b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

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It was dark. Limitlessly, deeply, pervasively dark. Sometimes, it felt like she was drowning in it, and other times it felt like a blanket. Like safety. Because that's what she liked to pretend – perhaps they kept her here because it was safer. Maybe she was their little girl, and the outside world was far worse than this.

There was no way to tell how high the ceiling was in this little room she lived in, but lately she could barely brush her fingers against it if she reached as high as she could and stood on her toes. There were blankets and pillows scattered on the floor, which she could sort of see if she peered at the ground long enough, and a tiny hole on the ceiling through which she could sometimes hear the wind. Sometimes, she thought she could see light coming in through it, but it was probably just her imagination. Besides, if it got too bright it made her head hurt.

Twice a day, the hatch on the roof would open, but it was never light outside, either. Someone would come in with food, concealed in the shadows. And he would whisper horrors into her ear, call her nasty things, violate her in ways she tried not to think about after he left…

Sikeen snapped back to reality. Day was breaking on the horizon someplace as the sky began turning a lighter shade of blue. She stared into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She'd woken up to get out of bed, and the next thing she knew she was ten years old again. What was going on? It had been nearly two weeks since Raistlin had discovered her secret, and since then the flashbacks had been occurring more and more frequently. She hadn't even had one for years, so why were they happening now?

As usual, she settled on her tried-and-true method of ignoring her problems and shoved the thoughts out of her head. It was time to make tea. The flashbacks would stop eventually, she figured. Perhaps it was just a side effect of being locked in this tower, which was startlingly reminiscent of being locked in a cell as a child.

Exhausted from yet another night of broken sleep (it never seemed to get better), she trudged up the stairs after the tea was brewed. Raistlin called for her to enter his chambers and she strode in, putting the tea on the desk before awaiting her dismissal. Just as he always did, he dismissed her immediately, hunched over his books. She stared at him. He knew. And despite his kindness from two weeks ago, he really didn't seem to care much. If he did, he'd let her go, wouldn't he?

It occurred to Raistlin that she was still there, gaping at him. But when he turned to glare at her and remind her she could go, he balked, jumping ever so slightly.

"Gods!" he hissed, a little too quickly. She was a disaster. She was generally always a bit funny-looking, drowning in Dalamar's clothes, but that was in an endearing sort of way. Today, she was worse than usual. Her eyes and cheeks were sunken, and her skin had taken on a dull, ashy tone. And there she was, her lifeless gaze boring into him. She looked positively undead. What was wrong with her? Did she even try to sleep or feed herself? Raistlin had a feeling even he looked healthier than she did. "You may go!" he added, quickly concealing his shock.

"Hate me that much, do you?" she said, her voice raspy from disuse. Raistlin frowned. He hadn't done anything particularly nasty today. "You say it every day. 'You may go.' But I can't, can I?" she said casually, feet planted firmly in their places. Raistlin sneered at her.

"You're still holding that against me. Incredible. When will you understand, dear elf, that it's not my decision to make?"

"So you do hate me. You didn't deny it."

"So petty. I can hate you, if you like." She was being ridiculous. When would it finally hit her, he wondered, that he was not about to let her out?

"Perhaps then I can be even more justified in hating you." Still eerily deadpan, she turned on her heel and dragged herself out of the room.

Downstairs, she sat at the kitchen table, feasting on her usual breakfast of a glass of cold water. Food, she'd found, was beginning to make her nauseous, especially in the morning. Dalamar strolled in and immediately froze, horrified. Her hair was sticking out in every direction and that dull stare was something right out of those creepy old tales people told around campfires. Lately, he'd noticed she was getting more and more quiet, but this was new. She'd left all the candles off in the kitchen, too, which only made it all the more terrifying. He scrambled to retrieve the book he'd nearly let drop and cleared his throat.

"Sleep well?" he asked, trying to stay casual as he lit a candle. She didn't answer. "Sikeen?" She groaned. "You've lost half your weight," he said, trying to catch her eye. She stared right through him. "There wasn't much to begin with."

"Hello, Dalamar," she said finally, sighing. There was a hollowness to her voice, which struck a chord with him. Once again, he found himself pitying her. "I know, I look horrid." He gave her a rueful smile, immediately feeling guilty about being so alarmed. Sometimes he forgot his manners.

"Just a little tired. You're still lovely," he said over his shoulder as he rifled through a cabinet for a frying pan. She stared at him, blinking slowly.

"What?" He'd never said that before. He stopped, looking over at her with one arm still in the cabinet.

"You're still lovely. You just need some sleep. I'll see if I can filch something of Shalafi's to knock you out," he said, going back to the pots.

"You're a horrible apprentice, but you're a good friend," she said, taking a sip of her water.

"Well, whenever he kicks me out, I'll drag you along." She couldn't help a small, wry smile. If only he really could take her with.

"Do you really think I'm lovely?" She knew it was desperate, but her self-esteem needed a boost today.

"Of course," he said nonchalantly over his shoulder, frying his usual omelet. "You're the smartest girl I've ever met." She laughed a little to herself. Dalamar, meanwhile, couldn't help but feel proud of himself. There was nothing like cheering up a mopey girl, and he'd grown fond of Sikeen. How fond, he wasn't sure, but she was good company. And for now, that was enough for him.

| - - : - - x - - : - - |

It wasn't until several days later that Sikeen began to really feel the weariness. She hadn't asked Dalamar about his promise to steal her something to put her to sleep, but nights were getting to be downright terrible. Every time she closed her eyes, she was instantly transported back to her childhood prison. And when she saw Raistlin in the morning, it only made her more tired and frustrated. Maybe, she reasoned, this was her mind becoming used to the idea of being locked up for good. By remembering the last time she was locked up "for good."

And then, one morning, it happened. She had just delivered her first cup of the day and had hopped in the shower, exhausted. After several minutes of standing in the steam, her vision began to blur. It felt normal, at first, as if long-awaited rest was finally reaching her. But when she felt herself losing consciousness, she instantly reached for the plush beige towel that hung on the rack. With it securely wrapped around her, she stepped out of the bathroom and was about to tumble into her bed when she heard something from the bureau. When she turned around, everything went dark. But somehow, she was still wide awake. The little hole in the ceiling was back, as well as the constantly vanishing blankets on the floor and the too-low ceiling.

And suddenly, the hatch was opening up. She stumbled backwards and tripped, her head hitting the nightstand. After that, there was no escape.

Though she'd missed deliveries before, this was the first time Dalamar didn't come to her rescue and make up for her responsibilities. When his apprentice delivered his lunch that afternoon, Raistlin decided to tell him to remind the girl to be more steadfast.

"Sikeen hasn't delivered tea since dawn," he said pointedly, taking a small sip of his water. Dalamar, though puzzled, didn't say anything about her whereabouts.

"I'll bring some up, Shalafi," he said.

"What is she so busy with, I wonder?" Dalamar tried to remember when he'd last seen her. He hadn't yet today, but he'd heard the shower running early in the morning. In fact, he'd heard the water running just now, too, when he'd started up the stairs.

Actually, it had been running all day. A grim look crossed his features.

"She's in the shower," he said darkly, suddenly feeling ill. If she'd drowned herself, wouldn't the water start flooding the tower? Or had she just died and left the shower running for some reason? Perhaps she'd slit her wrists. Raistlin gave him a quizzical look.

"She's been in the shower all morning?"

"All morning, Shalafi," he said, itching to be dismissed.

"Why would she be in the shower all morning?" demanded Raistlin, eyes narrowed. He had clearly reached a similar conclusion. Dalamar looked him straight in the eye, growing impatient.

"I think she's dead. I'd like to go see," he said bluntly, staring at his Shalafi. Raistlin sighed.

"What are we going to do with a body?" he thought aloud, tapping his fingers against the desk. Dalamar twitched, visibly disturbed. Was it so much to ask to be dismissed, just this once? Raistlin caught his increasingly frantic expression and waved him away. "Go. Find out." Barely a moment passed before Dalamar disappeared into the stairwell, leaving Raistlin to ponder this.

Unfortunately, it made sense. If Sikeen was dead, it would absolutely be on her own accord, and probably completely deliberate. She'd been looking half-dead recently anyway, and she'd obviously been struggling with something mentally which she refused to discuss with him. Granted, he hadn't asked, but if she wanted to talk about it, wouldn't she? And what else would explain the dull, lifeless stares and lack of sleep? Not to mention her excess supply of what he could only describe as tired hostility. She was suffering. But enough to end her own life? It seemed excessive, even for her.

He should have let her leave. Regret hit him like a brick wall – if she was dead, this could easily be his fault. He could have just let her go. He could have been kinder. He could have expressed a smidgen more sympathy than he had.

Another, overruling thought leapt to his mind. The Conclave wanted her to die here. They were probably expecting something like this. They knew she was unstable. Immediately, he jumped to his feet, grabbing the Staff of Magius to light his way down the corridor. He was not about to fall victim to another one of the Conclave's plans. Sikeen's door was ajar and inside he heard the telltale mumbling of a spell, but it was wrong, broken up by its speaker's inability to focus.

He hesitated before entering the room, not sure he wanted to know what he'd find. He'd seen bodies – hundreds of bodies – but this was… different. He hadn't wanted her to die. Would she even look different than she had these last few days? Slowly, he rounded the corner into her room and approached Dalamar, who was kneeling on the floor by the nightstand. The air was heavy with steam from the shower. On the floor was Sikeen.

She lay on her back, wrapped in a towel, with one hand folded over her stomach. The other was to her right, and she faced the same direction, her eyes peacefully shut. In fact, she looked quite tranquil, save for the massive head wound on the back of her head. Judging by the bloodstain on the nightstand, she'd fallen backward and hit her head before passing out. Her whole body was slick with the steam settling on her skin, which gave her a sort of feverish sheen. This was the second time Raistlin had seen her passed out like this, but it wasn't the same. Now, he could see her face. And he could see how utterly exhausted and worn she'd been before she'd collapsed.

This was about more than the Conclave. He'd seen her lose herself, slowly, over the last two weeks, but as his eyes trailed over her frail body, he realized he'd been excessively negligent. She was even tinier than he remembered, and the fluffy towel even seemed to be too much weight for her. But underneath it, she was breathing, he noticed, as its surface gently rose and fell.

He waited for Dalamar to give up once again and interrupted him before he could attempt the spell once more.

"Dalamar. Stop." He looked up at his Shalafi, looking more worried and confused than he had in a long while. He was in a daze from attempting the complicated magic over and over again.

"She's alive; I just can't concentrate because—" he stared at her again, unable to find the right words. Raistlin shoved him aside and did a quick incantation to promote healing – the wound had already stopped bleeding. She would wake up when she was ready, and he would have to go upstairs soon to memorize the spell again, now that it was forgotten. "Thank you," said Dalamar, hating that he couldn't take care of it himself. He sighed, disappointed. "She's my best friend," he added, finishing his sentence from earlier.

Raistlin stood, staring down at her. There was nothing more he could do to help her. She was badly injured, and it would take time to heal.

"You need more practice. Go turn the shower off," he said to his apprentice, who immediately did as he was told. Raistlin coughed dryly and looked back at Sikeen. The longer he looked at her, the more he felt like something was wrong. She was stirring a bit, and he was again reminded of the first time he had seen her unconscious. She'd looked as if she was trying to wake, but could not. Had he missed something?

He knelt again, lifting her hand from the floor. There was a bruise forming there, but that much was to be expected. What else, then? He looked at her face. That's when he noticed it.

Her eyes were open. Not completely, just barely, with her top lashes still brushing against her bottom ones. But she was clearly sentient, with her eyes peering back and forth as if she was looking for something. And occasionally they rolled up into her head, and then back down. Dalamar emerged from the bathroom to find Raistlin staring curiously at Sikeen's face.

"What is it?" he asked, approaching her again.

"Make tea," said Raistlin dismissively, knowing he would need it soon. A muscle in Dalamar's jaw tensed and he made it a point to leave just a moment later than he normally did, hating how secretive his Shalafi was sometimes. This was his friend, not Raistlin's. Nevertheless, he tromped down the stairs and set the water to boil.

Raistlin tried to figure out if she was dreaming, but her eyes were moving slowly, not like the rapid movements of a dreamer. What could it be? He waved his hand in front of her face, but it had no effect on her. Then it hit him. She was hallucinating.

For hours, she'd been hallucinating. He realized, then, why she always looked so tired. This is what happened when she tried to sleep, at least recently.

He hadn't had much experience here. There was no magic that could pull someone out of a trance that was not caused by magic in the first place. Figuring his best bet was to wake her, he shoved her a few times. Nothing changed.

"Sikeen!" he hissed, watching her carefully. Still nothing. He repeated her name louder and then she finally stirred, but she didn't wake. Leaning over her, he inadvertently let his hand rest on her wrist. Instantly, her eyes snapped open. He didn't need to say anything. Her breathing became quick as she looked at him, but it was a hollow stare, as if she didn't quite recognize him. She sat up abruptly and tried to wrench her hand away, terrified, but he held it firmly, watching her. What was she seeing?

She was about to open her mouth to say something when she realized she was awake. She remembered, then, that she'd gotten up. And the man in front of her was her Shalafi, not the same one she remembered from her childhood.

"Raistlin," she exhaled, utterly relieved. He stared at her curiously, forgetting to correct her use of his name.

"You were hallucinating," he said, sending a chill down her spine. He was looking at her like she was in a zoo.

"You can let go of me," she said, her eyes narrowing at him. He still had his hand wrapped tightly around her wrist. When he let go, they both noticed the pale yellow of a bruise beginning to form. "Thanks," she said sarcastically, sighing.

"I healed your wound," he said, glaring back at her. She gave him a curious look before remembering that she'd hit her head. Suddenly, it all came crashing back – she hadn't been asleep at all. She had been in the shower. Horrified, she pulled her towel closer around her body.

"Thank you," she muttered, wishing he would look away from her. She was never going to get used to needing the help of mages to get through her days. It was really quite belittling.

"What did you see?" he asked, still leaning in close to her. He'd forgotten all about triggering her and respecting her boundaries. This was far too interesting. Every time she tried to sleep, she hallucinated. What could it be?

So this, Sikeen thought, was the quality he possessed that made him the most powerful mortal being. Relentless curiosity. She had to admit, when he was really wrapped up in something it made him seem sort of childlike, and it would have been endearing had he been violating someone else.

"That's none of your business," she said, wanting to stand up. She had no idea how she would do it with the growing headache she was developing and the awkward angle Raistlin was sitting at. He would see right up her towel with that proximity. That fascinated stare was unnerving enough, fixated on her face…

"I suppose it isn't," he said, finally looking away to stare at the wall. He was still for a moment, frowning slightly as he processed this.

"You realize I'm wearing a towel, don't you? I'd really appreciate it if you let me get dressed and quit staring at me like I belong in a carnival." His eyes snapped back at her and he gave her a once over, his gaze lingering slightly on the bare curve of her neck and collarbones. She let out a dry laugh. It didn't matter what he aspired to with his magic, Raistlin was far less of a gentleman than Dalamar and definitely just a regular boy, beneath it all. "You're still staring at me!" He cleared his throat, looking away before meeting her eyes.

"I'm trying to make sense of you, elf." he said. It was one of the first things she'd heard him say that didn't hold some kind of undertone – no bitterness, no pity, no taunting. And strangely enough, he sounded more or less like a regular human being when he spoke without the frills.

"Raistlin! You were not; you were staring at me. Can you go?!" she repeated, her voice growing shrill. She clutched at the towel again, peeved. He really didn't know how to take a hint. By Gods, she was uncomfortable. Immediately, his eyes narrowed at her and the usual hostility was back.

"Shalafi, prisoner. Start feeding yourself properly or the closest you'll get to the forest will be a grave at its feet." Was that supposed to be encouragement? She wasn't sure, but he finally got up and walked away, velvet robes brushing the wood floor. She slowly rose to her feet and pulled some more of Dalamar's softest clothes on before collapsing on the bed to attempt rest once more.