Title: "Fallen... The Tale of Isolde Calamon"

Author: LegolasLover2003 aka Ashley

Category: Book - "Dragonlance"

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: YA / PG-13

Disclaimer: Refer to the prologue for this.

Author's Note: The song I used for this chapter (song use was covered in the prologue disclaimer), as well as the chapter's title, is "Bring Me To Life" by Evanescence from the album, Fallen.
As a note, I would like to point out that, for some reason, I always thought that the constellation of Gilean was a Balanced Scale. The Dragonlance Nexus said it was a Book of Souls... so that's what I put at the end. If it's wrong, please forgive me.
Also, as Raistlin noted, Silvanesti and Qualinesti do not mix bloodlines, but for some reason... well... they did. You'll eventually find out why.
Lastly, I want to add that while I write Raistlin as sometimes cold toward Caramon (which he is in many of the books), I'm also trying to make him a bit more human than he was during Legends. Not that I mind an evil Raist... far from it, but I think that the adventures of the twins prior to the War of the Lance are, in many ways, more interesting.
This story will be taking place about two years after Raistlin's Test, so he's had a while to study.
Also, he may not yet appear as frail as usual, but I'm attributing this to his eagerness to find what was calling him, much as he was eager to get to Skull Cap in "Dragons of Dwarven Depths" (which is a book I forgot to mention that I've read).
Plus, I don't know if they would have had consumption on "Dragonlance", but I always keep paralleling Raistlin and Doc Holliday ("Tombstone" Val Kilmer version that is) so I always think of Raist's cough as being very akin to consumption.
I hope to delve deep into the character of Raistlin (not so much Caramon), so I hope you guys bear with me.
As another note, I don't know if I'll be having any muse moments this time around. Raist doesn't like to talk to others very much... but I may make some very short ones involving us and tea.
Lastly, I am currently in chapter 5 of "Brothers in Arms". When I wrote the prologue, I was only at the start of chapter 3.

Dragonlance:
Fallen... The Tale of Isolde Calamon

Chapter 1:

Bring Me To Life

The sun shied away from the day, almost as if fearing what it would find if it could but peek out from behind the thick clouds. A light drizzle of near freezing rain began to fall, covering everything; rock, tree, grass, animal, and man, in its icy touch.

'Why did we not stop in that last inn?' Caramon found himself wondering as he walked along the dark path.

A rather large man, Caramon Majere was quite handsome by human standards. Thick dark hair, equally dark eyes, and a muscular build that any fighter would rightly envy, Caramon usually found himself the talk of any town which he and his twin ventured into. He wore leather armour, though it had obviously seen better days. A second hand purchase that the man from Solace had made before setting out into the wilds of Abanansinia. With so much darkness descending upon the continent of Ansalon these days, it was best for one to be prepared after all. At his left side, the man wore a simple bastard sword, and on his right, a dagger. He had learned the art of fighting from his sister, Kitiara Uth Matar, as well as from friends such as Sturm Brightblade and the Dwarf, Flint Fireforge. Even tiny Tasslehoff Burrfoot had tried to help in the lessons... much to Flint's own chagrin.

A cough brought his attention back to the road and, sadly, to the drizzle that was quickly turning into rain.

"Raist, maybe we should get into that forest there and find some shelter." the warrior found himself saying as he pointed ahead to the tree line, his eyes moving to rest on the form of his twin at his side.

Angry hourglass eyes flashed from beneath the cowl of red robes, "Not yet." Raistlin whispered, as if he hardly had the breath to speak such words.

This was not far from the truth in fact. Raistlin Majere knew the signs of a coughing fit when he felt them. His chest would begin to tighten. Then would come that burning pain in his lungs as he thirsted for air. Rough coughs would escape him, blood flecking his lips as if he were cursed with the disease many called consumption. Yet, the young mage was not sick with such a disease... far from it. His health problems stemmed from one single source. It was a horrible price which he had payed when enduring the trials that any mage must go through for the magic.

Raistlin's test in the Tower of High Sorcery had won him his magic, but it had cost him dearly. His body, frail and weak, was almost constantly wracked with a horrible cough that, on more than one occasion, the mage had thought himself to surely die from. His eyes, a gaze that had once beheld beauty and youth, were now yellow with black pupils shaped as hourglasses that forced him to see the passage of time in all things. Even his twin looked dead and dying to his eyes. Raistlin would blink, the image of death disappearing, returning Caramon to his true age... but soon the sight would begin to distort again and he would quickly see the warrior's flesh sag and hang from a rotting corpse. The man's skin, once so very pale, now was tinted golden in the light of day. His hair had been forever changed as well. No longer the dark hue which matched that of his twin, Raistlin's long hair was white as the moon of Solinari itself.

He leaned heavily upon his staff, the Staff of Magius, pressing forward as evening began to try and take form around them. Raistlin would not stop, he could not. There was something he felt he should go toward, something that was calling him...

For the last few days, the young red robed mage had thought it was simply a feeling of restlessness. He and Caramon had been staying in an inn, his brother quite enjoying his time with one of the local barmaids while Raistlin kept himself locked away in their room, studying for countless hours. The restless feeling had driven them from that inn and into the wilds once more. All the while, Caramon followed his twin like a dog following its master. Neither knew where they were headed, but such a thing had never bothered the brothers before. Raistlin had his magic and his pouches of spell components and items to make a soothing herbal tea which he drank to ease the pain of his coughs. Caramon had his weapons and their water skins, as well as their bedrolls and a few provisions. It would not be hard, within the woods, for the warrior to kill some game if they needed more to eat. They could wander for some time in the land before having to stop in a village again.

'Besides,' Raistlin had thought shortly after they left the inn, 'I would rather speak with a sober Caramon for a while then the drunken fool he has become in our stay here.'

It was true. Ever since the brothers had begun their stay at the inn, Caramon had spent his time drinking, among other things, with whichever barmaid happened to not be working at the time.

Now however, as the sun's rays faded behind the clouds, Raistlin once again felt the strangest of calls. It was as if his very soul were being drawn somewhere for a certain purpose. A single want of the magic perhaps? The mage did not know, or, perhaps more importantly, he feared to know.

"The rain's getting heavier." came Caramon's voice, breaking through the haze in his twin's mind.

Raistlin looked to him, "Not much farther now..." he whispered and, for the briefest of moments, Caramon thought he could see a slight fear in his brother's golden gaze.

The image passed however with a blink of Caramon's eyes and, once more, Raistlin appeared determined, his course and mind set.

Black hourglass pupils reflecting all they saw.

Such a mask sometimes put Caramon off guard, but before he could ask his brother what they were possibly looking for, a scream rent the air.

The warrior's hand immediately drew his bastard sword. His eyes scanned the trees ahead of them as sounds of fighting assaulted their ears.

He moved to say something to his twin... only to find that Raistlin was far ahead of him on the path.

Cursing, Caramon hastened to follow. He noticed his brother's pace quicken until the younger twin was nearly running down the path and into the forest, red robes held in one hand to prevent the mage from tripping, the Staff of Magius clinking on the ground in the other. The warrior jogged after him, coming to a stop only when thin golden fingers curled about his wrist, forcing him to halt.

Raistlin's eyes caught the gaze of his twin and he quickly jerked his head forward. It was a sign. Caramon knew the tactic well. He was to go first, sword swinging, and Raistlin would come from behind with a spell to distract any enemies.

With a nod, the warrior dashed forward.

Raistlin winced, hearing his brother's sheath and the buckles of his leather armour creak and crack. The snapping of twigs and other brush underfoot did nothing to quite the large man's approach.

Without another thought to it however, the young mage disappeared into the forest, coming upon the enemies from the side.

Both twins could hear cruel laughter and the crying wails of a frightened child. A fire crackled in the background, adding to the unnatural noise in the usually peaceful forest. When the mage came close enough to see their enemies, his breath caught in his throat. Golden fingers curled into a fist at his side as anger flowed through Raistlin's thin frame.

Once more the mage could hear the mocking of Solace children as he, a child himself, was picked on for his scrawny bookish appearance. He could remember his voice crying out in fear at the harsh treatment of the larger children.

But Caramon had come to save him... every single time.

Caramon always saved him.

'No...' thought Raistlin as he watched the band of men from the shadows, 'This time, I will do the saving...' he vowed.

It was a clearing in the forest. A small camp had been put together, but there were no horses. In fact, it appeared that the camp itself would not have held more than three or four people at best. Now however, crowded around the flickering flames of a fire, were about seven men. Three others lay dead, but it was not the sight of the dead men which sent a spike of hatred through the mage.

A small Elven child, hair of purest white, was clutching at the corpse of an Elven woman. Raistlin was shocked so see that the bodies of the dead Elves, for another Elf, most likely the child's father, lay not far away, a sword still clutched in his stiff hand, were, for all appearances, of two races.

'The Qualinesti and Silvanesti never mix the bloodlines...' Raistlin found himself thinking and, for a moment, he forgot his anger in light of such a strange sight.

The scream of the child however, brought the mage's mind back to the present. He would ponder the riddle later.

One of the men was reaching out toward the crying Elf.

He glanced over the heads of the men, seeing, for but a moment, his twin's dark hair in the shadows. Caramon was ready, as was the mage. With a nod, Raistlin fell into his spell casting.

"Ast kiranann kair gadunrm soth-arn suh kali jalaran..." Raistlin's voice was strong, and obviously loud. The men began to look around in confusion, trying to pin point where the sound was coming from.

They found out a few moments later, when a lighting bolt slammed the man, who was reaching for the child, in the chest. He flew backwards, his body convulsing before going still.

The entire camp erupted into panic and, taking advantage of this, Caramon jumped through the trees. Two fell quickly to his blade, before they had even been given the chance to draw their own weapons. As Caramon began a battle with two more, Raistlin's thin form stepped from the trees.

One of the men stared at him with wide eyes. "Magic user..." he breathed in horror, stepping backward so swiftly that he tripped and tumbled into the open flames of the fire.

Raistlin smiked, but a noise from the side caught his attention.

"Raist, look out!" came Caramon's voice, though the warning had not been needed.

Quickly, the Staff of Magius slammed into the side of the rushing man's head, knocking him to the dirt in an unconscious heap. Raistlin planted his staff on the ground again, leaning upon the smooth dark wood as his breath caught in his throat.

Seeing his twin's discomfort, Caramon quickly finished his fight with the two men. One taking a particularly nasty blow to the temple from the pommel of Caramon's dagger, knocking him unconscious, while the other was gutted by the man's swift sword.

Caramon rushed to his brother's aid, catching hold of one of the mage's thin arms.

"Let me go!" Raistlin spoke harshly, wrenching his arm from Caramon's grasp. "I am fine, you fool, just taxed."

The man backed up half a step, "Why did you not wait for me to attack?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Raistlin scowled at his twin, "You were taking your sweet time, brother. Someone needed to save the child." with an angry sigh, the mage shook his head. " Go and make sure there are no more in the area."

Caramon blinked at his brother. He remained standing there for a long moment, "Uh... sure, Raist." he finally said before jogging off into the trees to check the surrounding woods.

Red robes rustled softly as Raistlin moved, his staff clinking lightly upon the ground whenever it hit a stone. He knelt down next to the bodies of the slain Elves, as well as next to the child.

It was a young girl, no more than five or six by Raistlin's count.

"Tell me, little one..." the mage spoke softly. "Are you alright?"

Tear stricken blue eyes turned to Raistlin. The girl's complexion was almost as pale as her hair, though blood clung to the silken strands and the smooth skin.

"Please..." she whispered in fear. "Bring them back... Please..."

Hourglass eyes flashed as he gazed down at the tiny child's form. She was looking at him with such pleading eyes, that Raistlin had to put a hand to his chest.

He feared, for a moment, that his heart would break.

The mage remembered his own pain at the accidental death of his father, of the fading away of his dear mother. He saw, in this child, his own past reflected starkly back at him in the fading light of day. Reaching out one golden hand, he placed it upon the child's small shoulder.

"I can not bring back the dead, little one... I am... I am very sorry." Raistlin found the words hard to speak, a lump forming in his throat.

Tears fell from the girl's eyes once more and, sobbing, she flung herself against the red robed mage.

Raistlin was quite shocked at this. The child's cool body clung to him, almost banishing the unnatural heat that always flowed through his skin. She buried her face in the folds of his robe, tiny arms clinging around his neck. Without realizing it, the mage's own arms wrapped about the child. Beside him sat the Staff of Magius, next to the bodies of the girl's dead parents. His sympathetic eyes closed as he held the small Elf to him, trying to offer her some comfort.

What seemed like hours passed. Soon the child was asleep in his arms, nestled within the folds of the red robe.

"Raist, I didn't..." Caramon began as he clomped back into the small clearing.

He looked at his twin in confusion, seeing the mage holding the Elven girl close. Raistlin's yellow gaze caught his twin's, but whatever emotion that had been in them before faded quickly.

"What didn't you find?" he asked, already knowing his brother's answer.

Caramon came to sit down near the fire. Darkness had descended, and the rain had grown strong enough that even the closeness of the trees could not keep out the icy torrent. "I didn't find anyone else around. What do you..." the warrior looked to his twin again. "What do you think happened to them?"

"They died." Raistlin answered simply. He stood, the girl still in his arms.

"Where are you going?" Caramon asked.

Turning to glance at his brother once more, the mage smiled slightly, "The dead do not need tents, brother. I am taking this child inside. It is too wet and cold out here for anyone to remain long."

Caramon sighed. "Should I..." he fumbled over the words for a moment, "Should I bury them?"

Raistlin shook his head slightly, "Leave such things for tomorrow. You should come inside too, Caramon, before you catch your death of cold. Well, that is, after you tie up the men who survived."

As the mage went into the tent, his brother stared at the opening for a long while. Caramon was confused by his twin's reaction. Rarely had Raistlin cared for his brother's well being. In fact, the mage seemed to take a sort of sardonic pleasure, at times, when seeing the warrior not at his best.

'Well, if burials are best left until tomorrow, I guess my thoughts are too.' Caramon said to himself before he went over to the two unconscious men.

It took only a few moments for him to tie them with some spare rope he found in the small camp. Fastened to trees, they would, no doubt, wake with splitting headaches.

But they would be well enough to explain their actions and their purpose to the twins, even if they did catch a cold from the storm.

Then, Caramon too, entered the warmth and dryness of the tent.

How can you see into my eyes, like open doors?

Leading you down into my core,

Where I've become so numb...

Without a soul, my spirit sleeping somewhere cold,

Until you find it there and lead it back home.

Wake me up inside...

The night had started peacefully enough. Raistlin lay upon his bedroll inside the tent, the small child clinging to him even in her sleep. Gently, the mage had placed a blanket over himself and the girl, hoping to keep her warm.

'Though, I fear the heat from me alone will keep her quite comfortable.' he lamented, fearing that the child might grow restless next to the warm red robes.

Caramon, as always, had agreed to take the first and longest watch. He knew his twin would wake in the early morning hours anyway, to study his spells or make some of his foul smelling tea.

Thus, the warrior had sat outside the tent, rebuilding the fire which had died with the falling rain. Now however, dark clouds blocked the light of the stars. It was no longer raining, but it was still almost bitterly cold. Their prisoners however, the two men whom Caramon had tied, were not faring so well. The one that Raistlin had knocked hard in the head was stiff and dead. The strength of the Staff of Magius was never to be underestimated, the warrior had thought before checking the second. This one, who had been hit with the pommel of the older twin's sword, was still unconscious, and looked as if he would remain so for a few hours more.

It was not until almost time for Caramon to wake his brother, when a scream pierced the night air.

"No! I didn't do it!"

Caramon raced toward the sound, which had come from inside the tent itself.

Raistlin was awake, the Elven girl screaming in his arms.

The mage was obviously trying to calm the hysterical child.

"Bring them back!" she cried. "You took them away! Bring them back!" she was thrashing about, pounding her tiny fists against the mage's frail chest.

Hurriedly, with one arm, Raistlin drew forth a few rose petals from one of his many pouches. "Droshi..." the mage whispered, blowing the petals into the girl's tear streaked face.

After a few moments, her screams turned to whispers, her sobs to silent tears. Not long later, the child was fast asleep in the mage's arms once more.

Sighing shakily, Raistlin untangled himself from the girl and, using the Staff of Magius for support, stood. He covered the small Elfling with his blanket, watching the little face for a long moment.

"What happened?" Caramon asked as his twin exited the tent.

Raistlin did not speak for a time. Instead, he came to sit next to the fire. He drew, from another pouch, the herbs he would need to make his tea.

He could feel the pain beginning in his chest.

"Caramon, where is the..." but before the mage could finish the sentence, his twin produced their waterskin.

Raistlin smirked as he took it, pouring the water into a cup before placing it upon a few hot coals to heat. He next took a small metal ball with tiny holes from another pouch and carefully placed pinched amounts of mullein, burdock, coltsfoot, and angelica within. Once the water was hot, the mage put the ball of herbs into the cup, covering it, and allowing the tea to steep for a few minutes.

"She had a nightmare." Raistlin said abruptly, causing his brother to watch him carefully. "Or... rather... she had two."

Caramon's expression turned to one of confusion, "Two?"

The mage said nothing once more, his golden hourglass eyes reflecting the flames of the fire in their dark depths.

"I dreamt, Caramon." the mage whispered when he finally spoke. "I remembered being a child myself. The ridicule, the rebuke... I remembered it all in that dream." and, it almost appeared, to Caramon, as if his twin's eyes clouded over in mixed sentiment. "You were playing with Sturm down the street, pretending you were great and mighty warriors." Raistlin smirked, shaking his head slightly before reaching one thin hand out and taking the cup of tea with golden fingers. "Darmon and his little gang of idiots..." the mage laughed quietly, sipping at his tea. The mixture immediately began to soothe the rising burn in his chest. "They cornered me, ripped the parchments I carried from my hands. They said I had killed Darmon's cat, the one which Otik used to throw out of his kitchen for stealing his spiced potatoes. I told them that I had not seen the cat for a week. In fact, I had hardly been out of the house at the time. But Darmon wouldn't hear it." Raistlin sighed, drinking more of the tea as Caramon continued watching his reflecting gaze. "He said I pulled some trick, used magic on the cat, which was ridiculous at the time. You..." but the man could not continue, a cough catching his breath.

"I heard you cry out. You screamed at them that you hadn't done it." Caramon finished, placing a hand on his twin's shoulder.

Raistlin's arm muscles twitched at the feel, but he made no other move at the hand's gentle touch. "Yes." he smirked, "You and Sturm came running to my rescue, though I think Sturm would have rather let them kill me. 'Good riddance!' he would have said. But you... You saved me, Caramon." the younger twin's voice took on a slight tone of scorn. "You always save me..."

"And I always will." the warrior said proudly with a smile, not noticing the bitterness in his brother's voice.

The mage laughed slightly, "Yes well... that may not always be the case, brother... but... but this child..." Raistlin turned haunted eyes to lock with his twin's own gaze. "This child cried out those same words in her sleep. When I woke, her dream somehow changed and she began calling for her parents to be brought to life again, but... I do not understand how..."

"Neither do I." Caramon replied. "Though, I don't understand most of this. You said you were dreaming about Darmon and his bullies, but then that the girl was dreaming about her parents, right?"

"No, Caramon," Raistlin said, shaking his head and speaking with the air of one trying to teach a child. "I dreamt of Darmon and, somehow, the girl dreamt of it as well. When I woke, her connection to my dream faded and her own overwhelmed her. She had my dream, brother... for a time anyway."

The twins sat in silence for a long while. When Caramon did speak however, there was a hint of fear in the large warrior's voice. Magic was one thing that he could never seem to understand, and dreams... well... they were about as confusing as magic itself.

"Raist, why are we here?"

His twin's gaze was back on the fire, yellow eyes burning with the flame.

"The magic." he answered quietly, tossing the remnants of his tea off to the side. He no longer felt like drinking it.

Standing, Caramon's gaze remained on his twin. "I'm going to try and get some sleep before dawn. Will you be alright, Raist?"

The mage said nothing.

"Raist?"

"Yes! Now leave me alone, Caramon!" came his twin's harsh annoyed whisper.

The sudden shift in Raistlin's mood was something that the warrior knew he should have expected. Picking up his own bedroll, Caramon moved toward the tent. When he reached the opening however, he stopped, but did not look back at the mage.

"Raist... Why did you dream of Darmon anyway?"

A sigh escaped the mage and Raistlin closed his eyes, pulling the hood of his cowl over his white hair. "I..." he stopped, thinking for a moment.

Should he lie?

Would Caramon believe the lie?

'Yes,' thought Raistlin bitterly, 'Caramon would believe me if I told him frogs could out fly hawks.'

But, for some strange reason which the mage could not understand... he told his twin the truth.

"The child reminds me of myself." Raistlin replied quietly.

His curiosity seemingly sated, Caramon retired to the tent for some sleep. Raistlin however, remained sitting next to the fire through the rest of the early morning hours and into the dawn. The clouds had faded, the white moon Solinari and the red moon Lunitari, were but slivers in the night sky. Nuitari, the black moon was full, to the sight of those who wore the black robes, and the constellations of the most powerful of the forgotten gods hung brightly in the heavens.

Paladine's Platinum Dragon sparkled...

Gilean's Book of Souls shone...

Takhisis' Many-Headed Dragon blazed...

That night, Raistlin had much to think about...

To Be Continued...

Review Responses:

Just me: Yes well, it was a prologue. Did you honestly think a letter would be long? I didn't want to write a three page letter like the one in "Brother's Majere". It was too long. I wanted something short and simple. This chapter however, came out to eight pages long. I've read it... geez, I think like 8 or 9 times by now so, there shouldn't be any spelling errors. You should be patient, my friend. The prologue was but to whet your whistle, so to speak.

Muse Moments:

Nil sighs, sitting next to the window and looking outside.
"It snowed this morning."
She does not turn toward the voice. "I know." the woman replies. "But the sun's out now... stupid sun."
A slight laugh comes from behind her and the woman can smell the fragrance of an herbal tea. "Yes well, you live in the desert... you should not expect it to snow at all."
"I know." Nil sighs again, looking over at Raistlin. "Hey... you didn't make me any!"
One of eyebrows rose in reply. "I did not know you wished for any."
"Of course I do. I like your tea... strangely enough. Besides, even though the snow is gone, it's still cold out."
He smiled, "I see, then I suppose I'll have to..."
CRASH!
Nil groans, moving from the window to peek into the kitchen. Standing there, a cooking pot on his head, was a kender.
"Sorry..." Tas whispered, an innocent smile on his face.