Est_20: 04 Hope- Escape

[skull_bearer]

TITLE: Escape
AUTHOR: Skull Bearer
FANDOM: Dragonlance
PAIRING: Raistlin/Dalamar
GENRE: Slash
TABLE: Here
PROMPT: 10- Hope
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 1988
SUMMARY: You can’t win them all.
WARNINGS: None
DISCLAIMER: Huh.

From underneath the trees, we watch the sky
Confusing stars for satellites
I never dreamed that you'd be mine
But here we are, we're here tonight

Singing Amen, I, I'm alive
Singing Amen, I, I'm alive

-If Everyone Cared, Nickelback

 

Raistlin staggered, stumbling over the rough ground. Dalamar kept running for a few paces before he realised Raistlin couldn't keep up and doubled back. Raistlin glanced behind them and felt his stomach clench as tightly as his lungs. It was unmitigated chaos. This was no longer a retreat, or even a rout, it was a massacre.

The army they had joined had failed utterly. There had been rumors that a branch of the northern armies were marching towards Southlund, and the army, flushed with previous successes, had rushed to meet them.

 

There had been an army, but it wasn't anything like the armies they had faced before. Incredibly well armed and well prepared, the smaller force hadn't stood a chance.

 

Dalamar caught his arm and pulled him forwards. Raistlin made it three feet before collapsing into another fit of coughing. Dalamar swore once, then again as they were spotted.

"Come on!"

If he had breath, Raistlin would have liked to tell Dalamar to go on ahead, but he didn't, and anyway it would have been a cold day in the Abyss before Dalamar would leave him like this.

"Oh, Nuitari damn it!" Dalamar grabbed him around the waist and lifted him.

Raistlin would have struggled, but one look behind them changed his mind. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Dalamar's neck and tried to stifle his coughs.

 

The forest was just ahead. The army was well armed and well equipped, but it lacked in skirmishers and woodland troops. Given this, and the amount of loot available from those already killed, Raistlin hoped their pursuers would decide that capturing two fleeing mercenaries wasn't worth missing out of the best pickings and would give up once they reached the trees. Even if they didn’t, Dalamar was an elf and Raistlin had grown up in a forest, he was fairly sure they would be able to lose the men quickly enough.

 

Even with Raistlin's added weight, Dalamar was fast, and their pursuers' heavy armour was telling against them. They were falling behind, and Raistlin felt a burst of relief as one of them stopped entirely.

Relief that turned into a kick of horror when he saw the man unhitch a crossbow from his belt.

"Dalamar!" He managed to gasp out in warning.

The elf snatched a glance behind, but didn't stop. There was no time to cast. A sleep spell might work, but it wouldn't stop more then a few of the men, and anyway they would be cut down before they could even finish it.

Instead, Dalamar pulled Raistlin more tightly against his chest, and hunched over, ready to throw both of them down the moment the crossbow fired, and began zigzagging erratically, hoping to throw the man's aim off.

 

Raistlin watched over Dalamar's shoulder, useless as he was, his chest still knotted up too tightly to do more than draw breath, at least he could give them warning.

The man was good; the bolt was loaded quickly, and in a single, fluid motion the man had cocked it, put it to his shoulder, and fired.

Raistlin's hand tightened on Dalamar's shoulder, and the elf understood, dodging to the right. He stumbled, and almost fell, but it probably saved his life. The bolt skimmed over them, missing Dalamar's shoulder by inches and snapping into the dirt.

 

The trees were just ahead. In another situation they would have thought themselves safe, the soldiers had more or less given up the chase, and the archer would have to reload. But with this man, Raistlin couldn't be sure he wouldn't have another shot before they reached the safety of the forest.

Dalamar knew it too, because the elf stopped wavering and ran straight for the trees, desperate to reach them before the archer could fire. He was tiring, and Raistlin would have insisted he put him down if he didn't know Dalamar would refuse. Besides, he had to admit that even tired, Dalamar ran faster than he could in this state.

 

The archer knew this was his last shot too, and was reloading at top speed. Raistlin felt his heart sink when he saw the man would be finished before they could reach the trees. Dalamar gave a guttural snarl, drew up the energy from somewhere and finished the last few meters in a sprint as the man drew up his crossbow for a shot.

 

Maybe it was the rough ground that again saved their lives, or that the man hadn't had time to aim. Because they should have been dead. Even at that range, the archer had proven himself more than good enough, especially with Dalamar running almost in a straight line for the last few yards. But either due to luck or some whim of the Gods, the bolt thudded into a tree a hairsbreadth from Dalamar's cheek. Raistlin saw the elf's eyes widen in shock.

 

But it had missed, and shooting in a forest was pointless. Dalamar vanished into the trees with a distinctly un-elven crash, snapping branches and tearing both of their robes of brambles in his haste to get away.

 

Despite there being no more sign of pursuit, and being obviously very tired, Dalamar kept running. It was only when the sounds of fighting had died away and the light filtering through the thickening layers of leaves had dimmed that he slowed down enough to put Raistlin down.

 

"I don't think they will go this far in, Dalamar." He said softly.

The elf was leaning against a tree, trying to get his breath back. "After the Sentinel Peaks, I refuse to take any chances." He took a deep breath. "I think we can afford to slow down though."

Raistlin snorted, then winced when it hurt his raw throat. The forest was almost completely silent, with barely a breeze stirring the leaves. The dry ditch they were in obviously hadn't seen anything larger than a squirrel for years, judging by the ankle-high pile of dead leaves lining it.

 

Raistlin leant against a tree, not trusting the mouldy leaves and muddy bottom of the ditch. They'd had to leave just about everything behind, most of their belongings had remained in camp, which the army was probably even now plundering. Ah well, it was for exactly this reason they always kept their spellbooks with them.

Mentally, Raistlin tallied their resources. They were very few. They had their spellbooks, and food for today- although Raistlin was fairly sure they could stretch that to tomorrow too, they had all their money, thank Lunitari, because neither of them were naive enough to leave that in camp.

That seemed about it.

Oh yes.

Raistlin reached out, and took hold of his staff, which had been leaning against the trunk as though he'd just set it down a moment ago, rather than having dropped it the moment they'd had to run. It hadn't been the first time he'd had to leave it and trust to the magic to bring it back, and every time it was a wrench, but what was the alternative? If he ran with it, it would slow him down, and even if it didn't come back, at least this way he'd be still alive to kick himself over it.

 

Dalamar drew in a deep, raw-sounding breath, and nodded towards the deepening woods. Raistlin shrugged and followed. He didn't think they were in any danger here- wherever here was- but Dalamar was right, after the Sentinel Peaks, they didn't want to run any risks with this army.

 

Dalamar looked at him quizzically. "Better?"

Feeling embarrassed, Raistlin nodded, "I am sorry, that was extremely bad timing."

Dalamar shrugged, "You don’t weight very much." He looked away.

Raistlin frowned, "Are you all right?"

Dalamar smiled bitterly "Not quite as easy as we thought it would be, is it?"

Raistlin smiled, remembering back to the night on the walkway, and their decision to oppose the swelling northern army, for fortune and steel. No, nowhere near as easy as it had seemed back then.

 

"Have you thought," Dalamar said softly, "That we could be on the wrong side? This army... it is powerful, and if this fragment is any indication, it will sweep away any opposition. I will not want to be in that position."

 

It was Raistlin's turn to frown. He had occasionally wondered exactly that, but not for the reasons Dalamar voiced. He'd wondered after that first battle, having watched the castle defenders being butchered to appease the wounded pride of one foul little man. He'd known they'd been on the wrong side at that moment.

But Dalamar hadn't seen it that way. To the Dark elf, the side to be on was the winning side, and while Raistlin could definitely see the appeal, he didn't think it would stretch to joining an army who as a rule showed no more mercy that the besiegers had.

 

"One victory is not the war." He offered, putting an arm around Dalamar's waist, and was rewarded with a more genuine smile.

It faded quickly. "No, but how many more will they win? That army was powerful, you saw it yourself. If this is a fraction of the power of the northern armies..."

"Even if it was, it isn't necessarily enough. They had the high ground, the element of surprise, our allies were... over-confident." Dalamar snorted, "They were lucky and," he shrugged, "So were we."

 

Dalamar had to agree to that, despite the carnage, they had escaped with no more than a few scratches, and those from thorns.

Dalamar stopped and looked at him incredulously. "You are telling me to be hopeful? You? Who knows what is coming probably better than I do, and who always tells everyone hope is pointless?"

"Pessimism is as worthless as optimism," Raistlin felt indignant, even more when Dalamar started laughing and pulled him into a hug.

 

They hung onto each other for a long time, they had escaped, but it had been a narrow escape, and it was good to hold on and let it sink it that they were still alive.

Raistlin closed his eyes, trying to breath through Dalamar's robes. Old robes, and growing worn around the edges. He'd had a new set made for Dalamar's nameday, but they were back at the camp. A present his lover would never receive, it made him absurdly sad to think of it, and he held on a little tighter. He'd get him new ones when they reached a town, even if the elf had to get his present a month late.

 

His shoulder was growing numb and Raistlin was beginning to wonder if Dalamar had fallen asleep like that when the elf straightened up suddenly. Raistlin kissed him, no more than a brush of lips, and Dalamar took his hand.

 

This wasn't the most optimal of situations, lost in an unfamiliar forest, but as it wasn't large enough to find on any map and with the magic to guide them, Raistlin was confident they would be out in a day or two, and by that time the army would be well past them. They needed to find a town to resupply at, and hopefully rest at for a few days, but it would be alright, at least for them. And somehow, despite his curse and Fistandantilus and the war and everything else, Raistlin could believe it would always be alright, just as long as they were together.

 

And if that wasn't pointless, worthless, optimistic hope, than Raistlin had no idea what was.