Categories > Books > Dragonlance

Shall We Dance?

by Kasan_Soulblade 0 reviews

They met, as they had in thier childhoods, but thier childhoods were long spent and squandered. Still, he offered, and she acepted, so they danced.

Category: Dragonlance - Rating: PG - Genres: Fantasy - Characters: Raistlin - Warnings: [!!!] - Published: 2012-10-17 - Updated: 2012-10-18 - 1001 words - Complete

Shall we dance?

Dragon Lance One shot

"Shall we dance?"

Their meetings were rare, while not rare as their meetings with others; it was still a rare occurrence. His show of generosity, an offered hand, the slight crook to his bent arm that so generously gave place for her to loop her own around, was an oddity. In the earliest of their days they had whimsically danced. Their childhood nights, while not filled with light hearted romps and mocking salles that carried them across the onyx floor flecked with glimmering shards of steel, platinum, had sparingly been sprinkled with playful meetings. Time had worn at their play. Maturity had forced sobriety upon them, and such romps became more rare.

She'd had thought, after his first taste of real betrayal, her cousin would have forsaken their childhood sport.

He smiled, unfazed by her hesitance. Careful, cautious, she had always been, even as a child…

Lifting her gaze from the onyx floor, she became aware that she was unaware as to when she'd dropped her gaze. She forsook her brooding and offered him her brightest smile for his patience. The light of her smile made him wince, ever so slightly, or perhaps it was something else. Still, he offered his own trademark smirk, despite the pain. Black eyes, hooded with ghostly white lids, met her own twin mundane brown orbs.

She had her father's eyes; the commonplace words seemed to form on his lips, yet habitual secrecy held them back. He stilled them, tasted them, then swallowed. It was a bitter taste, yet he was familiar with the bitter, with the empty, and he forbade himself to comment or express this as well.

"You looks so… very charming, all dressed in red. Never does the thought of a vulgarly clad Palan-"

Her eyes narrowed, she knew exactly what he was going to say. Knowing his patience spent she allowed her hand to slide through the space allowed by his bent elbow.

"I agreed, no insults."

He smirked, silenced the name of the city on the tip of his tongue. And the occupation, the oh-so-insulting occupation he was going to allude she might best uphold, well he never uttered it. Ghost white fingers twined around her own. He took a step, and she followed, their robes rustled about them, and they began their age old dance.

She might be the image of the mundane –if shaped after a somewhat beautifully bent- human woman clad in red he was anything but. Slender, nearly skeletal, his skin was a pasty white, his eyes black pits. While she easily glided by the glimmering points of light that sported the dance form and allowed the shadows to fold over her frame and slide away, he winced at the lights. As if in pain.

"You know, it doesn't have to hurt you. Your pain is something you're inflicting on yourself."

Leaning forward, he set his lips a mere inch from her ear. His voice was soft, a slight hiss, that was reminiscent of his mother.

"Ah, but if I were too, I'd change. To change one part of me is to change the whole."
Wasn't it though? She chuckled, and in response he twirled her about, blood hued cloth mixing with his shadows for a heartbeat before they spread apart. She held him now, by the tips of his ghostly fingers, and with a tug he allowed himself to be pulled close.

"I wonder, what would happen if we were to go back?" She noted innocently.

He winced, the words, the offer, unknown to her, were a goblin's barbed spear through the heart.

Ignorant she went on, with her innocent musing. "To go back… that would certainly throw the magi and seamen for a spin, wouldn't it?"

"It would also…" He choked on his instinctual response. It would anger Mother… He temporized; knowing that to halt and say nothing would only encourage her to ferret the real answer out of him."Annoy our other white clad cousin."

"You like annoying him."

It was almost a rebuke.

"Considering that tomorrow eve our paths cross… I'd rather not spend what time I have to with him listening to him bitch and whine."

She laughed, and he flashed her a real smile. Not the cruel smirk, the condescending sneer. He showed her a true smile, one of scarcely felt and most notably twisted warmth. They fell into companionable silence, and walked, always forward, never back.

"It's better this way." He noted, as he spied their destination, the twilight realm where dawn and dusk touched, twined.

Blinking, she came out of her thoughts. Lost somewhere in thier placid span. She came too and contemplated him. Her eyes, normally laughing, became serious, somber even.

"What's better? How is this chaos better?"

"We have our freedom, you've always had it, but never I. Never Sol- you know…" He grumbled, making a gesture of throwing something away, after he'd gently broke their dancing embrace. "Him."

"He doesn't bite you know, and we are related."

"More to my shame." The black clad man said with a dry laugh.

"All three of us." Lunitari pressed, tossing her head her midnight locks flowed behind her. A river of night, he watched the flowing locks land upon the pale neck. Transfixed by her inhuman yet humane beauty. "We are related. And we're in this, together, aren't we?"

"Of course." Said Nuitari. "Things haven't changed, or rather, if they have, it hasn't been that drastic of one."

Not yet, anyways.

He thought those words, damning words if he dared to speak them. Now he did smirk and gestured for her to lead, as a gallant would encourage his lady to lead.

"It would be bad forum… and think of the poor magi who study the sky to see that their beloved Red Lady were to falter behind me when she so clearly held the lead most the eve." He teased.

So she lead and he followed, but not forever. Never that.
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