Dalamar's joke courtesy of Dragonlance Underground- Krynnish Light bulb Jokes.

This chapter was incredibly hard to get up, not to write, but to post up. Since my internet is still down I had to recieve and post it at an internet cafe. Anyway, merry christmas to all of you and by the gods, leave reviews!

Tsukiyo no Yume: The elves can be right bastards, can't they? Only to be emphasised in this chapter, the companions are entering Qualinesti, and no one's happy Dalamar's coming. Least of all Dalamar himelf...

Dalamar Nightson: Thank you for reviewing all the chapters! I'm glad you like it.

Crepuscule

Chapter 15 - Of Pain.

When your trees start to sway
And the wind makes them move
I can tell that
You don't know
-Lost Prophets, Sway

Although Dalamar was infinitly grateful that the elves had allowed them into Qualinesti, it was purely for Raistlin's sake. Had he been the only one at risk, he would had far prefered taking his chances with the draconians.

And how could it be different, when every step drove an emotional dagger deeper into the unhealed wounds of his exile? It was too familiar, this place, and it hurt in ways that even Raistlin, with whom he had shared almost ever waking thought, would never understand.

It was not the place itself, but the underlying feeling of it, reminding him of the connection he had lost. Before, it had been possible to disregard it. In other lands, he could ignore the pain until he forgot it even hurt, until the pain was banished into dreams and he'd covered it with so many layers of ice and steel, he could forget it ever existed. But it still hurt, he knew that now. It hurt a lot. It wasn't anything tangible, nor was it a memory- his life in Silvanesti had been anything but idyllic. All elves had a deep connection to their land, and exile broke it. Dalamar had shut himself off to it when he had been banished; it had hurt too much to cope with, then or now, so he had done his best to forget it, until he could barely remember what it felt like. He remembered now, just as he remembered exactly why most elves preferred death to exile. And he remembered just how close he himself had sometimes come to making that very choice.

He'd drawn his hood down over his face, and slid his hands into the sleeves of his robe. A clear message that he wanted to be left alone, huddling into his robes like a tortoise into it's shell, trying to block out the world.

Raistlin had understood, he had fallen into step behind him but hadn't spoken since they'd started walking. Dalamar was grateful, he didn't want to talk.

No one had approached him; the most he'd received had been a few ugly looks from the elves, who were obviously furious at having to break the long held taboo of banishment. Dalamar felt the cold knotting of anger inside him, and felt himself longing to lash out. How dared they look at him like this? How dared they drag him through this, re-open wounds he had spent years in closing? He felt a flash of anger towards Raistlin, then brutally stamped on it. Dalamar raised a hand to rub his face, and one of the guards started, raising his spear as if expecting the Dark elf to attack. Dalamar snarled at him, and the elf took a step back and turned away quickly.

They were to an open glade where the rest of the caravan's prisoners were milling around. One of the elves was trying to retain order and ordering the refugees to go south. Goldmoon took objection to this treatment, shouting at the elf's callousness, who did not back down. It was only when Gilthanas spoke to him that the elflord calmed. Apparently, the newcomer was his brother, Porthios.

Well, whoever he was, the elflord was not pleased to see them, even less pleased at the sight of Tanis, and furious at the sight of Dalamar. Porthios took a step forward when he saw the Dark elf, his hand going to his sword, and it was only Gilthanas' intervention that prevented the situation from escalating into a bloodshed. Even after his brother had explained, the elf lord's eyes were still narrowed with hate and his hand remained on the hilt of his sword. Dalamar bared his teeth, reaching for his dagger. If that fool thought him an easy target, he'd soon learn of his error.

Porthios turned away first, glaring at Gilthanas, before stalking away, motioning the others to follow. At his gesture, two dozen elven warriors stepped out of the trees and shepherded them forwards.

One particularly angry or daring elf made to jab at Dalamar with his spear. He sidestepped the blow and snarled at the fool, "Do not touch me."

Porthios turned, speaking to the elven mage for the first time, "You are in no position to make demands, Dark elf."

Dalamar bit back the remark he desperately wanted to make. As in Silvanesti, as in Darken Wood, he had no say here. He would have to do as commanded because they would be looking for an excuse to kill him. He was surrounded by enemies and would do well to not forget that fact.

He felt a light touch on his arm. He turned and met Raistlin's eyes. The red robed mage motioned him to lag back with him.

Dalamar pulled away; he didn't want to talk. He felt cold and angry, and knew Raistlin would never understand what he was feeling. Nor would he want him to. His attitude wasn't fair on his lover, but at this moment, Dalamar couldn't stand anyone's company.

Raistlin seemed to understand. He tightened his grip on the Dark elf's arm briefly, offering comfort, then drew back. When you want to talk, I'll be here.

Dalamar sighed, a little of the tension and pain dispelled by the subtle show of support.

The journey was not one Dalamar would be anxious to repeat. It passed in silence and, even without the dark mutterings and the constant threat of his guides becoming his executioners, it was truly painful.

He had never been inside Qualinesti before, the closest he had come was to the edges of the elven forest. And that only twice, once while coming from Tarsis, where he had met Raistlin for the first time, and another while the two of them had been travelling to the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth. So why was it, when they arrived at the edge of a high cliff overlooking the city of Qualinost, that Dalamar felt as though someone had twisted a knife into his heart? It was not that the city resembled Silvanost; they were truly different places. But the differences recalled his old home every bit as well as the similarities, everything there reminding him of a place he would never see again, the very beauty of the city scraping on his raw nerves like sandpaper.

It was a relief when Gilthanas led them out of sight of Qualinost, into a small grove of trees. They were to stop here for a while, the elflord informed them before walking over to stand with his brother. Dalamar slid to the ground, only now realising how tired he was. They had been given little food in the slave caravans, and the walk had drained him of what little energy he had.

Raistlin sat beside him. He didn't talk, but simply stayed close, his slender hand on Dalamar's arm, giving what comfort he could, and for that, the elven wizard was thankful. Bad enough to be suffering through this together, he found it hard to imagine how painful it would be alone.

"Dalamar-" Raistlin started.

The Dark elf pulled away, he didn't want to talk. "No."

The young mage stiffened at the abrupt rebuff, golden eyes closing for a moment before he nodded his acceptance and turned away.

Some part of Dalamar felt gratified at Raistlin's hurt reaction, after all, it was because of him they were here to begin with, and he hadn't forgotten thair argument in the slave caravans. He knew that he didn't really believe any of this, he was simply hurting and angry and lashing out at anyone who came near him, and so tired -both mentally and physically- that he couldn't banish the emotion.

Over to one side, Gilthanas and Tanis had been talking, and now the elflord turned back to the group and asked them to follow him. Reluctantly, Dalamar got to his feet. Bitterly he wondered if he might have been better off dodging draconians on the road. A pointless thought. This could have been Silvanesti and he would still have entered for Raistlin's sake, no matter how agonising it would have been.

Again, he walked in silence, unable to dredge up enough curiosity to eavesdrop the continuing conversation between Gilthanas and Half-elven. The two were walking close together, whispering in elven. Brushing them both out of his mind, and wishing he could get rid of his emotions so easily, Dalamar couldn't help but look around. They were back in sight of the city, and again Dalamar felt the deep tearing pain inside him, a reminder of the connection he had once had and had lost. So close to the feeling of his old home to taunt him with memories, but different enough to make it impossible to soothe the old wounds.

But perhaps that was for the best. It would be far worse to feel the connection with the land again, and to know that he would only lose it anew. Banishment all over again. The reminder that he would never be rid of this pain was clearer than ever, as was the one that the pain would never grow any less, no matter how long he lived. Dalamar was so lost in his thoughts that, when Tanis stopped, he nearly walked straight into the half-elf's back.

Tanis didn't notice. "Leaving Qualinesti?" He was shocked enough to switch to common.

Dalamar stared. Gilthanas sent him a black look and nodded to Tanis.

"You can't mean it!" The half-elf had switched back to elven. "Leaving Qualinesti! Why? Surely things aren't so bad-"

"They are worse," Gilthanas said shortly. "And if you don't tell that pet Dark elf of yours to stop eavesdropping, we will make sure he never tells anyone about this -or anything else- again."

Half-elven spun around; clearly, he hadn't noticed Dalamar and was not pleased to see him now. The elven mage gave them both a death's-head grin and a mocking bow before stepping away. So they thought him a spy? So be it. The first one to challenge him would bear the brunt of all the rage, pain, and loss that had been heaped on him since he'd set foot in this place. He would be all too happy to share it.

It was true that the elves were leaving Qualinesti, although it was not immediately obvious and Dalamar had shut off that part of himself for so long that it was hard to read the signs. To read them in the faces of those passing or hear of it in the trees. The trees were different here, and he had almost forgotten how to listen to them. But there was no mistaking the whispers of loss. The tension in the beautiful city was so palpable that he was almost expecting Caramon to have noticed. The shared fear and pain in the place was enough to send cold shivers up his spine.

Dalamar suddenly realised what he was doing and forced himself to focus. What was it to him what happened here? he reminded himself. This was not Silvanesti, but even if it were, what would it change? This was not his place, had never been, even before he had been banished. Yes, he missed his homeland, but to open himself to the feelings of this place was only to invite more pain when he was forced to leave.

The knot inside him seemed to loosen a little at the realisation and he turned to look at their guides. Elves all, they belonged to this place as he didn't, and there wasn't one of them that wouldn't destroy him given half a chance. Despite the beauty of this place and the memories it dredged up, Qualinost was no less dangerous than Darken Wood, and he would do well to remember that.

Dalamar closed his eyes, and, like in Darken Wood, pulled himself together, the feeling of danger clearing his mind. It still hurt to be here, but the pain no longer clouded his thoughts. Even so, it was hard to fight down the stab inside him when he saw the Tower of the Sun. Like the rest of Qualinesti, it was at once similar and different to the counterpart he remembered, the Tower of the Stars in Silvanesti.

Still, he fought down the pain, forcing himself to look though the haze of hindsight and nostalgia. He would have never been able to enter the Tower of the Stars the way he was entering its Qualinost counterpart, Dalamar knew. He had been of house Servitor, and if he was ever allowed into the place, it was to work in the kitchens. His life had been far from ideal, and to pretend it had been was to lie to himself. He had far too many real pains to add false ones to it.

It was cool inside as they were led to a small alcove, and even that insignificant room was decorated and carved into a thing of beauty. Basins and pitchers of water were placed there, and again the Dark elf was reminded of Darken Wood; they had ignored his presence again. Somehow, the sheer pettiness made the pain inside him easier to bear. In reminding him of Darken Wood, it made everything less personal, and it made him remember, once again, the bad things of his old life.

He shared Raistlin's basin, shooting the younger mage an apologetic look while he washed his hands. He had taken his pain out on his lover earlier, when it had hardly been his fault.

Raistlin smiled, hands slipping into the water to touch the Dark elf's, fingers linking.

Dalamar was surprised to feel his lips twitching into a wry smile, and felt Raistlin kiss the side of his face lightly.

Here too was something he had never had in Silvanesti.

He had just washed away the dust from his throat, when Porthios appeared and ordered them to follow him.

Dalamar had never been into a Speaker's chamber. Even in Silvanesti, he had been banned from entering that of the ruler of the eastern elves. So he was just as awestruck as the rest of the companions. The chamber seemed immense, and ornately decorated, and the sight of such drew out the pain again. The place was an image of everything the Dark elf had missed in his exile. The sheer beauty was enough to make him turn away, it hurt too much. To try and distance himself, he looked up at the ceiling. That too had been decorated, inlayed with a mosaic that mirrored the sky. Half of the dome was given to the day, blue sky and golden sun, while the other was to the night, to the stars and the two moons. Then Dalamar gave a thin smile. A few tiles had fallen out in the night mosaic, and the hole resembled nothing less than the moon of his patron, Nuitari.

The sight gave him strength, strength enough to lift his eyes and meet those of the Heads of Households. The elves looked disgruntled at having to accommodate the likes of humans and dwarves, although they limited themselves to forbidding looks. Sturm had his fair share of shocked expressions, and there were more than a few mutters at the sight of Raistlin in his red robes. They had no such restraint at the sight of Dalamar. The chamber rang with outraged hisses, and one elf actually stepped forward, looking at the Dark elf with loathing. "Speaker!" he demanded, looking over at an older elf -presumably the Speaker- dressed in yellow robes. "I demand to know the reason for this outrage. To allow a Dark elf within our lands! And at this time of war!"

"Enough, Rashas," the Speaker commanded, although his eyes lingered on the elven mage, and he looked no more pleased than anyone else at the sight of him. "There will be time enough after this. They are going nowhere."

The elf subsided, muttering and shooting dark looks at everyone.

Raistlin came to stand beside Dalamar. He probably thought that the response would hurt his lover, but in truth, if anything, it made it easier to bear. It would have been far worse for him had the elves been cordial. As it was, it would make it much easier to leave this place. In fact, Dalamar already wanted to.

Raistlin took Dalamar's hand and the Dark elf sent him a quick look, reassuring him that he would be fine.

It wasn't this so much as the suspicious mutterings of those close enough to see them hold hands that prompted Dalamar to do what he did next: He kissed Raistlin lightly on the cheek, then looked out of the corner of his eye of watch the reaction. He spotted the outspoken elf first, and had to hide a smile. The Dark elf had never seen anyone turn quite that shade of puce before. It was petty, but right now Dalamar was in the mood for some sort of revenge, no matter how small.

Deciding he had pushed his luck enough for one day, Dalamar stepped back away from the scrutiny of the crowd, pulling Raistlin with him. They listened to Gilthanas and Porthios as they spoke to their father. It was little more than they already knew, although the Speaker mentioned a raid on Pax Tharkas, and the two mages shared a quick look. So Pax Tharkas, symbol of peace, had been dragged into this war too?

Gilthanas continued, describing how his group had fallen foul of a draconian patrol and how he had been left for dead. Gasps of shock rose as he portrayed Solace's destruction, and how his men had been executed, burnt to ashes by the breath of a red dragon. The dragon had a rider, the elf continued, a cleric of the Dark Queen by the name of Verminaard. Dalamar remembered the missing constellations and nodded slightly to himself. It made sense. And Verminaard -hadn't the black dragon of Xak Tsaroth mentioned him? So the man had not only black, but also red dragons at his command. Therefore, Goldmoon was not the only one with the powers of the old Gods.

And it was that power that Gilthanas was now recalling, telling them all how she had healed Theros Ironfeld. The Speaker's face registered nothing but disbelief at that proclamation, and he commanded Goldmoon to step forward. At the sight of the medallion of Mishakal, he became enraged. "Blasphemy!" The Speaker lunged forward to rip the medallion from the Plainswoman's throat. There was a flare of blue light and the elven ruler was thrown back.

Dalamar took a step back as swords were drawn, reaching for his pouch of spell components. Beside him, Raistlin did the same, the two mages readying themselves for the fight.

"Stop this nonsense!" The Dark elf looked around and stared at the sight of Fizban. The mad old magician strolled up to the rostrum, pushing past the guards without a second thought.

Dalamar was starting to understand why Raistlin was so suspicious of the old mage: None of the elves made a move to stop the man, although the Dark elf could see in their eyes that they certainly wanted to. Yet, no one opposed Fizban as he reached the Speaker and helped him to his feet, muttering inanely to himself and waving his hat all over the place. Still, despite this eccentric behaviour, the result was unmistakable: The Speaker blinked, and turned back to Goldmoon, a vague expression on his face as he apologised, and let her tell her story.

Yes, there was definitely something strange about the white robe, Dalamar thought, staring at the Speaker's dreamy expression as the Plainswoman finished her narration. An expression that vanished however, when the Speaker's eyes locked on him. The ruler of the Qualinesti looked over at his son, grim faced. "You have not explained why, in this time of such danger, you have broken our laws and brought a Dark elf into our midst. To do such a thing even in a time of peace..."

"His companions have vouched for his behaviour," Gilthanas answered, shortly. "He was locked in the slave cages with the rest, and was the one who got us out of there in the first place. The others would not have come with us without him."

"But still..." He looked back at Dalamar. "You! You were from Silvanesti, were you not?"

The Dark elf stepped forward, sending Raistlin a short look telling him to stay put, and gave the Speaker a look that was just this side of mocking. "I'm sure they would deny it if you asked them."

One of the guards cracked him across the back with the butt of his spear, and Dalamar fell to his knee, the blow had knocked the wind out ofn him and he was again forcibly reminded of Darken Wood. Raistlin helped him to his feet, glaring daggers at the guards before looking down at his lover, warning him to hold his tongue.

"Answer the question." The Speaker repeated, although Dalamar saw him glare at the guard who had struck him. The elf backed away.

"Yes," Dalamar forced out. His back was screaming and he couldn't stand up straight. He stared malevolently at the Speaker through narrowed eyes.

The Speaker nodded. "The Silvanesti had let in dragonarmy emissaries."

"What?" Anger and pain was swept away by sheer shock; the very idea seemed ridiculous. The people who had exiled him for worshiping a deity of darkness, welcome those who followed the self-same Gods? Who not only followed such Gods, but killed in their name? It sounded impossible. But then again, perhaps it wasn't all that surprising, if the dragonarmies had offered to leave them alone... Yes, an offer of neutrality would have been very agreeable to his old people.

"You did not know this?" The Speaker looked at him disbelievingly.

"I was exiled ten years ago," Dalamar spat, the words like nails of slate to his ears. Ten years this winter. Dear Nuitari, it sounded so short a time. He glanced over at Raistlin and felt the cold knot loosen a little, a reminder that not all of those ten years had been unpleasent.

"We will have him watched," Gilthanas was saying. "Any attempt to betray us-" His glare told Dalamar exactly what he was being threatened with. Clearly, the elven reverance for life didn't extend that far.

There was a long pause. Dalamar took the opportunity to straighten up, ignoring the stabs of pain in his spine and chest.

Finally the Speaker addressed them, "I must consider this and what it means to us. But you are exhausted. My daughter, Lauranthalasa, will guide you to a place where you can forget your fears." Dalamar sneered. "We will hold a banquet in your honour tonight, for you bring us hope." He looked at Goldmoon for long moments before continuing, "May the peace of the true Gods go with you."

Dalamar blinked at the sight of the elfmaiden that came to stand beside her father. It had been a long time since he'd seen a woman that beautiful, not since he had seen Princess Alhana Starbreeze. He wasn't the only one staring; Caramon's mouth was even hanging open. The woman -Lauranthalasa- was slender and striking, with clear crystal eyes and the longest hair the Dark elf had yet seen, and unlike his lover, Dalamar could certainly appreciate feminine beauty-

He was brought back to himself with hard nudge in the ribs from a rather irate-looking Raistlin, who was the only one not looking impressed. Dalamar knew he would see her as she was, his curse did not affect elves -thank Nuitari- but also knew that his lover had never had any interest whatsoever with women, and even less after Amberyl.

The twisted memory was enough to shake any pleasure out of the situation, and he sent his lover an apologetic look, rubbing the side of his face where he had been hit. Raistlin lifted an eyebrow, smirking, and Dalamar smiled back. Raistlin had no need to feel threatened, if nothing else, the elfwoman wouldn't even look at him, compete for his attention. And besides, he might look, but it would be Raistlin's arms he'd sleep in tonight and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Tasslehoff was giggling shamelessly at their little interaction, but the others barely paid the two mages any attention. Dalamar was particularly interested with the way Tanis was looking at the elfmaid. It was so much like, yet unlike, the way he himself looked at Raistlin.

The two mages shared a glance, and Dalamar rolled his eyes. Honestly, the half-human got so uptight about their relationship, while he himself was mooning after someone who was practically his sister. Dalamar wondered if he called out Lauranthalasa's name while with Kitiara. Probably. He shoved the thought out of his mind, he must truely be desperate for a iverstion if the best he could think of was Half-human's love life.

All the same, he did note the sharp look she paid Tanis, speaking to all of them, "I welcome you to Qualinost, honoured guests." Dalamar rubbed his aching back and snorted. "Please follow me. The way is not far, and there is food and drink at the end."

She moved past them, pausing only to look up at Tanis before leading them out of the chamber.

As unpleasant as the meeting with the Speaker had been, it had helped Dalamar gather his thoughts. He now wanted to leave Qualinesti as soon as possible. Unfortunately, this wasn't actually possible, since the Dark elf expected that any attempt to sneak away would be interpreted as an act of betrayal. In fact, the only thing that made this place any better than Darken Wood was the fact that no one here seemed interested in hurting Raistlin.

They had been led to a grove of trees in the centre of the city, food had been brought, and they had been left to their own devices. Dalamar had washed off the filth of the last few days in a small brook that ran though the trees, and had sat down under one of the aspen trees, brooding.

Raistlin sat down next to him, one hand on the Dark elf's. "How are you feeling?"

Dalamar looked up, to where Laurana -as Half-elven called her- was talking with Flint. "Better."

"I had feared-"

The Dark elf leant forwards and nuzzled Raistlin's hair. "I know."

"They way they treated you-"

He laughed hollowly, "Worse if they had been kind to me. As it is, it just reminds me of what I hated when I lived in Silvanesti and made me want to leave all the sooner."

Raistlin smiled and nodded. "Do you believe he told you the truth? About Silvanesti?"

Dalamar's smile grew twisted. "Probably, if the dragonarmies offered to leave them alone. My old people never cared much for what happened outside their borders."

"So they think of the dragonarmies as someone else's problem, and leave them to it?"

"There's an old joke I used to hear inTarsis," Dalamar murmured. "'How many Silvanesti does it take to change a lamp wick?'"

Raistlin thought it over, then shrugged.

"'None. The humans burnt it out, let them fix it.'" The Dark elf looked up, smiling thinly.

Raistlin laughed softly and nodded.

Dalamar looked up suddenly, spotting Laurana walking towards them. He stared at her coldly. "Yes, what do you want?"

Unlike the other elves, the elfmaid didn't look angry at the sight of him, instead she looked frightened. She must have been told so many horror stories about Dark elves that she couldn't even look him in the face.

"I thought you might be hungry." She said hesitanantly,offering a basket to them. The smell of freshly baked bread made Dalamar's mouth water; it had been far too long since he'd eaten.

Still he hesitated, after the behaviour of everyone else they'd met here, he doubted that this was the only reason she had come, but still she didn't say or do anything but hold out the basket. Finally, when no terms seemed to be forthcoming, he reached out and took it from her. "Thank you."

Laurana backed away, as if afraid the Dark elf would attack her when her back was turned. The two mages looked at each other. Raistlin shrugged. "She was told to play the gracious hostess. Clearly, she thought that included you."

Dalamar looked back at Laurana, then shrugged. If the elfmaid wanted to treat him decently, he wouldn't be one to argue. Besides, the bread looked as though it would taste every bit as pleasant as it looked. They shared the food there and then, sitting under the trees, Raistlin occasionally dipping the bread in some water to make it easier to eat. The time passed in comfortable silence, enjoying the good food and even better company.

Dalamar scooted back, pushing the half-empty basket away. They had both eaten their fill and it would be hours before they were called. The clearing was quiet, the others either absent or asleep. Really, it had been far too long since they'd had this kind of privacy. And while they couldn't indulge themselves the way the Dark elf knew they would both certainly like to, it would be enough just to be together like this. He lent back against a tree, then reached out and grabbed Raistlin around the waist, pulling the startled mage into his lap.

Besides, there was always tonight.

Raistlin smiled turned in Dalamar's arms, kissing him, hands on his shoulders. The Dark elf kissed back, happily, his lips moving over Raistlin's, feeling the weight of the last few days -the slave caravan, Raistlin's illness, and their subsequent argument, the pain of being in elven lands- slip away. They were safe, they were whole, and they were together. And this, Dalamar realised, was something he would never, ever have had if he had stayed in Silvanesti.

He would never have had moments like this, relishing the slow build up of desire and delighting in each other.

Never would have been able to share so many moments together, the simple, loving companionship that Dalamar had come to rely on and treasure.

Never would have fallen in love with this most brilliant, incredible person.

And right now, with his hands wound around Raistlin's neck and the young mage's starting to slide under his robes, Dalamar decided that if he ever saw Alhana Starbreeze again, he would thank her.

Please review. -begs-

Skull Bearer.