with her. She was the prettiest girl in town, sweet, always wore the nicest clothes because her parents owned the local cloth store and such. One day I bumped into her, and she was nice to me.suggested we might get together some time and talk. I was foolish, and full of ridiculous ideas that she might actually like me. Me, instead of Caramon. Anyway, that night, I was walking around, near her place, and debated whether or not to go and speak to her parents. Or to her. But it was rude for a young man to go about at night asking to see a young woman. So I didn't. But I heard a sound, I think it was some sort of storage shed, if I remember correctly. I don't really remember that part too well, as afterwards I found myself retching and drinking from a public barrel. But I remember that I figured I could catch the criminal in the shed or whatever stealing, and peeked inside. I saw Caramon and Miranda. I don't suppose you want me to tell you what they were doing."
Raistlin was still definitely aching over that. His first (apparently) encounter with a crush ended in such a psychologically damaging way that Alira suddenly forgave him. She understood crushes well enough.but since she had never actually acted on those crushes, she had no experience whatsoever with heartbreak. Seeing Raistlin so vulnerable made her want to just hug him, despite his last comment.
"Whore." Alira said simply, certain that this little comment would help. It did. He laughed.
Then Alira reached out towards him, grabbing the belt around his waist. More specifically, she grabbed at a certain pouch. When her hand closed around it, she gave it one, firm tug and it slipped right off. Peeking inside, she smiled triumphantly, looked him straight in his shocked face and drew her arm back as far as she could. She flung the pouch of Raistlin's tea far into the woods. At first, he just stuttered.
"You don't need it." She said simply, and he gave her a weak smile, clutching his staff the tighter.
Later that night, they were readying for sleep, their bedrolls ready and them about to tuck themselves in. Raistlin, sitting next to her in front of the fire, which they intended to put out right before they slept, reached into the sleeve of his robes. He fiddled around with something there, and first Alira thought he was performing a bit of sleight of hand. But instead of rabbits, or a dove, or flowers, he pulled out a strange leather-thong thing with a bright, beautiful dagger slipped into it. It was complicated.
Raistlin reached for her wrist, and slowly attached the strange instrument, making sure she saw every step.
"Okay, flick your wrist like this," he demonstrated. When she did as he said, the dagger, it's beautiful razor-edges sharp as a dragon's tooth, slid into her hand, ready for a stab or slash. She laughed, albeit nervously.
"It's beautiful! Where did you get it?" she admired it.
"An old friend. Perhaps some day I'll tell you about him. But, it's yours now." He said, a fond smile creeping over his features.
"Oh, no! I couldn't take this, it's probably worth a fortune!" she exclaimed, biting her tongue and getting ready to take it off.
"No, please. Please, I want you to have it." he said awkwardly. She looked into his eyes, the strange hourglass eyes, and this time they weren't perfect mirrors. She saw in his eyes the explanation of his heart.
Reaching out with her un-daggered hand, she took his slender fingers, the familiar burn of his skin soothing her, and gave them one, quick, acceptance squeeze.
Raistlin awoke, slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb the slumbering woman lying next to him. Her head still rested on his chest, and he could feel her soft breathing against his robes. Her soft hair was insane; it was tangled and thrown about everywhere, pell-mell. Even Raistlin had to admit that it looked kind of funny, but as he rested his head against her, and breathed in her scent, he no longer thought about her appearance.
It was too much for him. Raistlin had never in his life been bombarded with so many strong feelings, and it confused him thoroughly. He hated it, not having complete control. Above all, he had always prided himself on his supreme will power, his ability to rise above all humanly feelings with his ambition.and now that was being torn from him.
But a remarkable change took place that morning. He heard an audible snapping crackle, as though chains were being broken. Suddenly, an indescribable change took place. It was amazing. It was almost as though Raistlin's soul was.release. Freed. Raistlin was unfettered by something.
He didn't know it was Fistandantilus.
When Alira woke, she was surprised to see that Raistlin was still there with her. She vaguely remembered falling asleep with him near, but she hadn't remembered whether or not he left. Now, however, she was fairly certain he hadn't left.
Quietly, slowly, she lifted her head from his chest; glad to see she hadn't drooled in her sleep. She knew she was a mess, yet still she looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back down at her, warmth radiating from his face.
"The Elf-child." She whispered. "We need to find her."
"What Elf?" he asked.
"The one in my dream." She replied.
"The one from last night? What happened?"
"I don't really know. She said a lot of things, but I can't remember them! She was so beautiful.and I met her in the forest.she must be a Silvanesti Elf. We have to find her.that's why we need to go to Silvanesti. I'm sure of it!" she cried, suddenly frantic. He hushed her, trying to calm her down. After a while, she finally calmed enough to come to her senses.
"Do you think we can leave today?" she asked.
"As you wish." He said, hearing the order behind her words. Raistlin was packed and ready just as she finished with her own packing.
They retrieved their horses and were soon riding on their way to Silvanesti, pointed towards the Elven land by a few of the kind people of Solace. They were riding through an area rather densely packed with people when Raistlin saw from the corner of his peripheral vision red-gold curls. Few people of Solace had curls, and few people carried them the way a certain person did. He paled, his gold skin losing luster. Jerking his hood to cover his face, and snapped his head away. Alira picked up on his actions immediately.
"What?" she knew that after their talk he wouldn't put his hood up again without good reason. They stopped riding. She saw a heedful of glimmering red-gold curls bouncing her way in a hurry, as though trying to catch up with them. She didn't know anyone who carried herself such a way, and those who did were often not the kind of people Alira associated with. The woman's painted face was probably once beautiful, but now taut and lined. It spoke of the stresses of life in a small-town, with nothing to do but bear children and keep house. She had a fairly good figure, though she had probably borne a child, guessing by the teeniest, noticeable-probably- only-to-other-women pooch at her waist. Aside from that, though, she was pretty, though her best feature was the wild, seductive curls.
"Majere!" she cried, her voice worn as her face.
"Raistlin, who is that?"
"Miranda." He whispered, pain and fear stemming out from that one name.
"How? What?"
Alira was fully confused. The woman caught up with them rather quickly. She seemed out of breath. "Where's Caramon?"
Her question was quick, and eager. Raistlin had to grip his saddle to keep himself from reaching out and slapping her or punching her, or SOMETHING. His eyes narrowed. In sudden spite and hatred, he pulled his hood down, not bothering to conceal the simmering pain and anger he felt for her. She nearly fainted when she saw him.
"Caramon," he spat the word the way you spit a vile curse, "isn't here. He will likely never come back. And if he does, I sincerely doubt it would be for love of you. You were not his first. Neither were you his last. He probably wouldn't remember you if you threw yourself at him the way you did years ago. Now, I will insist that you leave before your doltish company drives me to insanity.or worse, stupidity!"
Alira was shocked. This was the Raistlin she was told about. This was the cruel, hard, barely human person she had been warned against. She thought she knew his bad side before, but this was unspeakable. She was nearly overpowered by the sudden aroma of rose petals, spices.. and something more. Something smelled like death.
Miranda's eyes sparkled with tears. She stared open-mouthed at Raistlin. "But.Caramon."
Despite the news she received, she couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. Until Raistlin crushed that as well.
He sneered at her, glaring, delighting in the pain on her face. "Caramon. Caramon! Go back to your husband stop dreaming about when Caramon will take you back. He will never, ever come for you. Your time was over years ago. And now, I will leave, and you can snivel all you want about your long lost love."
The last three words, spoken with spite and sickeningly sweet hatred sent the tears rolling down Miranda's face. She clutched her skirts about her as though they were all that remained of her honor, and turned around. She was gone. The wound in Raistlin's heart re-opened, though this time it might have a chance of healing.
"I hope you had a reason to crush that poor girl!" Alira turned on him, the acid in her voicing matching his own tone when he spoke to her.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You need to. If you don't, you'll never get better. What happened? What about your brother?" she softened, seeing that he was truly wounded, not just holding a childish grudge.
Quietly, they rode on, and he whispered the story to her.
"It was very long ago, and I was rather taken with her. She was the prettiest girl in town, sweet, always wore the nicest clothes because her parents owned the local cloth store and such. One day I bumped into her, and she was nice to me.suggested we might get together some time and talk. I was foolish, and full of ridiculous ideas that she might actually like me. Me, instead of Caramon. Anyway, that night, I was walking around, near her place, and debated whether or not to go and speak to her parents. Or to her. But it was rude for a young man to go about at night asking to see a young woman. So I didn't. But I heard a sound, I think it was some sort of storage shed, if I remember correctly. I don't really remember that part too well, as afterwards I found myself retching and drinking from a public barrel. But I remember that I figured I could catch the criminal in the shed or whatever stealing, and peeked inside. I saw Caramon and Miranda. I don't suppose you want me to tell you what they were doing."
Raistlin was still definitely aching over that. His first (apparently) encounter with a crush ended in such a psychologically damaging way that Alira suddenly forgave him. She understood crushes well enough.but since she had never actually acted on those crushes, she had no experience whatsoever with heartbreak. Seeing Raistlin so vulnerable made her want to just hug him, despite his last comment.
"Whore." Alira said simply, certain that this little comment would help. It did. He laughed.
Then Alira reached out towards him, grabbing the belt around his waist. More specifically, she grabbed at a certain pouch. When her hand closed around it, she gave it one, firm tug and it slipped right off. Peeking inside, she smiled triumphantly, looked him straight in his shocked face and drew her arm back as far as she could. She flung the pouch of Raistlin's tea far into the woods. At first, he just stuttered.
"You don't need it." She said simply, and he gave her a weak smile, clutching his staff the tighter.
Later that night, they were readying for sleep, their bedrolls ready and them about to tuck themselves in. Raistlin, sitting next to her in front of the fire, which they intended to put out right before they slept, reached into the sleeve of his robes. He fiddled around with something there, and first Alira thought he was performing a bit of sleight of hand. But instead of rabbits, or a dove, or flowers, he pulled out a strange leather-thong thing with a bright, beautiful dagger slipped into it. It was complicated.
Raistlin reached for her wrist, and slowly attached the strange instrument, making sure she saw every step.
"Okay, flick your wrist like this," he demonstrated. When she did as he said, the dagger, it's beautiful razor-edges sharp as a dragon's tooth, slid into her hand, ready for a stab or slash. She laughed, albeit nervously.
"It's beautiful! Where did you get it?" she admired it.
"An old friend. Perhaps some day I'll tell you about him. But, it's yours now." He said, a fond smile creeping over his features.
"Oh, no! I couldn't take this, it's probably worth a fortune!" she exclaimed, biting her tongue and getting ready to take it off.
"No, please. Please, I want you to have it." he said awkwardly. She looked into his eyes, the strange hourglass eyes, and this time they weren't perfect mirrors. She saw in his eyes the explanation of his heart.
Reaching out with her un-daggered hand, she took his slender fingers, the familiar burn of his skin soothing her, and gave them one, quick, acceptance squeeze.