Disclaimer: Characters and setting belong to Weis, Hickman and Wizards of the Coast.
Summary: Unbeknownst to Caramon, Raistlin meets up with one of his brother's girlfriends and aids her with an embarrassing personal matter. Purely gen. Set pre Chronicles, possibly slips in sometime during Soulforge.
Warnings: May be triggery. References to infant death.

It was chilly and clear that evening, with a faint taste on the air, like sugar and cinnamon from the early flowers of the vallenwood trees. The younger of the Majere brothers blew on his hands impatiently, eyes drifting to the sky. Solinari was waxing, just visible past the scudding clouds as a dull silver disc, sliced off prematurely at the edges. He smiled grimly, tipping his fingers in a kind of salute. Lunitari was still under the horizon, her influence dimly felt against the edges of his mind. When she became visible, he decided, he would give up and leave. Already he had wasted enough time waiting for his brother's current paramour, for a matter so delicate that it had to be conducted outside the borders of the town, at a time when most people were indoors enjoying their evening meal. Possibly she wanted a charm or curse put on her rivals. Doubtless, there were few girls left in the village who had not sampled Caramon's ... virtues. He brushed the thought away; his brother could go and have all the brainless doxies in Ansalon, for all he cared. Let him be trapped by some harlot who could talk him into marriage. Better he stayed in some backwater little town, anyway; he had no ambition, no drive.

Vaguely Raistlin was aware that he had clenched his fists tightly enough that the nails were drawing blood. Deliberately he relaxed, leaning against the vallenwood in an expression of nonchalance, and wiped his hands on his robe. Not a moment too soon it seemed, as the girl finally decided to make an entrance.

Even in the darkening light, he could distinguish the figure of Kisana Eldridge quite clearly. The auburn hair sweeping to her waist. The graceful hips. The sinuous way of moving which all Solace girls developed from navigating the swaying walkways strung up amongst the vallenwoods. She was clearly in a hurry, so at least she had some conception of what this delay in time was costing him.

"Raistlin," she said in acknowledgement. He merely nodded. She was a good half a head taller than him, but tonight her shoulders seemed to sag, her face tired and worn. In a few years her beauty would fade, but he doubted Caramon would keep her long enough for that to be a problem. Maybe what she wanted was a love charm. There was no long term spell Raistlin knew that would prolong the pangs of affection, and watching his brother acting even more of the lovesick fool did not appeal to him. Kisana, however, was paying him well so there was no need for her to know that.

"You told no one you were meeting me?"

"No."

"Not even your brother?"

Raistlin's eyes flashed in irritation. "No," he snapped. "Now, will you tell me what you want?"

She drew herself up haughtily, making the most of her height, and he was forced to remind himself that this was a girl who could shoot a longbow dead centre from fourscore yards. No doubt the exercise had improved her stamina, he thought bitterly, before recovering his indifferent poise.

"I need something," she began stiffly, "that can return a woman's cycles to normal."

He hesitated for a moment, grasping for her meaning. Fortunately Lunitari shed her cold, red light on the situation, and he relaxed, almost laughing out loud. So that was all.

"Surely the apothecary would be a wiser choice?"

"My father would find out." Her eyes flickered to him, jaw set in a hard line, defying him to mock her. "I can't allow that, do you understand?"

He understood quite well. Looking at her, it was hard not to smile. So this is what master Theobald felt, as he stood at the head of the class each morning, reviewing the nervous, sullen students who were at the mercy of his whims. Power.

"You think my silence is so easily bought? What makes me different?"

She shifted uneasily, fiddling with the scarf over her head. "Your brother... his reputation would be sullied if I -"

"Caramon would only have to claim that you were lying. Cheating on him with the merchants from Palanthas, in return for their perfumes and silks," he suggested silkily.

"He wouldn't."

Raistlin considered this. It was true - had she been the greatest whore on Krynn, Caramon would still stand by her. It was one of his infantile mannerisms that had so irritated Raistlin more times than he could count.

"Will you tell him?" he asked at last.

"No," she said firmly. "And neither will you."

He shrugged, diffidently. "In that case I shall have to raise my price."

"This is all I have," she said sharply. Close to tears, but not quite. He wondered what it would take to give that extra little nudge, and whether he could manage it without compromising the deal. She was wearing a low cut blouse exposing her shoulders, and her skin was fine and milky, covered in goosebumps from the chilly air. She was, all things considered, quite lovely. And she would assent to him. She had to. No one would ever know.

Kisana drew in a sharp breath as she followed his gaze. "Is that what you want?"

Slowly, she reached for the laces on her shirt, fingers clumsy and numb from the cold. It was that fumbling gesture that set a wave of repulsion overcoming his lust. Here was his brother's whore, turning to him in desperation because of Caramon's seed thrust deeply inside her. Did she scream his name? Did she get down on her knees and beg for it?

He turned away in disgust. There was no way he would accept anyone's discarded seconds.

"Save it," he said to her brusquely. "Come tomorrow after sundown, the mixture will be ready." She mumbled something that may have been thanks. "I'll take half the steel now."

He watched her count the coins into a pouch and slipped it into his robes before taking his leave. There was enough to buy some of the rarer spell components, like a piece of griffin's eggshell, or some beetlenut wings. He really ought to thank his brother for the opportunity. Perhaps they could make a business of it; Caramon would fuck the girls and Raistlin would relive them of the embarrassing results.

Shaking his head, he took a coin and played it over his fingers, the metal spinning in an intricate dance under Solinari's light. It was time to head home.

.

.

.

The following night, Caramon was displaying an uncharacteristic melancholy, moping around the small room they shared and blocking the light so that Raistlin found it quite impossible to study. "By Magius' staff, leave me in peace!" he finally snapped as his quill spluttered and dropped a large blob of ink on his scroll, obliterating a good two hours' work. "Go chase a bit of skirt like you usually do."

"That's just the thing, Raist," Caramon said, plonking his large frame onto the only other seat in the room. "She's been avoiding me lately. Acting real strange. Women, huh?" He laughed, and punched his twin's shoulder good-naturedly. "Lucky you don't have to put up with them, right?"

Raistlin's lips curved into a smile, the candlelight dancing in his eyes. "Of course, my brother," he said dryly. "I am most fortunate of men."

And why not. Making life was nothing; all it took was a pair of open legs and a moment of sweating thrusts. Taking life, however... he let his eyes drift to his newest acquisition, floating in a jar of brine in a corner of the room where Caramon could not stumble across it accidentally. It was tiny, red and frog-like with its delicate, translucent skull. Doubtless he would find some use for it sooner or later.

"Most fortunate," he echoed, and smiling, blew out the light.