Est_20: 04 Forgiveness- Deeds

[skull_bearer]

 Sorry for the delay, I hope it was worth the wait.

TITLE: Deeds
AUTHOR: Skull Bearer
FANDOM: Dragonlance
PAIRING: Raistlin/Dalamar
GENRE: Slash
TABLE: Here
PROMPT: 05. Forgiveness
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 1750
SUMMARY: What can’t be healed by words must be healed by deeds. Sequel to ‘Words’.
WARNINGS: Some references to nasty stuff, nothing too graphic.
DISCLAIMER: *****

Salome
Would you dance with me?
Salome.
Would you dance with me?
Salome
Killing Miranda, Salome.

 

It seemed as though he would never stop shaking. He'd had tears in his eyes even before he'd started walking, but it was only once he'd reached the trees, out of sight, that he'd let them fall. Tracing blood-hot lines down his cold cheeks. It had been a cold night, and Dalamar didn't know if it had been due to the weather or because every ember of heat had been drawn from his body.

He might have slept, he'd huddled down in a dried-up gully, hugging his knees and trying to cope, as he always had. He'd done this before, a thousands times, in Tarsis and even afterwards, in Solace with Caramon spitting accusations at him. He'd cope, it had caught him by surprise; that was all, he'd cope.

 

Nuitari, Raistlin's voice.

 

He wished it had been hatred he'd heard in it, hatred he would have understood, hatred would have been understandable. After Amberyl, Raistlin would have been thinking of her, not him. He almost wished it had been anger, that they'd been arguing and Raistlin had said it deliberately to hurt him. Because he could blame that on hot human blood and Raistlin's past with Caramon having left him short-tempered. Anything but that bone deep, utterly sincere revulsion.

Because he'd meant it, every word. He hated those women, they disgusted him, they and everything to do with them, and everyone who 'did that as a living'. Always. Forever.

He'd heard that before, he'd heard it in Caramon's voice- who’d hardly had a leg to stand on- he'd coped. Why couldn't he cope now?

Because it was Raistlin. It was always Raistlin, the break in his defences, the raw, exposed shred of his iron-cold heart. Love was a weakness; people could break you through love. He'd dismissed it, considering it worth it. What did he fear the faceless enemies who would be able to hurt him through his lover? Raistlin could defend himself.

 

He'd never thought that Raistlin himself could have been the danger.

 

Maybe he should have stayed, should not have stormed off. Raistlin had been sorry. He'd seen the horror in those golden eyes; he'd heard Raistlin choke his name, unable to find an apology.

And that was why he had left, because there was nothing Raistlin could have said, nothing at all, that could take back what he'd said. He couldn't say he hadn't meant it; he had. He couldn't say he hadn't thought; that was no excuse. He couldn't just apologise because however honest it was, he couldn't forgive him. Not now. Not ever? Dalamar didn't want to think about that. He still loved him, no words could change that, but he didn't know if he could ever look him in the eyes again. Not now he knew just what Raistlin really thought of him.

 

At some point, the sun had risen again, and Dalamar found himself in the grey light of dawn, body numb with cold, the taste of salt in his mouth and a deep, throbbing pain in his temples. He took a deep breath, his head felt clearer, colder, although no more decided on what to do.

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a crack, someone stepping on a twig. Dalamar looked up eyes blazing and the words of a spell ready on his tongue, about to blast whatever inconsiderate idiot dare to disturb him.

Raistlin.

Perhaps part of Dalamar would have wanted to hurl the spell anyway, but that was a long time ago and that part of him was dead. He left it slip from his mind and looked away, feeling somehow even more exhausted and swallowing against the lump in his throat. He would not cry, he'd shed enough tears already and he wouldn't do it in front of Raistlin.

Raistlin stumbled on the slope, dislodging pebbles and he made his unsteady way down. Dalamar looked up irritably. Raistlin was wearing his spare cloak, old and weatherworn grey. He'd wrapped it completely around himself but it was too long and brushed his feet, barely kept from trailing on the ground by the young mage's white-knuckled grip on the fabric. His feet were bare, and Dalamar felt a familiar jab of irritation, couldn't his lover have at least waited to put some shoes on? The ground was rough and he was going to hurt himself.

 

Raistlin skidded the last few feet into the gully and Dalamar couldn't repress a wince; that had to have hurt. The cold feeling immediately returned, though, when he looked at his face. Raistlin refused to look at him, staring fixedly at the ground. He was pale beneath the golden pallor, his hair a mess and with the marks of tears on his cheeks. Somehow, that made Dalamar even angrier. Raistlin was sorry, but he still didn't dare look him in the face.

"Look at me." His voice was hoarse.

Raistlin didn't move or speak, but the hand holding Dalamar's cloak closed tightened still more, nails digging in almost hard enough to tear the oiled fabric.

"Look at me!" It was a bark. Raistlin's head jerked up; then drooped down again.

"Look at me or am I not worth looking at!"

He felt the catch of tears, and grew angrier still, staggering to his feet. His legs ached from sitting down for so long. He swayed, but took a determined step towards his lover. Raistlin hadn't moved, although he looked as though he too might start crying at any moment.

"Am I less than they are?" He hissed as he approached. "You could look at them. You hated them; they made you feel sick, but you could still look at them. Am I less than that?"

Raistlin shook his head, but still didn't look up.

Dalamar's hand's moved as though of their own accord to seize Raistlin's shoulders. His grip was too tight, he could feel the bones clearly through the layers of fabric and he was probably hurting Raistlin. "Are you ashamed? Are you ashamed you slept with me, even though you knew what I was?" He shook him. "Are you?!"

Raistlin lifted his head a little, not enough to look him in the eye. "No." It was less than a whisper.

Dalamar grabbed hold of his chin and wrenched his face up. "Look at me!"

 

Raistlin looked at him, and left the cloak fall.

 

Under it, he was naked.

 

Dalamar, shocked, let go of him and took a step back. Raistlin's gaze dropped to the ground again, but Dalamar didn't speak. The young mage's face contorted, tears slipping out. It was a cold morning, and Raistlin was so thin it must have been freezing. He didn't move, standing there, letting Dalamar look his fill. He'd stand here for as long as Dalamar wanted, would do whatever Dalamar demanded of him, if only... if only...

Dalamar knew what this was, just as Raistlin had known when he'd offered it. The only apology he knew Dalamar would accept.

 

Dalamar moved closer again, but didn't touch Raistlin. He ran a hand just above the skin, raising hairs. He could almost count the ribs, the hip bones stood out like daggers under the thin layer of skin. Had he ever been so thin? Even in Tarsis, he must have been, to have been so desperate as to accept that man's offer.

The look on Raistlin's face was a match to what that man would have seen, looking at him that first time. That shame, that misery. Had he cried too? Yes, he was sure he would have done, if only from hunger. And the desperation, the lack of all other options, keeping him rooted to the spot, no matter how much he wanted to run.

 

His hand skated above Raistlin's shoulder, soft as a breeze against the fine white hair. Raistlin shivered, from the mixture of cold and misery Dalamar knew so very well. His hand dropped down Raistlin's back and some part of him, the part he had thought dead, wanted to take advantage of the offer. He could throw Raistlin down and take him here and now, hot and tight, making it hurt, making it burn and tear until he couldn't walk for days. And Raistlin would let him, would not think less of him; would consider it a fair exchange. The blood-due of the Dark elf.

 

Rape for food.

Rape for love.

 

He touched Raistlin's shoulder with his other hand, feeling the tautness of the skin, the firmness of the muscle and the roundness of the bone snug in its socket. He could hurt him; twist the muscle until it tore, the bone until it broke, stain that skin bloody and Raistlin had torn his heart bloody. He was no Solamnic knight, to care for mercy when someone had hurt him this badly.

 

But this was Raistlin.

 

And Raistlin would always and ever be the exception.

 

He pulled the trembling young mage into his arms and sank to the ground, Raistlin's hands knotted into his robes; his face buried in his shoulder, Dalamar's in his hair, tears slipping free at long last. Raistlin smelt of earth and magic and the salt of tears.

"I'm so sorry."

It was more a muffled sob than anything else, but Dalamar understood. He rubbed his cheek against Raistlin's hair. "Shh..." His voice caught and he was quiet, letting the tears come. Raistlin was shaking in earnest, and Dalamar could feel his teeth press into his chest as he grimaced in misery. He stoked his hair, strokes his back, caressed and whispered soothing nonsense until the trembling slowly faded and the tears died away. It felt good, soothing, balm not only for the wounds of last night, but for much older ones. Gods, if only he'd had someone to offer this in Tarsis...

He kissed the crown of Raistlin’s head, and reached for the cloak lying discarded on the ground. He let go of his lover and pulled it tightly around them both. Raistlin shifted onto his side, drawing his feet against Dalamar's leg. They were like ice. Raistlin's hand tightened on Dalamar's bicep and he drew himself up until his head was resting on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry." He whispered again.

"It's okay." And it was.

Comments

[shadowvalkyrie.livejournal.com]

*crying now*
Painful and lovely and... well, still painful, despite the good ending.

[halokitty69.livejournal.com]

Gosh...so stripped bare and vulnerable. Brilliant.