AN: Phew! This chapter has been, by far, the most fun to write. Enjoy! ^.^
b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e
- - : - - 5 - - : - -
"Got a coin?"
"No, but you do." He pulled open the nightstand drawer, revealing the glinting gold at the bottom. Sikeen snatched it up and arranged the glasses on the opposite end of the table.
"There. Now, you bounce the coin against the nightstand and try to get it to land in a glass. Every time I get it in my glass, you drink. Every time you get it in your glass, I drink. If you miss, you drink. Understand?" Dalamar narrowed his eyes at her.
"You practice sleight of hand for a living!" She shot him a smirk before expertly bouncing the coin into her glass.
"Drink." Dalamar opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead shook his head at her and downed the ale. She handed him the coin and scooted over slightly, allowing him room to join her on the bed. After a great deal of hesitation, he tossed the coin. To her surprise, it barely made it into his glass.
"Beginner's luck," she said blithely before finishing off her own glass.
"I'm not so sure, actually," he said, handing her the coin. Once again, she tossed it easily into her glass and Dalamar helped himself to another drink. During his turn, the coin bounced into her glass.
"Ha! Drink again – that was my glass."
"You didn't mention that in the rules."
"It's part of the game."
"Really? Who invented this game?" Dalamar poured a drink and handed it to her, smirking. The alcohol was getting to them both. After a playful glare, she took the glass and drank it anyway, letting him win the round. With the familiar buzz now intensifying, she missed the next shot. Horrified, she fell backward onto the bed as Dalamar poured her yet another drink. "Bit of a lightweight, aren't you?" he asked, placing the glass on her stomach. She snatched it up before sitting up.
"Have you seen me?" she asked, glaring mercilessly. He tossed the coin and missed. "Retribution!" she exclaimed. Dalamar noticed she became uncharacteristically giddy when drunk, but she seemed happy. He definitely preferred that over the crying drunks he'd seen in pubs, or the type who became overly rude.
The game continued on for a while, winning and losing long forgotten. After several rounds, neither of them were able to make a single shot. Sikeen leaned playfully against Dalamar, about to haphazardly toss the coin, when the sound of the doorknob turning froze them both to the core. With her hand still poised to make her move and her head still resting against Dalamar's shoulder, Raistlin stared at them both for a moment before the apprentice cleared his throat.
"Shalafi," he said, struggling to fight back a grin. There was something oddly comical about this whole situation.
"Dalamar, return to your quarters," said Raistlin. He was obviously not amused. Dalamar couldn't help but laugh, then, but he attempted (pitifully) to cover it up with a coughing fit. Sikeen's lips twisted into a smile, as well, when Dalamar stumbled and nearly crashed into the wall.
"I think I won, then," she blurted out, convinced she had to be more sober than her.
"Absolutely not," he mumbled, still struggling to find his footing. Raistlin glared at them both, not sure what to make of this. Not only were they drunk to the point of no return, but as far as he could tell, they were both fully clothed. He would have thought that Dalamar and Sikeen, heavily under the influence, would only result in one thing. Somehow, he'd been wrong.
As Dalamar slowly made his way past his master, he spoke over his shoulder.
"Goodnight, Sikeen. I want my ale back tomorrow." Sikeen laughed in response. Raistlin stared after him, shocked. He was still speaking. Usually, Raistlin's presence was enough to reduce him to speaking only when necessary. Apparently, that didn't apply where alcohol was involved.
Raistlin stepped in, annoyed at how difficult it was to appear foreboding to two heavily intoxicated individuals. It didn't matter how powerful he was if no one feared him. He slammed the door shut and paced over to her, finally satisfied that he'd scared her when she shifted uncomfortably. It finally occurred to Sikeen that Dalamar was gone, and she was alone with Raistlin. She drew the blanket closer to her waist, scooting back toward the wall behind her.
She watched, shocked, as he poured himself a drink and stood there quietly, sipping it.
"Well, now that you've kicked out my one true love, are you going to have your merciless way with me and sacrifice me to your undead minions?" she slurred, barely processing the glare he shot her that bordered on quizzical.
"No, actually, but while I'm here I can punish Dalamar by drinking his ale," he said coldly, having a seat on the simple desk chair Dalamar had moved. Somehow, with his velvet robes flowing over its edges, the chair itself began to look regal. Pondering this, Sikeen almost didn't hear what he said next. "You and I are both aware of your… unusual… appearance," said Raistlin pointedly, as if staring right through her. It was more difficult to maintain her frosty exterior when drunk, and she couldn't help herself as her heart began thumping wildly against her ribcage. A less-than-rational part of her worried he would hear. Her lips longed to conform to instinct – to insist he leave – but her Shalafi would never stoop so low as to fulfil her request.
With no response, Raistlin continued.
"Tell me why you look as if you've never seen the sun."
Though he hadn't known her long, Raistlin wouldn't have imagined she was capable of fear. She was a trained contract killer. She'd shown her arrogance to him, the most powerful mortal being, and hadn't even relented when he physically attacked her. But suddenly she looked nothing short of terrified. Perhaps it was the light of the Staff of Magius, which probably cast odd shadows on his face. It was also reflecting off her eyes, creating that same animal-like glow he'd seen the night she'd arrived.
Unable to resist, she spat out what she wanted to.
"Get out." Raistlin didn't react, simply taking another sip.
"Answer me."
"Get out!" she shrieked, growing increasingly fearful. Praying for sobriety, her mind raced as fast as it could through her intoxication to come up with some sort of weapon within arm's reach. Anxiety pushed her fingernails into her palms, creating painful half-moons where they broke the skin. Raistlin, still sober, could see that this was an overly adverse reaction to his question. Frozen in place, Sikeen stared frantically at the hourglasses, waiting for some semblance of calm. But her heart and mind raced on, making the room spin.
"Sikeen," he said, frowning. He wanted to say something more but instead refilled her glass and handed it to her. "Calm down." Instantly, she relaxed, back to her giddy, drunk self, delicately taking the glass from his hand. When she wrapped her fingers around it, blood appeared between her skin and its surface.
"You really shouldn't be giving me more alcohol, Shalafi. I'm drunk enough," she said with a smirk. Raistlin frowned at her, dumbfounded. She put her drink back on the table and when she pulled her hand away, the distinct reddish-brown of her blood still stained the glass. "Well, now that you've kicked out my one true love, are you going to have your merciless way with me and sacrifice me to your undead minions?" Raistlin stared, horrified.
"You've already said that." She cocked her head at him, confused.
"Excuse me?"
"You said that when I walked in." She let out a dry laugh.
"Did you not just walk in?" she asked sarcastically.
It was as if a solid wall had appeared between them. Receiving no response from him, she sipped more from her drink and returned it to the nightstand. Raistlin drank his in silence, pondering as he stared at her. Either she didn't remember him asking the question, or she was pretending to have forgotten. But the blood on the glass said otherwise. She wouldn't deliberately harm herself for an elaborate act, would she?
"Sikeen, your hands are bleeding," he said, testing the waters once more. She lifted her palms to the light and stared at them, a brief look of sadness crossing her face.
"So they are," she said, shooting him a nervous smile. She looked up to meet his eyes and a strange sensation washed over her – almost as if she were letting go. This time, Raistlin's first instinct was to excuse himself. An unspoken confession was passing between them, as she silently admitted to him that there was something horribly, dreadfully wrong. He bit back his reflex to escape from this personal situation and pressed on.
"I asked you a question," he said evenly, hoping she wouldn't crumble again. Her brow furrowed slightly as confirmation of her actions dawned on her. Raistlin, forever a slave to his curiosity and fully aware he was venturing once again into forbidden territory, continued on. "May I ask it again?" Reluctance spread across her features and she grabbed her glass up again, slowly downing the rest of the drink. She was getting to the point of dangerous intoxication. The Conclave expected her to die here anyway, right? She sighed and reached for the bottle again.
A hand wrapped around her wrist, and before she could look up to express her complaint he spoke.
"If you are not ill, why do you look it?" Her head spun as she struggled to train her gaze on his face. Noticing her rolling eyes, he spoke again. "Sikeen?" A hint of concern crept into his voice. Feeling as if she might vomit, she attempted to get to her feet but instead crashed into the wall, as Dalamar had, but with greater force. Leaning precariously against it, she remembered his question and shot him her characteristically wicked grin. In the blue light of the Staff, it nearly gave Raistlin a shiver.
"They locked me up as a child. I never felt the sun," she slurred, grinning wildly. Raistlin's eyes widened slightly.
"Who?" he demanded, intrigued through his horror. An eternity seemed to pass before she finally answered.
"Mummy and Daddy," she murmured as she tumbled to the ground. The sickening crack of her arm landing beneath her seemed to echo in the dimly-lit bedroom.
For a moment, Raistlin just sat there, the gravity of what she'd said dawning on him. For her to look like this, she would have had to see absolutely no sunlight from birth until fairly late into her childhood. And from what she'd just revealed, it was allegedly her own parents who had kept her – literally – in the dark. But where? Why? Was she alone? With several questions answered, a thousand more formed in his mind.
Still disturbed, he stared at her crumpled form. She was barely breathing. With her nest of black hair fallen over her face and one arm caught grotesquely underneath her, she hardly looked alive.
She probably wouldn't even remember telling him in the morning. Should he act as if he didn't know? Raistlin realized what he was asking of himself – was he satisfied with what he knew now?
Could one ever be satisfied, learning of something so horrific? Was it human nature to want all the gritty, personal details?
Was this sympathy? For a murderer?
Eventually, he knelt before her on the floor, pushing her over. Her arm was clearly broken. With a quick spell, he set it back to its proper position. Was he to leave her there, on the floor?
Yes, he thought bitterly, irrationally hating her for showing him the horrors of her childhood. But as he turned away, pity drew him back to her side. She still resembled a corpse, lying on the wood and taking shallow, uneven breaths. It was almost as if she wanted to wake up but could not.
Another long moment passed as he watched her sleep fitfully. Even under such heavy intoxication, she couldn't sleep here. He frowned and knelt again, pulling a leaf from his pocket and pressing it against her throat, just as the Red Mage had the night she'd been brought to the Tower. Instantly, her breathing became steady. There, he'd done her a favor.
But his conscience was still chiding him for this – for forcing her to turn over a forbidden stone, for the blood on her hands, and for passing judgment on her nature so quickly. And she hadn't slept with Dalamar at all, which was strangely reassuring. He kicked himself for all the assumptions he'd made. She was really quite broken, beneath the faux arrogance. He eyed the bed, wondering if he should move her. She must weigh nothing at all.
No, that was too much. He sighed, slowly running a hand through his hair. Once again, he contemplated leaving her there. Instead, he rose to his feet and shrugged off his robe. She'd recognize it in the morning and attempt to return it, but he wouldn't tell her what she'd confessed to him unless she asked. That way, she had the option to know, but if she didn't want to, she could leave it be. And on top of that, he wasn't being heartless by leaving her uncovered.
It seemed fair. He tossed the cloth over her, watching as she subconsciously grabbed a handful of it in one hand to pull it closer to her. Wonderful; now it was probably stained with blood. At least it formed an adequate blanket for her tiny frame. He resisted the urge to snatch it back up and paced out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. When he turned to go up the stairs, something caught his eye.
Dalamar stood in his doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.
"Shalafi," he said, nodding at him. There was a hard look in his eyes as he eyed his master's bare tunic. It occurred to Raistlin that although nothing physical had happened between Dalamar and Sikeen, he may very well be pursuing something of that nature. It also occurred to him that there was much more to Sikeen than Dalamar knew, and it would be difficult for anyone to get far beyond her frosty exterior.
"She's passed out from the ale," he said, as if that should explain the absence of his robe. With that, he swept into the stairwell, the Staff of Magius lighting his way.
Dalamar, meanwhile, crept back into his quarters. He'd heard Sikeen cry for Raistlin to leave her, but beyond that it was all mumbling. What had happened? His mind had jumped to the obvious conclusion, but he didn't think his Shalafi was quite so dishonorable. Was he? He wouldn't…
No. He wouldn't have forced himself on her. The thought was too revolting. She was drunk, and helpless.
There was no way to find out now. He would have to ask Sikeen in the morning if something had happened.