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Chapter Text

The bard played an upbeat and jolly song about the “Heroes of Easthaven”. The elf occupying the seat nearest to the hearth couldn’t care less. She hated the harsh, cold winds of Icewind Dale, but business called her and her fellow members of the adventuring party only known as the “Sisters of the Red Moon” to these parts. She sighed, and snuggled closer to the fireplace, nursing the same mulled wine she ordered an hour ago.

“You don’t really seem true to your name now, you know?” She heard one of her companions' voice.

She turned her gaze to look at the half-orc fighter standing next to her.

“Whatever do you mean, Ilga.” The elf shrugged, turning back to her drink. Unlucky for her, the half-orc woman wasn’t one to let go of her so easily.

“You don’t look too merry to me, Merry Silverlight.”

“I’m just not in the mood for dancing.” She replied. Ilga’s smug grin that occupied her face until now disappeared.

“Is this because of that weasel, Largo?” She prodded. Merry sighed and stopped her hand in time before running it through her silver hair, ruining her rose-shaped hairpin which kept it in a neat bun on top of her head. Ilga was stubborn, and sometimes dense as a piece of granite, but she always saw right through her friend.

“Yea, that is it.” She shook her head. “I know he cheated us out of our fair share of the loot and disappeared, but you shouldn’t beat yourself up because of it!”

Merry put her mug down and stood up, stretching her arms and legs before saying

“I know. But I was the one who insisted we take him along with us.”

“We needed a meatshield.”

Merry finally permitted herself a smile.

“Ilga, you and I are the “meatshield” of the company.”

Ilga grinned, flashing her fangs at Merry.

“One or more are always needed to protect our squishy mage and that annoying archer.”

“Hey! The “annoying archer” has a name!” Came the thin voice of a third member of their party, a gnome female with a big crossbow and an even bigger personality. “It’s Tippletoe Boondiggles!”

“Tiptoe Longgiggles?” Ilga jested.

“Boondiggles!”

“Barnacles?”

Merry indeed became worthy of her name, as she listened to her friends’ bantering. The last member of her adventuring party, a busty, redheaded human sorceress sat close to the bar, probably trying to seduce the barmaid, while ignoring the bard’s pretty obvious looks cast at her direction. Merry went over to her, and sat down on an empty stool.

“Having fun yet?” She queried.

“I would if someone wouldn’t try to interrupt.” the mage quipped. “Have you seen Tippletoe?”

“She’s with Ilga, once again trying to teach her to pronounce her name properly.”

The redhead chuckled.

“Some things are doomed to fail.”

Merry was about to answer, when the tavern’s door swung open, and one of the loggers stumbled in, bleeding from several cut wounds.

“Fire!” He managed to shout before he collapsed on the floor, dead.

All four of the adventurers rose from their seats, and exchanged looks from among the quickly panicking villagers.

“Andrea, would you be so kind to help me put out this fire?” Merry asked without looking at the sorceress.

“On it.”

The two of them went back to their room, and took their equipment before returning downstairs, looking for their companions. Ilga picked Tippletoe up and put her on her shoulder to keep her from being trampled to death by the people rushing out to see what was going on.

“Get me my weapon, and I’ll show them why they should fear the tiny gnomes they want to trample!” Tippletoe steamed. “Stampede orcs... No offense.”

Ilga snorted.

“None taken. I’m only half-stampede anyway.”

“Let’s see what’s this ruckus is!” Merry strapped her longsword to her waist and fastened her shield on her arm.

“Gotcha.” Ilga put Tippletoe down, who rushed to pick up her repeating crossbow from her belongings and ran after her companions.

Many of the houses and a warehouse were burning, and the people trying to put out the flames were attacked by combatants wearing black armour, some of them wielding twin blades. Merry cursed under her breath, and turned to Andrea.

“Drow.”

None of her companions met the dark cousins of her kind, but she told them enough for the mere word to cause them to lose the colour of their cheeks.

“A little light would do well then, I think.” The sorceress commented.

“Stick together, don’t let them in our backs!” Merry ordered and Ilga nodded, already clutching her battle hammer.

One of the attackers saw them, and barked something on their language, then three more of the armoured dark elves approached the party.

They fought to the death, and were successful in dealing a blow or two even to Ilga, but that didn’t much as slowed her. She planted her hammer into the skull of one of her opponents, and when he fell, she used the same momentum to send the other elf flying into the wall of the building next to the tavern, then collapse spitting blood.

Andrea conjured lightnings and fried the ones coming too close, while blinded the ones who weren’t in the range of her spell. Tippletoe’s bolts finished the rest of them.

They saw the light of the incoming fireball a bit too late though.

“Get that mage!” Merry shouted while she tried to put out the flames on her hair. Ilga rushed out of the ever dwindling circle of fire around them, and pursued the dark elf who ran upon seeing the half-orc rush in his direction.

“Let me help you with that, dear!” Andrea called after her friend and cast grease under the drow’s feet. While elves – light and dark alike – were known for their exceptional dexterity, this particular drow wasn’t an epitome of grace when he slipped and landed on his back.

He was still cursing – or at least the adventurers thought he’s cursing by the tone – when Ilga and her company reached him.

“Elghinn ulu darthiir!” the drow hissed when he saw Merry, and tried to stab her with a dagger he pulled out from gods know where.

He didn’t reach the moon elf, for Ilga’s hammer crushed his ribs and sent him back to the ground.

“That was the last of them.” The half-orc sighed.

“I doubt it.” Merry’s voice was eerily empty. “Let’s look around and see if we can help the villagers!”

The drow were gone, but the buildings still burned, and people needed assistance with either fighting the fire or getting healing for the wounded. The four adventurers scattered and did what they could. Still, when the fires were out, and the losses were counted, the village militia’s leader Baldassar, approached the company.

“It seems like several of the townsmen are missing, but we didn’t find them among the dead or the wounded.”

Merry hung her head.

“The dark elves are known for keeping slaves.” She commented. “Forgive me for being blunt, but they might be taken.”

“We think the same.” Baldassar nodded with a shadow on his features. “And on behalf of the elders, I may ask you to try and find them!”

Ilga and Andrea exchanged glances, while Tippletoe burst out laughing.

“You must be joking.” She chirped. “Go after the drow. To the Underdark. We?”

Baldassar cast a desperate look at Merry, thinking her to be the leader of the party.

“We will need equipment, and time for going after the drow and free your neighbours.” She replied. “But guilt would weigh me down for the rest of my life if I would refuse your request.”

Tippletoe stopped laughing.

“Wait, you serious?”

“I’m afraid she is.” Andrea sighed. “So much for having fun.”

“So much for sleeping in a comfy bed.” Ilga added. “Oh well. I get to try my new bedroll at least.”

“Nothing can break your spirits, am I right?” Tippletoe cast a pointy look at the half-orc.

“Nope.” Came the answer.

They gathered their belongings and left Coldcreek through the road that led out to the plains. Before they departed, Baldassar warned them about a few drow retreating the same direction.

“We’ll keep an eye out for them.” Merry nodded. “Might catch one and ask what in the nine hells they were doing topside.”

It didn’t take long for them to find a trail of blood and follow it to a wounded drow, trying to hide among the stones from the slowly rising sun. He was clutching his abdomen, trying to keep his insides from falling out. His blood painted the snow and dirt red around him.

Merry stopped her companions and went over to the dying dark elf.

“Came to watch as I leave this world?” The wounded elf quipped on a weak voice.

“I do not take pleasure in seeing you suffer.” Merry answered him, prompting the drow to sneer at her.

“You’re just as weak as the rest of your pathetic kind, darthiir.” He groaned and suppressed a loud, distressed cry, as he accidentally moved, causing his wound to bleed even more profusely.

“Tell me where did your companions take the humans from the village, and I will end your pain.” Merry tried to bargain.

“Rivvil... Are just spoils we took.” His face went slowly from obsidian to dark ashen-grey. “We came for the dobluth. The one who wronged the Spider Queen, Drizzt Do’Urden. We thought he’s hiding among the iblith, but we were wrong. Others may come, and succeed where I have fallen.” His breathing became laboured, and blood streamed down from the corner of his mouth. “Soon all of you will be consumed by darkness.”

Merry drew her knife, and planted it into the drow’s heart. His eyes were fixed on her features, and his face somehow became relaxed. Merry didn’t want to see it. She closed the drow’s eyes, and stood up, her companions catching up with her.

“Did he tell you where they took the townspeople?” Ilga queried. Merry forced her emerging bile back, and shook her head.

“No. But he told me they came looking for someone. One of their own, probably.” She turned to her friends and back at the road. “I guess we’re looking for a runaway drow as well.”

Baldassar was surprised to see the adventurers back in Coldcreek, mere hours after they departed.

“We found the wounded raider.” Merry began even before the man could utter a word. “Before he passed away, he told me they were looking for one of their own. A runaway drow named Drizzt Do’Urden.”

Baldassar seemed to think for a moment, then sighed.

“I know him. He’s... well, not like the ones who attacked us. He walked among us for so long we forgot about the wickedness of his kind.”

“And do you know where he is?” Merry inquired “I didn’t see him around when we arrived.”

Baldassar shook his head.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t know where he is at the moment. But I know someone who might help you.”

“The first good news I heard all day.” Andrea deadpanned.

“Nah, it’s barely morning. Plenty of time for other good news.” Ilga slapped the mage’s shoulder playfully, causing the woman to nearly fall over.

“And who has the knowledge of the whereabouts of this Drizzit?” Tippletoe came forward and stopped next to Baldassar and Merry.

“Vermulean, the druid.” The man answered. “His house is out on the plains, I can show you the way. Maybe he’ll help us shed some light on why these drow are after Drizzt.”

“Are you sure the militia won’t need you around?” Tippletoe worried. “The dark elves might come back.”

“It’s broad daylight.” Merry assured her. “They can’t see very well in bright light, so they won’t come back until dusk.”

“If you say so...” The gnome shrugged, and pointed at Baldassar. “You sir, are welcome to tag along!”

The journey through the cold plains of Icewind Dale took long hours to make, even on a sunny and calm day as it was. Gnolls, orcs and other non-human marauders roamed the place, sometimes coming too close to the small party of adventurers.

“Vermulean’s hut is near.” Baldassar reported to the Sisters when he came back from scouting ahead. “It seems like he’s not at home though.”

“We should get inside and wait for him then.” Andrea suggested. “Otherwise, we’ll be naught but ice statues on his porch when he arrives home.”

Tippletoe seconded the mage’s suggestion, and Ilga also nodded to it. Merry wouldn’t want to intrude, so she looked at Baldassar, to hear what he has to say about it.

“I doubt Vermulean would mind us gathering around his hearth as long as we don’t disturb his belongings.” He concluded.

“It’s settled then!” Tippletoe exclaimed, and made her way through the snow to the small but nevertheless inviting hut.

Vermulean was in fact unbothered by the small group sitting around his fireplace when he entered the hut carrying a small fawn. He babbled to the little animal, and put it down to search for something inside of one of his cupboards, and give it to the fawn which ate it before curling up and falling asleep.

“Ah, I knew I had some goodberry somewhere.” The old man muttered before turning to the adventurers. “And just who might you be, and why are you around my hearth?”

Merry stood up and fixed her hairpin before answering.

“We are travellers from Coldcreek, and we need your advice, old druid.”

“And just what in the nine hells is so important that you break into my home when I’m not around? It’s suspicious, you know.”

Baldassar also stood up, and apologised.

“I was the one who let them in, Vermulean. These ladies saved Coldcreek from a raid by the drow. They mean no harm.”

The druid eyed the warrior for a while before grumbling something under his beard and nodding.

“Very well. Tell me what you wish to know, child.”

Merry cleared her throat and told Vermulean the events of last night.

“Coldcreek was attacked by the drow late last night, and though we defeated them, one of them said that there will be more of them coming. They seek to capture a renegade of their kin, one named Drizzt.”

Vermulean’s eyes lighted up with recognition.

“Oh, yes I know him.”

“Could it be that this Drizzt led his vengeful brethren here?” Andrea inquired.

“That I cannot tell.” Vermulean shrugged. “Though I have spoken with Drizzt multiple times, and he is certainly a better conversation partner than the other drow. They were just shouting curses at me from afar.” He seemed to be unsure. “Well, at least I think they were cursing. Mannerless ruffians.”

“Where is Drizzt now?” Merry queried.

“He lives in one of the caves near Kelvin’s Cairn.” Vermulean answered. “He sometimes travels long miles away from home though, so I cannot answer you where he exactly is at the moment.”

“To Kelvin’s Cairn then.” Merry sighed. That journey will take another day at least.

Drizzt crouched in the snow watching the small group on the road, approaching the mountain. He was alone, he sent Guenhwyvar home a mere hour ago, and headed towards his hideout, but he noticed the band of adventurers making their way through the forest. He knew they can’t see him, so he decided to take a closer look at them.

This was the most ragtag of a party he’d ever seen. A huge and cheerfully humming half-orc woman treaded the snow in the back, a tiny gnome next to her carrying a crossbow twice her size, while she kept on talking and talking. Drizzt already had a headache but he was only listening to her for a minute. The middle of the group was composed of a dark-haired and bearded man Drizzt found oddly familiar, and a very attractive red-haired woman carrying a staff with a bright red ruby on top of it. The party was led by a moonelf with pale skin, silver hair and she moved with a familiar cautiousness Drizzt found equally comforting and disturbing. She also carried a pair of identical blades, like Drizzt himself. 

He was intrigued by the newcomers, but also alarmed. Elves and humans seldom gave him the courtesy of letting him explain himself before attacking, and Drizzt didn’t want to hurt the adventurers. Having a half-orc among their ranks gave him a little hope though. He shifted his weight on his feet to better adjust his vantage point, when his stomach growled rather loudly and embarrassingly. Drizzt retreated from his spot, and decided to hunt something for dinner before even trying to approach the adventurers.

“Did you hear that?” Tippletoe stopped mid-step.

“Nah.” Ilga shook her head.

“Was it an avalanche?”

“Just Ilga’s tummy. We should eat.”

Merry also stopped and turned towards her companions.

“I’m sorry, but we have to find this Drizzt before nightfall.”

“We should make camp in one of the caves.” Andrea suggested. “I mean if it isn’t occupied by a bear or something.”

“We’ll see.” Merry turned back to the road, and led the party forward.

They found the cave Drizzt used as his home rather quickly, but much to their disappointment, he wasn’t there. Andrea shrugged and went inside, igniting the small pile of twigs in a makeshift fire pit.

“He’ll know someone is in his home.” Tippletoe chirped. “Don’t you think he’ll run away?”

“As much as I know, he’s not the type to run away.” Baldassar commented.

“However, I feel rather embarrassed to break into his home like this.” Merry grumbled, then she spotted a book of some sorts among a pile of rags. She raised her brow and picked it up, opening it.

“No drow word for love.

How can the idea survive when the language holds it silent?

Goodness too is not something for a drow to ponder. Am I weak for thinking of goodness and love, or is that my strength, a strength that separates me from all other drow? Station and power are everything to my people. Gained through acts of treachery and deceit, there is no rank a drow might achieve but that he must always watch his back. Compassion has no place in Menzoberranzan, the city of my birth. Honour and the harmony of working together are unknown there. A chaotic waste!

I vow to raise my scimitars only in defence, in the defence of my life or of the lives of others who cannot defend themselves.

Drizzt Do’Urden”

Merry lowered the book and shook her head. A profound feeling has gripped her heart, and only let her go when she felt the faint scent of magnolias from Andrea’s perfume.

“Ooh, what did you find?” She prodded. “It’s his journal!”

“Let me see, let me see!” Tippletoe jumped in front of the sorceress, who took the journal from Merry.

“Nah, it’s his journal, we shouldn’t read it it’s his personal stuff.” Ilga crossed her arms in front of her, but she kept crawling closer until she could peek into the book above Andrea’s head.

“The guy is sappy.” The sorceress commented.

“You’re reading something you absolutely should not.” Merry frowned. “Andrea, how would you feel if someone would break into your home and read your diary?”

The mage chuckled.

“Well, I would only like to see the look on their faces. I think whoever reads my journal would be either terrified or turned on... Both if they’re awesome.”

“Well I hope you are equally intrigued and terrified then.” Came an unfamiliar male voice from the cave entrance.

Drizzt was irate. He felt violated. All the sympathy he ever felt towards the adventurers vanished in an instant when he saw the woman sitting on the ragpile he used as a bed, and read his most secret thoughts like she had any right to do so. She flashed a bright grin at him – the audacity! – still holding on to his journal. The elf female grabbed it and stepped forward, giving the book back to Drizzt.

“I apologize on behalf of my companions.” She bowed her head. “You must be Drizzt.”

“Correct.” He answered curtly. “And now that you probably know everything about me, how about you tell me what brought you here into my home.”

Merry felt her face flush and she cleared her throat. Andrea made herself comfortable on the ragpile, while Ilga and Tippletoe went back to sit around the fire. Baldassar came to help.

“You probably remember me, from the time you were in Coldcreek.”

Drizzt nodded. At least one piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

“Our village was attacked last night.” Baldassar continued. “By drow.”

“They confessed that they were looking for you.” Merry added.

Drizzt felt the world coming to a halt. He was afraid that his legs will give up and he will fall, but he just stared at Merry and couldn’t believe his ears.

“They took a handful of people with them as slaves.” Baldassar added. Drizzt ran his fingers through his hair and hoped no one notices his distress.

“What do they want from you?” Baldassar asked, though it didn’t take a gnome siege-engineer or an archmage to realize.

“They want to sacrifice me to their goddess.” Drizzt’s voice was as firm as ever, not even a slight change of tone told the outsiders about his inner turmoil. “I have forsaken them, and their evil ways, and now they are after me, even after all those long years.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through this, but we could use some help retrieving the prisoners from the drow.” Merry pleaded.

Drizzt took a deep breath.

“I never wanted to see the dark bowels of the earth again, but I can’t stand aside when people are in danger because of me.” He locked gazes with Merry before nodding. “Fine, I’ll be your guide.”

Merry smiled at him in relief.

“Thank you! You will be compensated for your effort.”

“No need.” Drizzt shook his head.

“I insist. I can’t in good conscience let you risk your life for free.” Merry stated firmly, and seeing Drizzt’s small nod brightened her spirit.

“As for me, I think I’ll head back to Coldcreek.” Baldassar said. “The militia might need me if the drow are indeed planning a second attack.”

“Thank you for helping us!” Merry told him. “May the gods watch over you, my friend!”

After Baldassar left, the party helped Drizzt gathering his meagre belongings and prepare the deer he hunted for food.

“I hope you all have magic that will help you see in the dark.” Drizzt commented while they were treading the snow on the road once again. “And defend against the harmful effects of the faerzress.”

“We are prepared, thank you!” Andrea pouted from the back.

“Good.” Drizzt turned towards her. “We’ll need it. The Underdark is no place for the unprepared or the faint of heart.”

They left the plains and found a cave leading down to the realm of dark elves and many dangerous creatures.

“Say goodbye to the sky, ladies!” Drizzt turned back from the cave entrance. “We won’t see her splendour for a while.”

Merry slipped past him, and went forward into the darkness.

Chapter Text

The reflection in the mirror seemed unfamiliar. Rizzen found himself staring at it for a time period that felt like centuries. He never noticed the bruises, not right after they were there, only cycles after. He swallowed some pesky knot that kept on trying to strangle him, and took the small box filled with a poultice in the perfect shade of obsidian from his drawer. He ignored the aching of his skin as he applied the black cream over his injured face. Malice wouldn’t be happy to know that he wears make-up, but he wasn’t going to tell her anyway. When he was done, he scrutinized his work in the mirror, then nodded. No pesky little bruises and cuts that will take a while to heal. No ugly blemishes on him that would make her more disgusted with him than she already is. If only he could remove the crowfeet and the lines that became more prominent in the past decades...

“Two-hundred years.” He muttered to his reflection. “Such a long time, isn’t it?”

His reflection didn’t answer, but it didn’t tell him to shut up either. Rizzen sighed, and combed his hair before leaving his two-room apartment to answer Matron Malice’s summons.

On his way to her throne room, he tried to force down the anxiety and the pain in his stomach he felt whenever she just as much as looked at him. Not that she looked at him a lot lately. As he passed them by, Rizzen stole a glance at House Do’Urden’s soldiers. So many fine drow. A lot of them much younger and in better health than he was. He felt the sharp sting of anger and jealousy biting into him, but he once again forced it down. He had to. After all, who was he to make a Matron Mother accountable for cheating on her Patron? And most importantly, who cared? Rizzen knew he does, but he also knew no one else did. In the best case, he would be laughed at, but in the worst... He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. He thought of the crowfeet, the lines and his ever-dwindling energy to do things, be it fighting, running, or his marital duties. He thought it was no wonder Malice sought other males out for their services.

“You’re getting old, ilharn.” He mumbled to himself. “You’re getting old.”

He was nearing the end of his fourth century of life and the iron teeth of time had bitten into his flesh and left their marks on it, unlike on the perfect and still youthful Malice, who was even older than him.

He remembered the feeling of triumph and pride when he learned that she chose him – him, a mere soldier of common origin – to be her consort. He decided that day to fulfil her every wish to his best abilities. But as it turned out, his abilities were inadequate in every way. Malice slept with other drow, sometimes as many as twenty in a month, while he was left alone, forgotten in his chambers, and a laughing stock for all the other males in the House. He always wondered if it was because he wasn’t able to conceive a daughter with her. After Nalfein was born, she avoided Rizzen like the Mummy Rot. He seldom thought about his son, and did not mourn his passing, but on times like this, when he had too much time to think, he found himself pondering if she would treat him the way she did if he would be more successful in giving her daughters instead of two sons... If Dinin is even his. Despite claiming fatherhood of nearly all of Malice’s children, Rizzen was aware that only the mother’s person was sure in any case. It wasn’t anything out of custom, yet a small voice in his mind told him that it wasn’t fair.

He stopped in front of Malice’s throne room, not daring to enter without being ordered to, but at the same time fearing that making the Matron Mother wait for him makes him look like he’s disobedient. He cleared his throat, forced the shaking of his hand to stop, and opened the door.

The choking anxiety he felt intensified as he stepped inside and saw Matron Malice on her throne, her usual attack dog Briza by her side.

“You called for me, Matron Mother...” Rizzen announced his presence to the females who didn’t even look up when he entered. “I’m here.”

“You’re late.” Malice pierced her green eyes into Rizzen’s gaze. “I sent for you an hour ago. What took you so long?”

“I uh...” The male drow tried to stutter an answer but he was interrupted by the booming alto of Briza.

“The Matron Mother asked you something, worm! Answer!”

“I beg for your forgiveness, but I came on the wrong way...” Rizzen shrieked in panic.

“Pathetic.” Malice rolled her eyes. “You live here for Lolth knows how long and you get lost?”

“Don’t believe him, Matron Mother. He’s just trying to take you for a fool. He probably wasted time with something, or thought he can afford to defy you.” Briza cast a disgusted look at Rizzen.

“No, I didn’t I swear!” he squeaked.

“Doesn’t matter.” Malice waved her hand and the case was closed on her behalf. “I have news, and I want you to know this: Drizzt has returned.”

Rizzen swallowed yet another knot. He clearly remembered Drizzt and his arrogance. The foolish drowling who thought he can take on a god and made his family lose Lolth’s favour.

“That... That is terrible news Matron Malice.” He stuttered.

“Terrible news?” Malice laughed. “No, my stupid pet, this is the best news I heard for half a century. He walked right into our web, and we’ll finally get him and give him to the Goddess as I should have done the moment I squeezed that little maggot out!”

“Praise Lolth!” Rizzen faked enthusiasm.

 “He will pay for what he’s done.” Briza growled, her snakes squirming in anticipation on her belt.

The hissing sound made Rizzen remember something he didn’t want to remember. The bite of the magically animated creatures, their venom burning his veins and contorting his muscles. Briza’s distorted face as she kept on lashing him until he lost consciousness. He felt the chamber turning around him, and all sounds appeared muffled, like he was underwater.

“What in the nine hells is wrong with you?” Malice’s shrill voice dragged him out of his vertigo.

“Did you even hear a word about what we were saying?” Briza joined the interrogation. Rizzen felt tears welling up in his eyes.

“No...” He confessed, already curling up into a defensive pose, backing away to the wall.

“Useless piece of...” Malice cursed and took a deep breath before she let her voice out, filled with her dark magic. “Kneel!”

He obeyed the order, compelled by both the magic in Malice’s words and the sheer terror he felt. Her fist met his face with a velocity that knocked his head to the wall. She grabbed his hair and pulled him to his feet.

“Listen here, and listen well: You will help me find these iblith and my wayward son. Do everything you can, and don’t dare to show your face until you have found them!”

Rizzen nodded as much as his situation permitted him.

“Do you understand?” Malice yelled.

“Yes, yes I understand...” Rizzen whined.

“I don’t think he does.” Briza inserted.

“You may be right.” Malice sneered with glee. “Get it through his thick skull will you? Try not to kill him though, I need him for later.”

She left. She left and Rizzen wished if he could leave this world as well.

He drifted in and out of consciousness as he lay on the floor, still in the throne room. No one was there but him, and the bloodstains he left on the floor and the wall. His jaw was broken; he felt the throbbing pain and the flesh swelling on his face. He couldn’t open one eye, and his muscles still twitched because of the snake-whip bites. But these were nothing compared to the troubling thoughts that plagued his mind. He asked himself a thousand times why he was such a failure. How could he be so stupid to drift off while the Matron Mother was talking to him? It was like he did it on purpose... Even though a part of him knew he did it involuntarily. His whole body was shaking, and his vision blurred on the single eye he could see with. He heard a whining, gurgling sound, like someone was sobbing, though he was the only one present.

Rizzen stared at the stain his own blood left on the floor, and wondered if he’d died already sometime ago during that two hundred years he had been the consort of Matron Malice.

It certainly felt like he was dead inside. After his more serious injuries were healed magically, he was ordered out in the tunnels, to search and set an ambush. Rizzen did what he was told, no questions asked and his last drops of energy devoted to the task ahead. For an outside observer, this single-minded drive seemed like devotion, but in fact it was nothing but fear. The memory of pain, humiliation and threat of certain death was enough to keep him focused, it was – ironically – what kept Rizzen alive until his present day. The fear of punishment.

It was the same fear that drove him through scores of bugbears, orcs, goblins, even his own kind, to fulfil the order. He couldn’t fail, because failure brought punishment and death. Rizzen didn’t want to die, especially not by the hands of Briza or any other spawn of Malice. He still clung to the belief that if he does everything the way she asked him to, Matron Malice will reward him, but at least won’t hurt him.

No matter how many times experience proved him wrong, he still held on to the hope of making her proud. To make her see his worth. He reasoned with himself that everything that happened to him was justified because of his failures. Lolth wasn’t merciful, and she certainly had no patience for losers. What kind of High-Priestess would test her patience with giving more chances to someone than they deserve? He knew he already had been given plenty of lenience over the course of his career as Malice’s consort, and even before that, when he was just a mere soldier. He should be dead. Matron Malice was merciful enough.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Dinin appeared next to him, derailing his train of thought.

“Trust the Matron Mother.” Rizzen answered. “She sent me to this very cavern, I’m sure of it.”

“Whatever you say.” The younger drow shrugged. “I’m not dragging your carcass back to be buried, that’s for sure.”

In front of them lay a cavern hosting several driders. They all followed the drow on the ceiling, or on the walls, trying to surround them. Dinin wondered if Rizzen has a deathwish, for he marched into the middle of the cave without as much as flinching. One of the driders descended from above on a silk string and stood in their way.

“What do you want here, little morsel?” He hissed on a sound that was equal insect-like chatter and the lilted voice of an elf.

“I came looking for the one of you called Maznafein.” Rizzen answered aridly. “Tell him that the Matron Mother of the eighth House has a message for him.”

The drider cocked his head and laughed. His six eyes stared at Rizzen unblinkingly.

“Matron Mothers don’t have power here, little morsel.”

“Let them tell what they want, Amalic.” Came another drider, this one more drow-like than the rest.

“Are you Maznafein?” Rizzen turned to the newcomer.

“That I am.” Replied the drider “What message does your Matron Mother have for me?”

Rizzen held a scroll in his hand.

“Help us find and capture the renegade, Drizzt Do’Urden, and your curse will be lifted.”

Maznafein reached out for the scroll, but Rizzen quickly hid it under his cloak.

“I’ll hold on to it for now.” He flashed a disarming smile at the spider-like creature that towered over him. “Do as you were told, and you’ll get your reward.”

“Very well.” Maznafein hissed. “You have a deal.”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Rizzen’s grin became wider. “Wait for the travellers out in the tunnels. When you meet them, send them to me. I will be waiting for them at Gollvelius’ tavern, in Menzoberranzan.”

After the deal was done, the small party of drow left the driders’ cavern. Dinin was happy to lose sight of the half-spider half-drow creatures, and turned back to Rizzen.

“So...” He began when they were in safe distance “You aren’t going to give that wretched creature such an expensive magic item, right?”

Rizzen’s tone of voice was flat as the stone they walked upon.

“I have been told to do so. To silence Drizzt’s suspicions.”

“You think he’ll let you live long enough to give them that scroll?” Dinin was sceptical.

“I don’t know.” Rizzen answered truthfully. “But if he really wants to help the “poor drider who was so unjustly cursed”, he’ll have to.”

It felt good to be important. Rizzen stole a glance at the scroll that held the spell to restore Maznafein’s body to its original elven form, and felt just a tiny spark of power.

“They will need me if they want to succeed.”

Dinin laughed out loud.

“But you know that they aren’t meant to succeed, do you?”

The realisation of Malice’s plan struck Rizzen with the same velocity as her backhanded slap.

“She... Sent me because she knew I will fail...”

Dinin had the time of his life. His laughter haunted Rizzen even when his son was miles away from him, back at House Do’Urden’s compound, reporting their work to Matron Malice.

Of course, Rizzen knew they were about to capture and kill Drizzt for his heresy and for making his own House fall out of favour with Lolth. He knew. It was only his stubborn and single minded focus on success that made him say what he did. But even so, his own statement of Malice sending him to this mission because she knew he will fail ate him from the inside. He spent the following days in Gollvelius’ tavern, nursing a single drink for hours before he went home, then came back again.

He had time to think, and these times were the ones he hated the most. He hated them even more than the beatings, or the humiliation. Malice loved to play games with him, embarrass him in front of everyone, harshly criticize him on every occasion, and more than once she threatened to kill him. Rizzen wasn’t sure why she didn’t do it yet. He reckoned, she still saw something in him that she found valuable enough not to extinguish. If only he knew what it was...

He sighed heavily, and took a swig from his drink. It was strong and bitter, something Rizzen fancied himself to be. Well, at least the bitter part was spot on. He played with one of his earrings he got from Malice with the short backhanded comment that the jewel is worth more in gold than his life. He never took it off ever since. The nice clothes, jewels and small gifts he got weren’t tokens of affection, he had to be presented as a noble from the moment he became the consort of the Matron Mother. Nevertheless, he was happy for the attention. It flattered him. Maybe that was the problem, that he let his ego override his survival instinct... Rizzen sighed. Now it was a bit too late to think about that. He heard footsteps over the calming music, and found a tall and beautiful drow woman sitting down in front of him.

“Such a nice place to seek sanctuary in.” She trilled on a voice Rizzen found oddly familiar. Also, the word “Sanctuary” was the password he entrusted with the tavern personnel, only those who came looking for him knew it.

“Sanctuary is what we all need at some point.” He replied. The drow female stared at his face like she was seeing a ghost. Maybe she did.

“Is that you?” She stammered.

“In case you were looking for me, then yes. I am Rizzen of House Do’Urden.”

The woman sprung up from her seat and did a quite surprising thing: She hugged Rizzen.

“Goddess, I thought she killed you!” She held him so close he couldn’t breathe.

“Let go of me!” He ordered. Much to his surprise, the other drow backed away.

“I apologize.” She smiled sheepishly. “I’m just so glad to see you’re alive.”

This strange woman vexed Rizzen and terrified him. She spoke like she knew him, yet he had no memory of her.

“Just... Just who are you?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“You don’t remember me?” She reached out and caressed his face. “Was she so successful in beating even the memory of me out of you?”

He tried so hard to remember... The lilting voice, the silver-grey eyes and the touch that wasn’t threatening but gentle. An alley near the Braeryn. The first and final kiss he gave consent to be taken from him.

“Sintara?”

Chapter Text

The drider cavern brought back unpleasant memories for Drizzt. He tried to stay on the front line of the group, Merry always being one step behind him, but right now, he had to admit he would rather be anywhere else but in front of the abomination that towered over him.

“I only ask you to end my curse.” Maznafein pleaded. “I have no quarrel with you, renegade. I just want my own legs back.”

“And how can I be sure that you are telling the truth?” Drizzt queried, suspicion written on his features.

“As I said, I have no quarrel with you.” Maznafein sighed. “I forsake the Spider Queen, and have been punished with this wretched existence for it. Surely if anyone, you can understand that.”

Drizzt nodded but his alarms were still ringing. Something wasn’t right.

“We will need to disguise ourselves if we want to get into the city unnoticed.” He mused. Merry stepped beside him and turned to Maznafein.

“Let’s say we help you.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “How should we do it? Who shall we seek out? And my friend is right, we need to hide among the citizens of Menzoberranzan if we don’t want to get caught while we find out where are the villagers from Coldcreek have been imprisoned.”

“Lucky for you, I can help you out with that.” Maznafein stated. “There’s a guard at the gates I know since we were young. His name is Severin, of House Ousstyl. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll let you in, no questions asked.”

Drizzt nodded, and memorized the other drow’s name.

“Once inside the city walls, go to the bazaar, and seek out a merchant by the name of Galentha. He’ll know who can help you find disguises. Fair warning, he’ll ask for something in return.”

Merry nodded.

“I guess we’ll manage. And where can we find the scroll of Wish to turn you back into your original form?”

“Only powerful priestesses or wizards can make that scroll.” Drizzt inserted. “So it will be either in Arach-Tinilith or Sorcere.”

Maznafein seemed to be hesitating. He fidgeted and bit his lip before speaking.

“Actually, I know someone who possesses such a scroll. Problem is he’s out of my reach.”

“So? Is it easier to get to him than to break into the Academy?” Merry inquired.

“I think so.” Maznafein nodded. “He spends most of his time in Golvellius’ tavern. He won’t speak to anyone unless approached with saying a password, which I happen to know.”

Drizzt squinted at the drider suspiciously. It was too easy.

“What is the password?” He demanded.

“Sanctuary.”

Getting inside the city was indeed as easy as Maznafein told them. His childhood friend let them in after a short exchange of insults and petty threats Drizzt wanted to have nothing to do with. He had mixed feelings about returning to the place of his nightmares. Since he was the only one who knew the place, he led the party through the streets and alleys into the large square that held the bazaar.

“How do we find this Galentha?” Andrea inquired, turning her head and nearly tripping over Tippletoe.

“Hey, watch it!” The gnome hissed.

“I think Galentha will have a sign or something that makes potential customers aware of his whereabouts.” Drizzt shrugged. “Let’s keep on looking around until we find it.”

They stuck together, and after a short time spent with checking out tents and shacks, they found Galentha’s goods. The shop was larger than the rest of the ones occupying that part of the bazaar, and filled with many curiosities from all over Faerun. But the most curious of all was the merchant, Galentha himself.

Wearing a bright purple vest and cloak with a mauve shirt and various brightly coloured accessories, the merchant was just as attention-grabbing as his merchandise. He was smaller than the party members, yet had an unusual characteristic for drow: a neatly trimmed goatee. In the dim light of the many magical lanterns, his skin tone was also a shade or two lighter than of the other dark elves.

“Welcome to Galentha’s Curiosities!” He greeted the party cheerfully. “Take a look around, lay your eyes upon the many wonders of the Underdark, and of the Land of Light as well!”

“Actually, we are looking for a little help with finding costumes.” Merry stepped in front of the merchant. The utter disgust settling on his face wasn’t lost on her.

“You are in the wrong shop then.” He quipped. “I don’t sell costumes.”

“Your friend Maznafein told us you can help.” Drizzt intervened. “We don’t have time for games. Can you help us or not, merchant?”

The mentioning of Maznafein’s name tamed the cold demeanour of the half-drow.

“So he sent you here, looking for disguises?” He sighed and looked the women over. “My Goddess, you’ll need something magical to hide that.” He pointed at Ilga.

“Hey! I may be big, but there’s more of me to love!” Ilga crossed her arms and cast a pointy look at the merchant.

“Whatever you say.” Galentha rolled his eyes. He turned back to Drizzt. “I can help you indeed, but it won’t be cheap.”

“Name your price.”

Galentha once again looked the party over, checking for anything valuable, and his gaze settled on Merry’s rose-shaped hairpin.

“To get your disguises, I will have to kiss many priestesses’ feet.” He leaned forward and pointed a slender finger at Merry. “The darthiir’s trinket might help me get what you need from them. I can see it’s magical.”

Merry reached up but stopped mid-motion. Andrea shook her head.

“No. That “trinket” is very important to my friend.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “Choose something else!”

Galentha scoffed.

“Waela Rivvil... There is nothing of value on your sorry asses, but one magical hairpin. Either you give it to me, or there’s no deal. You choose.”

Merry still hesitated, looking at Andrea with a sorrowful expression.

“You don’t have to.” The sorceress shook her head. “You said it was the last gift you got from your mother before she passed away, we can’t make you part with it for a bunch of lousy disguises.”

Merry exhaled loudly and gripped the rose on the hairpin.

“It was the last gift she gave to me, yes.” Her voice was shaking. “But I know she wouldn’t want me to hold on to it if there are lives at stake.”

“Please stop, I’m already nauseous.” Galentha frowned.

But what happened next surprised even him. Merry removed the hairpin, letting her long silver hair fall down to her waist... Along with the spell that disguised her as a moon elf.

Andrea took a step backwards, Ilga scratched her head, Tippletoe shrieked and Drizzt looked at her like she just murdered his friends. Galentha also let out a delighted noise.

“Oh, Lolth be praised.” He chuckled. “Such turn of events!”

Tippletoe turned her crossbow on the drow female standing in front of her.

“Who are you, and what did you do to Merry?”

The drow cast a sorrowful look at them and ran her fingers through her hair, sweeping it out of her face.

“My name is Sintara Fey-Branche. I once was a priestess of the Spider Queen. I am also the woman you knew as Merry Silverlight.”

“I knew no one has a stupid name such as Merry Silverlight.” Ilga nodded approvingly.

“But why didn’t you tell us?” Andrea sounded hurt. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are!” Sintara exclaimed.

“She was afraid of how would you react.” Drizzt intervened once again. “And that is something I can relate to.”

All eyes were on him.

“I guess you’re right...” Tippletoe lowered her crossbow. “No one is happy to see a drow. No offense.”

“You wouldn’t have to lie to us!” Andrea insisted. “We would understand!”

Sintara let out a sorrowful laughter.

“The way you act now proves to me, that hiding my true identity from you was the right thing to do. No offense.” She stole a glance at Tippletoe.

“Nah, stop it you all!” Ilga scolded them “Merry or not merry, she’s our friend, and we’re here to free the villagers from prison, not to argue with each other!”

Drizzt nodded and pointed at Ilga.

“She has a point.”

“So you finally stopped your drama for the time being?” Galentha clapped his hands together. “Splendid!”

The merchant took the magical hairpin from Sintara, and put it in a lockbox.

“Take this to a certain wizard by the name of Grumsznar Fey-Branche, at the Academy. He can provide the disguises you need in exchange for this box and its contents.”

The party left the shop with the lockbox, and a tension in the air among them that became troublesome.

“I suggest we split up.” Sintara broke the silence.

“So you could get back to your masters and sell us out?” Tippletoe grumbled.

“No. I am to House Fey-Branche what Drizzt is to House Do’Urden. It won’t be wise for us to follow you to the Academy.”

“What do you know about this Grumz... Grump... Whatever, the wizard guy?” Ilga inquired.

“Grumsznar was always a hermit.” Sintara shrugged. “He likes to be left alone with his books and tomes, and he reacts very badly to strangers interrupting his meditations.”

“Then we’ll make sure not to disturb him.” Andrea deadpanned.

“We shall escort you to Sorcere.” Drizzt assured her. “And get you an audience with this Grumsznar. You will be on your own from then.”

“And just what will you two doing in the meantime?” Tippletoe asked suspiciously.

“Let’s see...” Drizzt pondered. “We still have the mysterious “sanctuary” person in Golvellius’ tavern. We can check if he really has Maznafein’s scroll or not.”

After they got separated from the rest of the party, Drizzt gave a cold look to Sintara.

“I will keep my eye on you from now.” He stated firmly.

“You too?” Sintara groaned.

“No matter your intentions, you still cheated and deceived your own friends. I don’t know what to expect from you, so I will keep my eyes open when I’m around you.” Drizzt explained.

“I can assure you, that I will not betray you, or my friends, or the villagers from Coldcreek.” Sintara let out a tired sigh. “I have long forsaken this place, and had no more inclinations to come back here than you had.”

This seemed to calm Drizzt for some degree, but he still kept his distance from her.

Golvellius’ tavern was a place foreign even to Drizzt. He never visited the establishment before his escape, mostly because he didn’t know about its existence. As they entered the door, Sintara went over to the bouncer and asked if he knew of someone with the password. Much to Drizzt’s surprise, they were pointed towards a lonely table in the back, with a solitary drow nursing a drink absent-mindedly.

Drizzt recognized him, though he thought he’ll never see the other drow again. He rarely saw Rizzen while growing up, and the older male never did as much as speak a word to him, yet somehow he was always present everywhere, like a piece of furniture you remember from your childhood even if you didn’t pay much attention to it. Drizzt glanced over to Sintara, and saw that she froze, staring at the Patron of House Do’Urden like she was seeing a ghost. She then proceeded to pull a chair over to Rizzen’s table, and talk to him. Drizzt found the way she was speaking to the other drow odd. Like it wasn’t the first time she saw him.

“Goddess, I thought she killed you!” Sintara exclaimed, and jumped into Rizzen’s arms. Drizzt would lie if he’d later write he wasn’t surprised into his memoir. It seemed to him that his mother’s pathetic consort and this strange female drow have a history of sorts, but he didn’t want to intrude. Also, he didn’t really care. What bothered him was the mere fact that the person with the scroll of Wish was Rizzen of all people. It reeked of treachery for him. Sintara let go of the smaller male, and Drizzt occupied the seat next to him, effectively blocking the way out.

“Long time no see.” He grumbled as a greeting. “Would you tell me how did a powerful scroll end up in your hands? Also, what is it that you’re doing here exactly?”

Rizzen’s empty eyes focused on his face, and a sneer occupied his features.

“I remember you, arrogant son. The one who brought shame and disaster on his House.”

“Answer my question.” Drizzt demanded.

“What Rizzen does and why is Rizzen’s business.” Came the cold answer. “As you know, I have been Matron Malice’s consort for a long time. And I know she is... displeased with me lately. I seek a way out.”

It made sense. Too much sense in Drizzt’s mind.  

“And you would have me believe that you, a snivelling, pathetic little rat could steal a scroll from Malice, and hide from her wrath. Are you aware that no one is actually that stupid to buy this tale?”

Rizzen’s expressions were the same, blank and absent-minded as Drizzt remembered them. He turned away from the ranger and shrugged.

“What you choose to believe is none of my concern, dobluth. I have Maznafein’s scroll, but I will hold on to it. I risked too much to simply give it away to you.”

“What did Maznafein tell you?” Sintara tapped Rizzen’s hand to gain his attention.

“He’s well-connected, despite living out of the city’s hierarchy. Maybe that’s why I chose him. He told me he can get me into the ranks of House Fey-Branche. I can still fight.”

“Barely.” Drizzt snickered. He remembered Rizzen being the laughing stock of the House’s soldiers, and his inferiority was just as legendary as Zaknafein’s martial prowess.

“I am aware that I’m not much of a prize anymore.” Rizzen said aridly “But I still can be useful.”

“What would you want from us to give us the scroll?” Sintara queried, directing the disgruntled Patron's attention to her.

“Help me.” Rizzen blurted out without thinking. Seeing the confused stares of his conversation partners, he stammered on. “We are at war. First House Hun’ett and now House Fey-Branche... They both want our blood. And I don’t want to go down with the losers.”

“How typical.” Drizzt frowned. He didn’t want to do anything with his blood relatives.

“I also happen to know that our raiding party returned with a handful of surfacers. They are currently at House Do’Urden’s holding pens.”

Sintara exchanged glances with Drizzt. Too many lucky coincidences.

“I want you to sow chaos.” Rizzen continued on a droning tone. “Free the slaves, give the finger to Matron Malice, anything. She will probably see red if she catches a glimpse at Drizzt, so it won’t be much of a problem. I will bring House Fey-Branche’s army in the meantime.”

“Help with the downfall of House Do’urden.” Drizzt shook his head. “I want nothing to do with them.”

“Your House has already fallen.” Rizzen laughed weakly. “It will be a mercy kill.”

“What do you know about mercy?!” Drizzt snapped.

Rizzen took the scroll out from under his tunic and gave it to Drizzt.

“Let Maznafein be himself again. That’s mercy, is it not?”

Drizzt was at loss for words. His eyes glared lavender coloured daggers at the Patron of his former House.

“Let us think about it!” Sintara pleaded, making the older male to tear his vacant gaze away from the younger.

“No. You know too much. Do as I say, and you’ll live, and return your fellow iblith to where they belong.”

“Are you threatening us?” Drizzt would be happy if he could say he couldn’t believe his ears. Sadly that wasn’t the case. “That’s not the wisest thing to do, you know.”

“I know I’m not quarter the warrior both you and Zaknafein were. But don’t underestimate me.”

Sintara tapped Rizzen’s hand again, if only to end the unnecessary cockfight.

“I have a better idea that would still benefit you.” She offered. “Help us sneak into the compound of House Do’urden, and free the slaves. You can come with us then.”

“What?” Rizzen’s eyes grew wide. “No, no no no... I’m not leaving Menzoberranzan.” He seemed like he’s contemplating Sintara’s words. “However... You are right. Sneaking into the House with a small party is much easier than making a ruckus and bringing an army. And I can report a success to House Fey-Branche, even before letting them take Malice’s wretched lair.”

“We only need the scroll, and your help to get inside.” Sintara explained, signalling to Drizzt with her eyes not to interrupt this time.

“I worked hard not to be caught.” Rizzen hesitated, then he turned to Drizzt. “Vow to me that you will go to our former House and help me defeat Mother Malice!”

Drizzt laughed.

“I’m not vowing you anything.”

“Please.” Rizzen begged. “I know that you are not like us, that you will not break an oath so please, vow to me that you will help me!”

Drizzt shook his head.

“I can go and free the people you enslaved by myself, I know how to find them.” He turned to Sintara. “We don’t need him.”

“Yes you do!” Rizzen snapped, then he immediately switched back to his low, neutral tone. “The House Wizards were ordered to change and strengthen the warding glyphs and traps around House Do’Urden’s compound since you left. Say the wrong password, and they will destroy you. I also assume you lost your House Insignia, so levitating over the wards are out of the question.”

Drizzt grumbled something under his breath, but nodded.

“Fine. I assume you know the correct password.”

Rizzen nodded.

“I do, and I will help you get safely inside. However, I will have to leave you not to raise suspicion. If someone catches us, we’re doomed.”

“What will you do after we freed the prisoners?” Drizzt prodded.

“Don’t concern yourself with that.” Rizzen answered coldly. “I may join House Fey-Branche. Or I may die during the assault. What do you care, anyway?”

He was right, Drizzt didn’t care. He just wanted to make sure the older male won’t turn on them.

“I told you. The reasons for my actions are my concern, not yours.” Rizzen stated and drank the last remnants of his drink. The bitter taste made him frown. “Now we better get going. Matron Malice will be mad if she can’t find me when she wants something from me.”

Grumsznar Fey-Branche wasn’t an agreeable fellow. If anything, the wizard was condescending and outright rude, but as soon as it turned out that the smaller flock of non-drow heathens sought him out for his magical talents, also planned to cause some trouble for House Do’Urden, his foul mood and manners changed to the better.

“You came to the right person.” He told Andrea as they were standing in front of him. “No one else can give you such a disguise that fools even the mighty priestesses of Lady Lolth.”

He waved his hands and chanted on an eerie voice, then the world seemed to change around the adventurers. Tippletoe grew a few inches while Ilga shrunk, and in the end three drow priestesses stared at each other in astonishment.

“Ilga looks like a scrawny elf!” The half-orc exclaimed. 

“Of course you look like an elf, you dolt.” Grumsznar rubbed his temples. “In case you missed it, you’re in the middle of a city inhabited by drow, and we don’t let your filthy kind run around unleashed.”

Ilga cast a pointy look at the wizard.

“Magic man lost the chill-touch? No need to be such an ass.”

Before Grumsznar could answer something that would definitely make him look like an ass, Andrea spoke.

“We thank you for your wonderful work, master.”

“Get out of my sight, and go bother someone from House Do’Urden!” Grumsznar groaned. “I hope we won’t see each other again!”

They left the lockbox in his room as payment, and left Sorcere in a hurry to meet up with the rest of the party at Golvellius’ tavern. When they found none of them, Andrea began to worry.

“Maybe they just went out from the crowd?” Ilga took a wild guess.

“I doubt it.” Tippletoe sighed. “They probably got into trouble.”

“Let’s see if we can find one of the city guards.” Andrea decided.

“You speak Elven?” Tippletoe inquired.

“I know a little.” Andrea nodded. “Enough to make them believe I’m an elf, anyway.”

But sadly, her knowledge of Elvish did not include the specific words and turns-of-phrases that were unique to the drow dialect, so they soon found themselves in the middle of a small company of soldiers.

“I think something’s not right.” Andrea rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly.

“You don’t say?” Tippletoe sighed.

Ilga looked over the dark elves indifferently, until she spotted their commander: A huge drow male in black armour, holding a nasty looking trident. That made her raise an eyebrow. The drow spotted her and probably noticed her curious gaze, for he also looked her over then grinned. Ilga mirrored it.

“Look at that!” She murmured to her companions, inclining her head towards the drow with unusual proportions. “That elfie boy might not break in two if Ilga sits on him.”

Andrea planted her face in her palm.

“Ilga, that’s a dark elf. He’ll probably stab you with that glorified pitchfork sooner than let you touch him.”

“I wouldn’t mind him stabbing me.” Said Ilga, still flirting with the drow male who turned away from her with a smug grin on his face.

Lucky for them, the giant drow ordered his troops to move on and left Ilga and company alone.

“Bye, Elfie!” Ilga waved after him. “Aw, he’s big and strong. Almost like an orc. I’m going to kidnap him and make him my man.”

Tippletoe burst out laughing, while Andrea just tried to fight her migraine.

“I doubt his Matron Mother would be happy if you’d do that.” An unfamiliar male voice said in Common. Andrea looked up, and saw the voice’s owner, another unusual drow. Clad in a rainbow-coloured cloak, and a revealing vest, his feathered hat casting a shadow over his face, but his single visible eye glow a radiant red.

“And just who might you be?” Andrea inquired suspiciously.

“Someone who can help you not getting killed.” The drow in a hat answered. “By the way, you can call me Jarlaxle.”

All three of the women circled around Jarlaxle, and began to assault him with questions.

“Do you know who the person in the tavern was? The one with the password?” Tippletoe prodded.

“Have you seen our friends?” Andrea queried at the same time.

“Dear ladies, only one speak at a time!”

Ilga grunted, and pushed her friends aside.

“Where did Drizzt go?” She asked.

“Let’s say I know where he is headed, along with your other friend and a very likely treacherous liaison. I can provide you with the location; however, I can’t let you in.”

“Where are they then?” Andrea crossed her arms and stared at the single visible eye of the drow.

“At House Do’Urden’s compound.” Jarlaxle answered. “And I can give you the password for deactivating the magical wards and traps around it, but if you don’t have a House Insignia, the defence mechanism will destroy you anyway.”

“Where can we get one of these Insignia?” Tippletoe wanted to know.

“Well, let’s say I can give one for you.” Jarlaxle grinned. “But first I require you to do something for me.”

Ilga sighed, and Andrea stopped rubbing her temples.

“Fine. We’ll do it. What do you want?”

Jarlaxle snapped his fingers, and another drow appeared next to him with a small bag he then put down on the ground before retreating back into the shadows.

“I want you to deliver this bag to my friend Maznafein, in the drider caverns.” Jarlaxle explained. “I guess our fearless and noble heroes broke his curse already, and I can’t let him come back to the city naked and barefoot. That would be rude.”

Andrea sighed tiredly, and picked up the bag.

“Very well. Let’s meet at Golvellius’ tavern when we’re done. We can even escort Maznafein here, if you’d like.”

“That probably won’t be necessary, but if you insist and he doesn’t object...” Jarlaxle shrugged and left the sentence open ended.

It was a trap. Drizzt’s nerves were on the edge, even though getting into House Do’Urden went as easy as slicing up a cake. Before they entered the compound, Drizzt read the scroll and wished for Maznafein to return to his original drow form, then watched as the parchment burned itself, leaving only a useless pile of ash. This was exactly what he thought was left of his former home. Ashes.

But as he came to see, everything was like before he left... Well, almost everything, considering that Zaknafein was dead and he was an outcast. They walked past some of the House’s soldiers, and Drizzt felt a pang in his heart as he thought about his father. He chased the intrusive thoughts away, and focused on his task. Rizzen led them through many corridors, evaded many guards – Drizzt began to wonder how many times he did this – and stopped only when they reached the balcony without stairs.

“Here our paths divide.” Rizzen whispered, and put a key in Drizzt’s hand. “You will need this to get into Malice’s quarters. She has the keys to the dungeon and the holding pens. Good luck.”

He levitated up to the balcony and disappeared inside. Drizzt exchanged looks with Sintara.

“Now or never.” He sighed, and guided her through the ground level.

They went through the corridors with their heads held low, avoiding soldiers and priestesses when it was possible. Drizzt caught a glimpse of Vierna giving orders to one of the soldiers, and he quickened up his pace so much Sintara could barely keep up with him. All the memories he tried to shove to the deepest recesses of his mind threatened to surface. He wanted to be done with freeing the prisoners and wanted the lush green grass and several hundred miles of stone and earth under his feet to separate him from this hell of a place he once called home.

He held on to Rizzen’s key so much he felt the metal pressing into his palm. The unpleasant sensation grounded him, tore him out of the memories the place brought back to him. He slowed down and waited for Sintara to catch up, then he signalled to her to watch while he opened the two-winged door adorned with spider web motifs that led to Malice’s chambers.

Drizzt never been to his mother’s living quarters – not that he ever wanted to – so it took them a little time to find the key ring holding the keys to the dungeon and the holding pens.

“Gods I’m going to be sick.” Drizzt sighed while he pocketed the keys and peeked out to the corridor to see if there are any guards coming their way. Sintara looked around, an unimpressed expression on her face.

“So many material things. But none have any value.” She muttered, then turned to Drizzt.

“We should get a move on.” He said “The corridor is clear now, but she might already know that we are here.”

Sintara nodded and followed his lead down to the dungeon. They found the prisoners quickly, for they were corralled into an enclosure like cattle. The people from Coldcreek huddled together, keeping their distance from the goblins in the other part of the pen.

“We came to free you!” Drizzt whispered while he opened the gate and began to pull the helpless humans out from their prison. “Don’t make any noise, or we’re get captured and killed!”

The dungeon lacked any form of lighting, so it was a hard task getting the completely lost and blinded humans out, but they did what they could. When they were out in the courtyard, it became slightly easier. The small group made their way right until the gates, when they spotted the larger group of soldiers led by none other than Rizzen, followed by Drizzt’s brother Dinin in tow.

“There they are!” The Patron stretched out a hand, pointing a finger at Drizzt. “The heretic and the spy of House Fey-Branche both!”

“Well, well, who knew you can actually be useful for a change.” Dinin quipped.

“I have sought out our enemies, just as I was ordered to!” Rizzen fought back “Now you see, all of you that I am of value to House Do’Urden!”

He once again turned to the intruders, then back to the soldiers.

“Seize them!”

“Treasonous worm, I knew you’re up to no good!” Drizzt growled while he unsheathed his scimitars, then turned to Sintara. “Protect the villagers; I’ll take care of them. They’re no match for me.”

And he was right, they weren’t. That’s why they used poison and crossbow bolts. Before it could blossom into a full-fledged massacre, Rizzen’s troops successfully subdued both renegade drow, and shepherded the confused humans back to their cages.

“Welcome home, little brother!” Dinin grinned at Drizzt before kicking him in the face. “Don’t make yourself too comfortable, Mother Malice already had the altar prepared for you!”

Rizzen in the meantime was standing behind the soldiers and Dinin, trying desperately to feel anything. Where was the triumph? Where was the satisfaction of a job well done? Why was the only thing he could feel this numbness? He watched as the soldiers carried Drizzt and Sintara away, and he followed them like an automaton. He wanted to report his success to Matron Malice, and hoped that she will be pleased. Yet at the same time, he wanted the stone to melt under his feet and swallow him, so he wouldn’t have to enter that damned throne room ever again.

But there he was, kneeling in front of the throne Malice perched on, gleefully listening to the tale of Drizzt’s defeat told by Dinin. His part of the whole thing was omitted of course. Rizzen felt as Malice rested her legs on his back, like he was a footstool. He let out a resigned sigh, but regretted even that when he noticed Briza’s head snap at his direction from under the curtain of his hair. At least as long as Malice used him, she won’t hurt him Rizzen thought. To shift his focus from his knees and palms sending short but intense flashes of pain into his mind, he began to count the strands in his hair that lost their snowy shine, and became a very light shade of grey, almost silver. Rizzen expected to have a handful more until the day was over.

“Well done my pet, well done!” Malice patted Rizzen’s back with her foot. This tiny gesture of acknowledgement sent a rush of happiness to the kneeling male’s head. He felt his lips contorting to something that he reckoned was a smile.

“When will the sacrifice take place?” Vierna asked and Rizzen felt Malice’s feet shifting on him.

“As soon as possible.” The Matron Mother stated. “Prepare the chapel; we shall have it done before the tenday’s end.”

This is it – Rizzen thought. – The less-than-legendary end of the boy who became a legend. Drizzt will die on the same altar his father did. He knew the thought should stir something inside him, but again he was only numb. He inhaled sharply because the edge of one of the stairs leading up to Malice’s throne cut into his knee, but he bit his lip and endured. The minutes seemed to turn to hours, and he was still kneeling, head bowed down to look only at the stone beneath them, like he did all of his life. Afraid of his mind being read by the priestesses, he tried hard not to think about anything. But it was an impossible task. He listened on as Malice and her daughters planned the event where they wanted to sacrifice both Drizzt and Sintara – or maybe give the latter over to Dinin, as a reward for his work – and the longer they talked, Rizzen found bigger chunks of time missing. He wondered if he blacked out or just the discussion wasn’t interesting, so he drifted off again. Remembering what happened to him the last time he let himself not paying attention, he shook his head and forced himself to listen. But everyone was silent.

“Stop squirming!” Malice kicked Rizzen in the ribs, then put her foot back on him. Another undisclosed amount of time later – Rizzen was really close to drift off to Reverie – he felt a harder kick on his kidney that made him fall over to his side, and sent him into a state of primal fear.

Briza and her sisters laughed out loud when Rizzen upturned like a bug then scuttled away screaming his lungs out. Even Dinin sneered down at his father, when he bumped into his feet.

“Look at the bug!” Maya snickered. “I wonder if he soiled himself in fright.”

Rizzen did not soil himself, but was pretty close to. Even though the kick wasn’t followed by another – or many others – he felt his heart beat so fast he was afraid of it breaking out of his body and fly right in the face of the laughing priestess. The tears welling up in his eyes didn’t help either.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to cry.” Dinin sighed and cast a disgusted look at his father, stepping over him like he would over lizard dung.

It couldn’t be helped. He tried not to. His tears streamed down on his face and fuelled the good mood of his peers.

“Pathetic.” Malice also swept tears from her eyes, but unlike her spouse, she was tearing up from laughing so hard.

“He’s an embarrassment.” Briza grumbled. “I don’t know why you hold on to him.”

“He brings me so much joy.” Malice grinned. Her daughter made a disgusted noise and left with her sisters to prepare the family chapel for the event.

Dinin also left to celebrate their victory, leaving only the Matron Mother and her consort in the throne room.  Rizzen fought himself to sitting position, leaning forward and his arms around his torso, while his nerves wracked, leaving him a sobbing mess that rocked back and forth.

“Quit your whining!” Malice yelled at him after a short while. Rizzen swallowed back everything, forcing himself to endure the breakdown in silence. Only his sniffles broke the quiet which vexed Malice to the point of dragging him out of the throne room by his ear.

It was one thing to be tortured as such – elf ears were much more sensitive than human ears – but to see and hear the soldiers of the House snicker and crack jokes at his expense was too much to bear.

Malice dragged him out to the lizard stables, and grabbed him by the neck, forcing him down on his knees again, and stuck his head into the trough filled with ice-cold water.

He began thrashing, the dirty water getting into his nose and mouth and for a moment, he thought he will die here and now. But his head was yanked out of the water and he gasped for air before Malice shoved him back again. She repeated it until he stopped fighting back.

“Stop. Your. Pathetic. Whining.” The Matron Mother ordered, and Rizzen obeyed. The only thing he couldn’t stop was his whole body shaking.

Chapter Text

“It would be so easy...” Rizzen sighed, looking at his bare arms. “She couldn’t hurt me anymore.” He lifted up the dagger, held it to the vein on his wrist... Then threw it into the wall in front of him. No, he won’t do that. What good would it do anyway? Malice was a powerful High-Priestess of Lolth, she could just resurrect him to torment him further, or kill him herself. He kicked over a footstool, grabbing it up and throwing it at the wall as well then sat down on the ground, feeling exhausted.

“I’m done, so done.” He sniffled then forced himself to calm down. He had to be present at the sacrificial ceremony, though not one cell in his body wanted to be there. He felt the usual misery creeping into his thoughts, as he prepared to dress and go into the chapel. He chose an exceptional garment for the exceptional event; after all, it was not everyday occasion that Matron Malice sacrificed a heretic. A lover she became bored with? A rival? Any male that happened to cross her in some way? No one batted an eyelid, there went the sacrificial blade, shanked deep into the heart of the poor fool, then business went on as usual. Rizzen wouldn’t even bother taking a bath for that. But he already knew his mistress. She would want this to be big, to show her enemies and the enemies of her Goddess what is the price one has to pay for angering the Spider Queen.

As the heavy fabric of the black velvet robe flew over his skin, he shuddered. It reminded him too much of Malice’s hands when she wanted him. He froze in panic, as if she was already in his room, in his small sanctuary, invading his body and his thoughts against his will. He forced down the intrusive thought of the Matron Mother pushing him down on his knees with her high-heeled boot, and straightened his clothes to stop his hands from shaking. He took a look at his reflection in the mirror, and the word that came into his mind was “banshee”. His eyes were bloodshot from the lack of sleep in the past tendays; his long, straight hair hung lifelessly in front of his face, and his once lean and muscular form now was maybe a bit too lean. He didn’t notice that he lost weight, but the sudden looseness of his clothes and armour finally made sense. He swept his hair away from his face, and once again noticed the crowfeet and the lines in the corner of his mouth. He touched the bruise on his jaw where it was broken only days ago. It hurt, but even the pain was better than the numbness. He had to cover it with something. As he held the small box with the poultice, he felt overwhelming sadness and rage. He threw the box at the wall, the contents of it leaving blotches on the smooth surface.

“To the nine hells with it!” He hissed, and felt his tears once again stinging his eyes. He grabbed the edge of his vanity and held on until his knuckles went grey, and fought with the ocean of despair and sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. When the tide went low, Rizzen felt tired. So tired he felt he could sleep like a human for a century. Maybe if he could afford it, then he wouldn’t feel like drowning even when Malice wasn’t shoving his head into a bucket filled with water.

He made his way to the chapel among the crowd of the soldiers and scouts of the House, stopping only a few feet away from the dais that held the eight braziers and the spider-shaped altar. Drizzt was already chained to it, staring at the effigy of Lolth above him with indifference... Or was it resignation? Rizzen couldn’t decide, and didn’t really care either. He heard Briza and Maya gossiping behind his back, and tried not to hear the jokes they cracked at his expense.

“Oh look, Rizzen dressed up as a drapery.” Maya snickered.

“He looks like he’s ready for his own funeral as well.” her sister sneered. “Matron Malice is bored with him, or so I heard. Haven’t been with him since ages.”

“Is it any wonder?” Maya’s voice scoffed “Look at him, all worn out and old. He’s done his duty as a Patron; it’s time for him to go. It was time for it decades ago.”

Again, the numbness crept into his bones and made his head heavy. Why couldn’t he feel a thing? Rizzen tried to remember when was the last time he felt anything after killing a foe, or performing a duty to Matron Malice’s satisfaction, or anything really. He gave up after finding no answer. He didn’t even notice the females discussing whether he is supposed to be kept alive based on his physical condition and attractiveness; he didn’t even see Drizzt when he turned his head towards him. No, not towards him... Towards the door.

Chunks of zurkhwood and metal flew everywhere as the chapel’s door burst open, and a small gang of drow rushed into the place, one carrying an unusually large crossbow, firing not one, but three bolts at once into the crowd.

Someone gurgled when they went down, and Rizzen heard Dinin’s painful yelp and cursing, as he probably got hit. He froze. He was unarmed and without his armour. He did something fatally stupid. He locked gazes with Drizzt on the altar and ironically enough, he was the one who felt like a deer looking at the wolf. Matron Mother Malice only appeared now, levitating over the newcomers, and casting a spell that sent a spiritual hammer to strike at the drow female with the crossbow.

Panic and chaos broke loose, drow who were armed engaged the intruders, and those commoners and off-duty soldiers who were foolish enough not to have at least a dagger on their person ran towards the exit, trampling each other in the meantime.

Briza shoved Rizzen aside and he hit the altar with his head, while she circled around the other member of the intruding party, another priestess that rivalled her in both size and fierceness.

“Finally, a worthy opponent!” She purred, making the vipers on her whip raise their heads up in anticipation.

“I don’t understand a word you say, witch.” Ilga riposted “But you kidnapped our friend, and that warrants a spanking for you!”

The two women clashed hammer against mace, and Briza lashed out with her snake-whip to debilitate her enemy. Ilga yelped as the venomous beasts bit into her, but for Briza’s surprise, the venom didn’t have the same effect on her as it did on the –usually – helpless drow males she used it against the most.

“Ilga no like snakes!” The half-orc grunted and smashed one of the six heads of Briza’s weapon.

“How dare you, insolent filth!” The High-Priestess boomed. “I’ll have your hide for that!”

“What did you call me?” Ilga planted her hammer in Briza’s face, probably breaking her jaw according to the loud crack that was audible before the drow collapsed unconscious.

Ilga harrumphed and went over to the altar, carefully stepping over the near-comatose Rizzen and tore off Drizzt’s chains, grabbed his waist and put him on her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Where do you think you’re going?!” Matron Malice’s voice echoed through the chapel. “You will not steal my glory, and my salvation you blasphemous rabble!”

“Oh, I’m afraid we will!” Sintara replied, walking through the back door leading to the chapel from the dungeon. She held a bloody short sword in her hand. The humans from Coldcreek came after her, all having ill-fitting drow armour and weapons on them. Sintara stopped next to the altar, and dragged Rizzen to his feet, forcing his head up by putting the blade under his chin.

“It’s over, Malice!” She yelled. “Let us depart, and we will spare you and your kin. Oppose us, and I’ll kill your ilharn.”

The Matron Mother burst out laughing.

“You chose the worst possible hostage.” She snickered “Go ahead and slit his throat! I already picked his replacement!”

It hurt to hear those words, but Rizzen hoped somewhere in the back of his mind, that they are untrue. Two hundred years mean this little to her? The bigger part of his adult life devoted to her and her alone meant nothing? All the blood, the pain, the humiliation and the ocean’s worth of tears and suffering in silence meant nothing? Was he that unimportant? Insignificant? Worthless?

Sintara’s blade cut into his flesh but he barely registered it. What Malice said felt like she was kicking him in the ribs and hitting him in the face at the same time.

“On your feet!” Sintara ordered him, and Rizzen felt his feet moving. Malice looked at them indifferently, unbothered by the enemies that outnumbered her. She was missing her headdress, and her spiritual hammer flickered with an evil red light.

“You will all die here tonight.” Malice said true to her name.

The portal opening and pouring drow fighters into the chamber came as a somewhat too timely rescue. A priestess wearing the colours of House Baenre strutted out of the other side, grinning victoriously at the adventurers and Malice.

“A wonderful feat, the destruction of Malice Do’Urden! I congratulate you!” She let out a jingling laughter, then pointed at Sintara. “Prepare to die!”

“Can we get a run for it?” Andrea asked.

“She kinda - sorta has a point!” Tippletoe added.

Ilga didn’t wait until Sintara answered her companions. She turned towards the tattered remains of the door, and sprinted out of the chamber, with Drizzt on her shoulder. She knew that her friends are clever, so they will follow her shortly.

“Don’t let them escape!” The Baenre priestess barked behind them.

Shortly after getting out to the courtyard of House Do’Urden, several drow surrounded the adventurers and the fleeing villagers, but much to their surprise, they weren’t attacking. They escorted them out of the chaos that unfolded everywhere in the compound. Sintara still held Rizzen as hostage, and the former Patron obediently went where she directed him. Apparently, their destination was a disgruntled looking wizard, who opened another portal, this one leading out to the Underdark.

“Why? Who?” Drizzt tried to communicate from his perch on Ilga’s shoulder.

“I can provide you some answers my friend, but not here and not now.” Answered Jarlaxle, appearing in the other side of the portal. One of his men threw a bag to him, which he handed over to Ilga as soon as she was out from the courtyard.

“Thank you for keeping your word.” Andrea flashed a smile at the foppish drow.

“Let’s say I have a special interest in the continued well-being of Drizzt here.” Jarlaxle grinned. “But alas, I have to go my ladies. Take care and please, for the loath of Lolth, never come back to the Underdark again!”

Drizzt finished dressing and buckling his sword-belt on, while the rest of the adventurers made camp and checked on the villagers they rescued with the help of Jarlaxle and his mercenary band. They left Menzoberranzan behind in a hurry, and only stopped because Rizzen fell over. Sintara tied him up and pulled him along for a while until they could find a relatively safe place to set up camp. Drizzt immediately checked all of his belongings, especially his onyx figurine. Upon finding it in a small pouch among his things, he called Guenhwyvar and sent her to guard the camp from the road.

He heard a loud exchange in the background, and went over to see the reason.

Since Grumsznar’s spell expired, all of the adventuring party’s members looked like themselves, which seemed to vex their hostage.

“Damned surface-dwelling filth!” Rizzen hissed “You will rue the day you were so stupid to dare attack House Do’Urden!”

“We did not attack you!” Andrea fought back. “And you better behave yourself, pretty boy. We can leave you here to rot!”

“But we will do no such thing.” Sintara’s calm voice added. She brought some water from one of the flasks they obtained from one of  Jarlaxle’s soldiers, and tried to make Rizzen drink, but he pulled away.

“I demand you to let me go!” the former Patron of House Do’Urden steamed.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Sintara smiled at him.

“Why not?” Drizzt inserted. “We don’t need him.”

“I will not send him back to Malice.” Sintara asserted firmly. “He’s coming with us.”

“No!” Rizzen exclaimed.

“Would you rather go back to her lair?” Sintara asked “To be her doormat?”

Rizzen swallowed the knot in his throat. He remembered the last time he saw the Matron Mother, alone, fighting off a handful of House Baenre’s soldiers.

“Let me go!” He squirmed, trying to get out of his bindings. “The House is under attack, she needs me!”

“She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about you!” Drizzt grumbled then turned to Sintara. “Forget him, he’s crazy.”

“Crazy?” The older male laughed. “I have served your Matron Mother and your House for more than two centuries! I have been loyal to her, while you ruined everything with your childish naïveté! I’d die for her!”

He broke down and began to cry, prompting Drizzt to frown and leave him on the floor. Sintara sat down next to Rizzen and caressed his hair.

“Why do we bother with him again?” Drizzt asked, while he crossed his arms in front of him.

“Doesn’t he deserve a chance?” Sintara replied with a question softly.  

“Please just let me go!” Rizzen sobbed, and Drizzt felt the same old frustration and disgust he felt whenever he saw his mother’s consort.

“You’d be dead in less than a day!” he rubbed his forehead.

“I’ll crawl back to her on my knees if I must!” Rizzen pressed through gritted teeth. Sintara looked up at Drizzt, and shook her head.

“Be glad she wants you here.” Drizzt came closer “Because if she wouldn’t I’d grant your wish and let the Underdark take you!”

“Why do you hate him so much?” Sintara stood up and went over to Drizzt, putting her hand on his chest to stop him.

“You want to know why?” The ranger turned to her “Because my father is dead while this spineless, snivelling rat lives!”

“That’s hardly his fault, is it?” Sintara tried to calm the young drow in vain.

“All my life he was just...there, bowing down to Malice’s every wish, slobbering all over her, while she tortured us and forced us to do her damned Goddess’ bidding!”

“What else could have I done?” Rizzen managed to wail between gasping for air and trying to stop his tears from falling.

“Anything!” Drizzt riposted “If you’d be any different from the rest of them, you could have at least stand up for yourself, not bleat like a dying rothe while letting them beat you unconscious! All my life I never saw you do anything besides kissing the priestesses’ feet!”

“I just tried to survive...” Rizzen sniffled. “Like Zaknafein did...”

The mention of the late weapons master had driven the ranger into frenzy.

“Don’t you dare equate yourself with him!” He yelled “You would never give your life so your child could live! Look into my eyes and tell me that I’m wrong, I dare you!”

Rizzen just lowered his head and cried. Drizzt was right. He would never give his life to save Dinin or Maya; it never even crossed his mind.

“From where I stand Rizzen, you pretty much deserved what you got.” Drizzt hissed then pushed Sintara’s hand away to leave them.

But she wasn’t going to let it go that easily. She followed Drizzt to the small grove of giant mushrooms and fluorescent moss and stopped next to him, patting his shoulder.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” She began, gently squeezing Drizzt’s biceps before letting him go. “But whatever happened to you, it wasn’t his fault.”

Drizzt didn’t answer, just flashed a pointy look at her.

“You see, things are never so easy, especially in matters of life and death.” Sintara leaned to the mushroom stalk behind her, and waited until Drizzt calmed down somewhat. “He was a prisoner from birth, just like you.”

“Don’t say that.” Drizzt snapped. “You don’t know what it’s like...”

“I was a priestess of Lolth before I learned to know better.” Sintara interrupted him. “I know exactly what it’s like, or what is expected of you. Rizzen did not deserve what he had to go through. None of you do.”

Drizzt turned towards her.

“Even the ones that cheat, lie, kill and like it? The ones that satisfy their terrible Goddess’ blood thirst with glee?”

“Yes. Even those drow who fall prey to the system, they were beaten and tortured on a daily basis, and when they could not take it anymore, they were given a scapegoat, a single channel in which they could let their anger and frustration out. It’s a tragedy, and they are all victims of a vain, selfish, childish personification of a force of nature, nothing more.”

Drizzt shook his head and stepped back from Sintara.

“You defend them, so you’re just like them.” He stated bitterly.

“I hope that one day you will grow up to be a wise man, Drizzt.” Sintara turned away from the ranger. “I hope you’ll learn someday, that the world is not black and white. There is no pure good and pure evil; things are much more complex than that.”

She turned her head back and locked gazes with him.

“And when that day comes, I hope you will be able to forgive them. For your sake.”

Drizzt led the villagers and the adventuring party on their long journey back to the surface, while avoiding Rizzen most of the time. They sometimes exchanged resentful glances, but no more words have been spoken between them. The former Patron of House Do’Urden treaded the road behind the humans on Sintara’s leash with an absent-minded look on his face for most of the time. He tried to escape twice since their heated argument at camp, but after they left Blingdenstone’s outskirts, he fell into some sort of apathy. He barely ate or drank, only when Sintara insisted which made Drizzt think he might be planning something. He knew Rizzen wasn’t only a fighter, but had some measure of magical talent, and he kept an eye on him just in case.

Days passed, and nothing happened. Rizzen did no magic trick to escape or to summon forth monsters or drow to come to his aid. He seemed utterly devastated and apathetic. Drizzt was sure if they left him behind he wouldn’t last long on his own. Not that he wanted to do it anymore. He still hated Rizzen with all of his heart, but he didn’t want to stain his own good name with the Patron’s blood. If he dies it will not be on his watch, Drizzt decided.

“We’re close to the tunnels leading to the surface.” He reported to Sintara. “A few days and we’ll be back at Kelvin’s Cairn.”

“Wonderful news!” She beamed. “I bet the people from Coldcreek can’t wait to be home again.”

Drizzt permitted himself a little smile.

“I can imagine.” He made a pondering face then turned back to Sintara, who collected some mushrooms.

“I don’t want to intrude, but what are your plans after we got back on the surface? I mean, with him.”

Sintara put a mushroom into the pouch on her cloak and blinked.

“To be honest, I don’t know.” She confessed. “I just know I don’t want to let him go. I mean I did once, and see what happened...”

Drizzt was confused.

“Wait, so you do know him from before? I mean I caught the two of you talking in Golvellius’ tavern like you had some sort of history, but...”

Sintara chuckled.

“What?”

“It’s just odd, that’s all.” Drizzt shrugged.

“Did you ever talk with Rizzen before?” Sintara queried, turning back to the mushroom patch.

“Never.” Drizzt confessed. “And why would I? I had my studies and I was away from House Do’Urden for many long years, and I guess he had his own odds and ends to take care of. What I said back then was true though. All I ever saw of Rizzen was him being put on display or being ordered around, or beaten. He’s barely more than a stranger to me I just happen to know the name of.”

Sintara’s poignant smile confused him even more.

“I used to know him before I fell from grace and had to flee.” She began. “Your House’s Matron Mother already claimed him as her own, but she didn’t break him yet. He was cocky, witty and sometimes stubborn. He was the trophy-husband many Matrons would approve of. I know I would have.”

Drizzt joined her in gathering food.

“But I was neither High-Priestess nor Matron Mother.” Sintara continued. “I was only a commoner from House Fey-Branche. I knew both of us can get in trouble if anyone catches us together, but I couldn’t help myself, and approached him one day when he was out with House Do’urden’s troops on some assignment or another.”

Drizzt was surprised to an extent, but more about the fact that he actually wants to hear what happened after, than about Rizzen having an affair with a drow female other than Malice.

“What happened?” He queried, munching on a mushroom cap.

“I tricked him into coming with me and kissed him in an alley.” Sintara replied. “I told him to come see me if he wants. That I can make him happy.”

“Let me guess: Malice found out.”

Sintara shook her head.

“No. He never came to my house. He was loyal to your mother to a fault.”

The whole thing made Drizzt’s stomach turn, but he was curious about Sintara’s reasons for “saving” Rizzen.

“Is this some twisted love story you’re trying to tell me?” He jested “About the fallen priestess and the dumpster fire in distress?”

Sintara looked at him dejectedly.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that he wasn’t always the “snivelling rat” you saw while growing up. When I met him, Rizzen had ambition, pride, and dignity. Two hundred years in the service of your mother robbed him all of that. She reduced him into a pile of dirt she then walked all over.” When Drizzt didn’t say anything, she told him “You are way too quick to judge people without actually knowing them, Drizzt.”

The accusation stung, and the young drow puffed himself up.

“I am not!”

“Oh, really?” Sintara smiled at him. They walked back to the camp and began to sort the mushrooms into small rations when they heard Tippletoe’s squeaky voice calling.

“Umm... Merry, I think your beau is dead.”

Sintara exchanged glances with Drizzt then both of them rushed back to her bedroll. Rizzen was there, lying in the dirt, motionless.

“What happened?” Sintara inquired, while she checked him for injuries.

“Well, we were talking, and he was crying, and saying all sorts of funny things on his funny tongue, then he just collapsed.” Tippletoe replied.

“Did he die of sadness?” Ilga queried while coming closer to the group. “Elves can die if they are too sad, that’s what Grandmother Olga said.”

“He’s not dead, he just fainted.” Drizzt reported from the other side of the bedroll. He helped Sintara with pulling Rizzen up to a sitting position, and she tried to wake him.

“He didn’t eat, he didn’t drink, and only the Gods know how long he didn’t sleep.” She grumbled, then looked at Drizzt. “Would you hold him for me?”

“Sure.”

She fished out a flask from her bag, and poured its contents down Rizzen’s throat, who sprung up and began to cough.

“Easy, here you go.” Sintara put the flask in his hand. “Drink it all!”

Rizzen tried to refuse, but the commanding tone of the female did its job. He took another sip, and another. Drizzt let him go and went back to give the rations to the villagers.

“About your question, Ilga...” Sintara turned to her friend “Where did your grandma learn that elves can die of sadness?”

“Grandmother lived next door to this couple” the half-orc explained. “Pretty elfie and his human. Years passed by and the human didn’t come home from one of his adventures. Grandmother said the elf died a tenday later. He wailed like a babe for days, she said.”

“Well, if I ever happen to die of grief then I’ll be the first drow to do that.” Rizzen added weakly. “That kind of pathetic end is for darthiir.”

He felt drained even after drinking what probably was Sintara’s last reserves of water, and he felt his eyelids closing on their own.

“When was the last time you rested?” The female’s voice dragged him out of his reverie.

“I...I don’t know.” Rizzen confessed and it just hit him. He haven’t rested for days before he managed to capture Drizzt and his company, and the surfacers were fleeing the probably numerous troops coming after them, so they dictated a harsh speed. He was exhausted, hungry, and miserable.

“Why don’t you rest then?” Sintara swept his hair away from his face, and he flinched.

“Don’t coddle me.” He snapped. “I will not let my guard down for you to make it easier!”

“To make what easier?” Sintara queried, letting go of Rizzen’s hair.

The male drow didn’t answer. Thousands of memories flashed before his eyes, of the various humiliating and outright torturous events that happened to him. None of what he wanted to repeat ever again.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Sintara assured Rizzen, but he didn’t believe her.

“All of you say this. Then there’s the interrogation, the threats, and if you don’t get what you want from me then you end my life. That’s just how it is.”

Sintara shook her head.

“Even if I would do that – which I won’t – Drizzt would never allow me to torture you or hurt you.”

“Yes I know. He’s stupid that way.”

“Lie down and rest.” Sintara told him again. “We have to walk a long way tomorrow.”

Rizzen lowered his head, staring at his hands tied together. He barely felt them, but somehow he doubted that his captors would set him free. Sintara caught his stare, and shook her head before pulling out a knife from her boot.

“Listen, I will cut the rope around your hands. Don’t try anything stupid, will you?”

Rizzen just glared at her from under the curtain of his hair. She cut the ropes, and he felt the blood flow returning to his hands. Sintara took his left hand and began to press his palm and slowly massage some life back to it. Rizzen just stared at her, not really knowing what to do with the gesture.

“I’m sorry about the burns the rope left.” She chattered while she massaged the male’s other hand. “I would heal it, but sadly I’m out of potions.”

“Why would you do that?” Rizzen blurted without even thinking. It was just so confusing to him, being tended to and fussed over while at the same time being a prisoner.

“Because you are hurt.” Came the answer.

“But... That would be a waste of resources, this is just a minor injury, and I don’t...” He trailed off. He wanted to say he didn’t deserve it.

“You are hurt.” Sintara repeated firmly. “Also you are weakened because you are exhausted.”

She was right, he knew.

“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll try to kill you and run away?” He prodded.

“You might do so. But it would be unwise.” Sintara replied.

“I could just take your weapons and fight my way back to Menzoberranzan, you know.”

“And what would you gain by doing that?” The female drow cocked her head to the side, again sweeping Rizzen’s hair out of his face.

“I could go back and tell Matron Malice that I killed her wayward son and all the heretics and non-drow iblith he brought against us.” He stared at her with a hardened expression.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but House Do’Urden is no more.” Sintara locked gazes with him. “Matron Mother Malice is either dead, or is captured by House Baenre, and just wishes that she was dead.”

Rizzen’s eyes teared up again.

“You lie.” He whined.

“No, I don’t. The best chance you have is with us.”

Rizzen buried his face in his hands, and sobbed silently. Sintara caressed his back in an attempt to calm him down.

“You can have a new life. Away from her. Away from everything.”

“You don’t understand.” He sniffled. “What life awaits me without her? I’m nothing without her!”

“This is just something she would want you to believe.” She pulled him closer, letting his head fall on her shoulder.

“If I’m no longer the Patron of House Do’Urden, then what am I?” Rizzen whispered. “Nothing. I am nothing.”

Sintara held him close while he stopped crying and fell asleep.

Andrea and Ilga followed Drizzt and Guenhwyvar through the tunnels that led to the forest on Kelvin’s Cairn. The ranger was silent, and his attitude rubbed off onto the rest of his companions. Not even Ilga had the inclination to crack jokes or chat. Everyone was tired and eager to get out of the Underdark, so they barely stopped in the past few days. It lifted the mood immensely, when the large black panther came back to them with a patch of snow on her head after Drizzt sent her forth to scout the area. The people rushed forward with renewed energy, gobbling up the road until they finally saw the light of the setting sun from the mouth of a cave.

This was the moment when it finally sunk in for Rizzen that there’s no return. He looked back over his shoulder into the vast blackness of the cave system in which laid his city of birth, the only place he knew and called home for nearly half a millennium. He never been away from Menzoberranzan more than a few miles, and only when he was a young soldier sent on patrol. He felt fear paralyzing his legs, and didn’t move when the villagers passed him by. He flinched when he felt someone touching his back. He turned and saw Sintara with her knife in her hand. Rizzen’s heart began to beat faster and he stared at the female with wide eyes. Was she going to kill him after all? She didn’t say a word, but opened Rizzen’s robe and cut a piece out of it, which she then proceeded to tie around his eyes as a blindfold.

“What are you doing?” He managed to ask with a shaky voice.

“Relax; it’s for your protection.” Sintara explained, but she didn’t convince Rizzen.

“I can’t see.” He protested. Sintara took his hand and began to pull him after her.

“I will guide you, don’t worry.” She tried to calm him, but Rizzen was already on the verge of panic. He was sure if it was Malice, or Briza or even Maya, they would just lead him into a chasm or to a wall to laugh at him while he falls to his death or his head cracks open. He started to grasp Sintara’s hand so strongly she hissed. And after a few uneasy steps, he felt cold wind blowing over him, and he inhaled sharply and loudly.

“Oh, it’s windy out here!” Tippletoe chirped and ran down the hillside into a pile of snow.

“We should move on.” Drizzt appeared next to Sintara. “It will be dark soon, and we can set up camp in the woods.”

Sintara nodded and gently pulled Rizzen along as she slowly treaded the slippery slope leading down.

“Tread carefully!” She warned him. “The path is frozen.”

He needed help navigating down to the bottom of the hill, and kept on picking at his blindfold.

“I will take it off once the sun has set completely.” Sintara promised, grabbing Rizzen’s free hand as well, to keep him from removing the piece of cloth from his eyes. “The light stung even the eyes of the humans after we came out of the tunnels. If you take it off, you might go blind.”

She noticed he was shivering in his clothes that weren’t designed for the harsh weather of Icewind Dale, but the never-changing temperature of the Underdark caverns.

“Come here!” She pulled him closer and began to rub his back and arms. She sighed in frustration at forgetting to get some gear for Rizzen as well, but then again, she didn’t plan to bring him along. The decision came to her when she saw him lying on the floor and staring up at the unfolding fight with despair. She felt his shoulder blades through the fabric as he pulled his arms back and tried to push her away. She let him put some distance between them, staring at his bare chest over the loosened laces and torn front of the robe where she cut it to make a blindfold for him.

“We have to get you new clothes, or you will freeze to death.” She asserted.

Rizzen instinctively pulled his robe closer, and folded his arms around himself, fighting off the wind and the shaking of his body. He let himself be guided to the copse of trees where Drizzt and the rest of the adventurers began to set up a camp with the help of the villagers.

“Sorry for ruining your clothes.” Sintara chatted while she pulled him along. “You look stunning.”

“I should have been wearing my armour and my weapons.” Rizzen grumbled in response. “You couldn’t take me then.”

“Maybe.” Sintara grinned at him “Maybe not.”

She shepherded him over to the campfire and pushed him to sit on a log. The sun has settled, but it still wasn’t completely dark. Rizzen’s first thing to do was when he sat down to remove the blindfold and yelp painfully before shutting his eyes tightly.

“I told you not to get it off before it’s dark.” Sintara chuckled. It took a few minutes of adjusting, but Rizzen was able to open his eyes, and he turned his head around to see their surroundings. The people from Coldcreek stared at him with a stern and unfriendly expression; he saw a giant black cat staring at him from the side of the campfire, and he also saw Drizzt’s disapproving headshake before he disappeared among the trees. The wind kept on blowing, and not even the flames could prevent it from chilling the adventurers and the villagers to the bone. Rizzen pulled his clothes tight around himself, and tried hard not to show how miserable he felt.

It didn’t get better in the upcoming days either. Signs of corrosion began to manifest on the blades and armour the villagers borrowed from their drow captors, and Rizzen also felt like his skin was slowly peeled off every time the sun came up and he couldn’t find a way to shelter himself from the deadly rays of light. He also felt like he was afflicted with some disease, because he began to feel dizzy and sometimes despite the cold, he felt like he was on fire. His nose was running a lot, and he always had to sneeze or cough at the most inappropriate moment. He was beginning to walk much slower than the rest of the group, and found himself to be separated more frequently, until Sintara came back and pulled him along.

They encountered a band of marauding orcs, but Drizzt made quick work of them. Regardless, he was even more pissed at Rizzen for not helping the group.

“All you do is holding us back.” He confronted Rizzen after they made camp far away from the orc warband’s lair.

“I’m unarmed, sick and freezing. What would you have me do? Wave at the orcs to draw their attention?”

This seemed to calm Drizzt down a bit.

“Right.” He grumbled.

“I’m too weak to fight anyway.” Rizzen sighed and suppressed a cough. “You’d be better off leaving me.”

“I won’t leave you to freeze out here.” Drizzt cast a disapproving look at the older male. “First, we take the villagers back to Coldcreek, then our ways separate, and I hope we’ll never meet again.”

“Fair enough.” Rizzen sniffled.

There was a long pause before Drizzt crossed his arms in front of him and spoke.

“You’re lucky. You should really appreciate that.”

Rizzen tried to laugh but it made him cough badly. When he finally could stop, he asked.

“How am I lucky? I have been torn from my home, my House fallen, I lost everything but the rags on my back. Please o flawless one, enlighten me!”

His voice was filled with venom, but Drizzt wasn’t surprised.

“I have spent ten years out in the wilderness, alone. Without a soul to help me or to guide me.” He explained. “You have it too easy. Like you always had.”

Rizzen laughed bitterly.

“Goddess, I’d never imagine you of all people to be jealous of me.”

“If you think I’m jealous then you’re just as delusional as your Matron Mothers.” Drizzt spat. “You never had to lose yourself to survive, you never had to fight tooth and nail with beasts for a puddle of water, you had everything you could ever want, without as much as a thought about it being right or wrong!”

“You really think I had it easy?” Rizzen’s voice mirrored the disbelief he felt hearing Drizzt’s words. “You really believe that after seeing me bleeding on the floor?” He swallowed because he felt the tide rising and his voice began to lose its neutral tone.

“Let me ask you something.” He bit his lip before going on “Have you been ever chained to a bed for days? Put on display like a prize-winning animal? Have you been ever called shallow and vain and dumb while at the same time always reminded of that the only thing of value you have is your pretty face and what’s between your legs? Because I have. I have been there. And from where I stand, it seems you got the better cards from the deck.”

“You chose that life.” Drizzt turned his head away from Rizzen.

“I didn’t have a choice at all!” The older male raised his voice. “Do you think Malice would let me live if I denied her? She would have me either way, only she would kill me for saying no.”

He coughed again, doubled over and bracing himself against a large rock.

“You could have run.” Drizzt shook his head. “Fled House Do’Urden and her.”

“And do what?” Rizzen snapped. “Die on the street from starvation? Or sell my swords and my ass to the highest bidder? Or maybe wait until someone stabs me in an alley and sells my organs to a wizard or another?”

“If you really hated that life, you could do something to set yourself free. But you didn’t.” Drizzt was still firm in his belief. Rizzen felt his anger override his survival instinct, and he sneered.

“But neither did your father.”

Ignoring the dangerous flash of Drizzt’s purple eyes, he cocked his head to the side and asked

“Did he tell you how he became a member of Malice’s harem? That she had him kidnapped? He adjusted well, I have to admit. After she had him, Malice wouldn’t even touch me.” He bit his lips again, trying to chase away the residual feeling of the burning jealousy he felt whenever he had to look at the weapons master. “Oh how glad I was when I saw the sorrow in his eyes. He was so pretty in his pain.”

Drizzt’s hand lashed out in a flash and slammed Rizzen’s head against the rock, gripping his neck tightly. His other hand was balled into a fist, but he didn’t hit the older drow yet.

“Go on, strike me!” Rizzen hissed. “That’s what you want isn’t it?”

It was Drizzt’s time to bite his lips and he threw Rizzen on the ground.

“Never talk about my father again!” He threatened. "Not a word!"

Rizzen wanted to provoke him further, but he couldn’t speak because he began to cough really badly. Drizzt left him alone.

It took them another day to reach Coldcreek, and despite the happy villagers and returned prisoners, a lot of angry stares were directed towards the three drow standing at the gates. Baldassar came once again to say his thanks, along with some of the village elders.

“Our sincere thanks for saving our neighbours.” He began. “The elders prepared a little reward for all of you.”

He looked over the adventurers, and it seemed like he’s missing something.

“Didn’t you have another lady with you?” the guardsman inquired.

“Oh, yes.” Andrea smiled sheepishly “Merry... Truth is...”

“She sacrificed herself to save us.” Sintara interrupted her friend before she could compromise her. She held Rizzen close, still trying to rub some warmth into his shivering form. “My name is Sintara, and this is my husband Rizzen. We need a place to stay.”

Drizzt didn’t say a word, but cast a critical look at her. Some of the elders and villagers began to murmur and someone yelled.

“You’ll get nothing from us, drow! You invaded our homes, and took our neighbours!”

Andrea’s face went pale, while Ilga frowned.

“Eh, quit your blabbering!” One of the former prisoners joined the shouting match. “If it weren’t for these drow, we’d still rot in those cells. They freed us!”

Baldassar turned to Sintara.

“If that is true, then we can give you some supplies to make your journey safer and easier. This is the least.”

Sintara nodded.

“May I ask for a warm cloak and a pair of boots for him?” she rubbed Rizzen’s back, and he began to cough again.

“He seems to be ill.” Baldassar noticed.

“He caught a cold.” Sintara explained. “His health is not the best.”

“Not the best” was an understatement. Rizzen’s skin was sunburnt and broken, his cold got worse and he had a fever. Sintara had to support him on her shoulder on the last few miles.

“He needs a healer.” Drizzt sighed. “After he’s fit to travel, I will guide them away from here.”

Baldassar nodded.

“I think there’s a back room at the tavern. We can let him rest there.”

As the crowd disbanded and Baldassar and another man came and took Rizzen away, Sintara turned to Drizzt.

“Thank you.” She gave a curt nod then hurried after the humans.

“Am I dying?” Rizzen groaned when he finally woke from his fever-induced stupor. Sintara smiled at him, and sat next to him on the bed he was tucked in as soon as the men entered the room with him. His tattered robe and pants were thrown to the chair in front of the fireplace, and his damp, worn out boots lay underneath the bed.

“It’s just a cold.” She caressed his face. “Nothing that can’t be medicated with a nice hot cup of tea, or a bowl of soup.”

Disbelief was clearly written on Rizzen’s face. He was sure he got some deadly affliction that was unique to the dangerous surface world.

“See, I brought a little soup for you.” Sintara presented a tray and a small bowl with a spoon on it. “You need to eat to regain your strength.”

Rizzen fought himself to sitting position. The scent of the substance in the bowl was nice, but unlike anything he ever smelt before. Sintara scooped a little of it with the spoon and stuck it under Rizzen’s nose.

“Here, have at it!”

The male drow backed away and turned his head.

“What’s wrong?” Sintara inquired with head cocked to the side. Then it dawned on her. “Are you afraid it’s been poisoned?”

Rizzen didn’t answer, but lowered his eyes and clenched his jaw.

“All right, let me test it for you!” Sintara ate the spoonful of soup. Rizzen studied her intently for any sign of distress or symptom of poisoning, but she was fine.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” He grumbled.

“I don’t have anything that protects me from poison.” Sintara confessed. “My amulet was lost long ago.”

Rizzen was still suspicious about the soup, but took the tray from Sintara and took a sip from the spoon. He frowned.

“It tastes peculiar...”

Sintara laughed.

“Only because you never had anything like it before. None of the vegetables are dangerous, and the meat is from a sort-of bird, which can’t fly.”

“Like a diatryma?” Rizzen raised his brow.

“Yes.” Sintara nodded “But much, much smaller. Some humans keep them as pets too. I believe they are called chicken.”

She watched over him while he ate his soup, and put the tray and bowl away when he finished.

“Can I see your feet?” She inquired, pointing at the blanket where Rizzen’s legs were. He nodded.

Sintara lifted the blanket and frowned. Rizzen began to complain about his feet hurting days ago, and he couldn’t walk with his normal speed. She began to worry about frostbite. The male drow’s toes were indeed frostbitten, and his feet were still cold despite being under a heavy blanket for hours.

“Can you move your toes?” She asked, not daring to touch them in fear of breaking them off.

“Barely.” Rizzen confessed. “And it hurts if I try to.”

Sintara put the cover on Rizzen’s feet again. After a long pause, he asked.

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?” She asked back in confusion.

“Coddling me. Tending to my injuries.” Rizzen leaned forward, letting his hair cover his face. “I’m a prisoner. Why don’t you treat me like one?”

Sintara reached out and lifted his chin with her finger.

“Listen to me. You are not a prisoner. You’re not my slave, or hostage or anything that is going around in your pretty head. I want to help you.”

“But why?” Rizzen was absolutely lost. “What value do you see in me? How could I serve you? I’m just a male without a House, or title.”

Sintara’s features saddened.

“You are not “just a male”, you’re a person. And I don’t care about Houses or titles. They have no meaning up here.”

She tucked a few strands of Rizzen’s hair behind his ear.

“And to what value do I see in you... Everyone has value.”

It went against everything he ever heard.

“Hardly.” He laughed bitterly. “I have no power, not even a rag on me anymore.”

“Your life has value.”

“My life was forfeit the moment you dragged me out of the chapel.” His eyes teared up again. “But if it must be, then I will serve you. Whatever you want.”

Sintara let go of his face and stood up.

“Rest.” She told him. “I shall bring the healer, and see to it that you’re well before we depart.”

“As you wish, ilharess.” Rizzen droned indifferently.

Chapter Text

“Sintara told me life is not black and white, but complex shades of grey. I agree to disagree. The concept of right and wrong is not so subtle for me, and has never been. It not only applies to laws, but to our actions as well. In the light of this, you may wonder if I see the attempt to “save” Rizzen as wrong, and my answer is no. I just see it as being a waste of time and effort, a shameful misuse of compassion that might not be wasted on someone other. While I guided the Sisters of the Red Moon to Silverymoon I had talked with them about this, among many other subjects. I heard their own checkered history with their respective families, and came to a conclusion only after. They saw Rizzen as this broken thing that needed to be fixed, while they remained blind to his real personality I have had the misfortune of seeing enough while growing up. They saw themselves in the tormented and anxious drow they sought to save. Sometimes I wonder if their judgement was clouded because or despite their own bad experiences, was it hope that gave them this misguided compassion towards a cold-blooded killer? To me it was as clear as the morning sky over Kelvin’s Cairn that Rizzen will never change. He might adapt with time, to his surroundings and his new mistress, but in his core he will always be a creature of Lolth. And as I said my goodbyes to the Sisters, I warned them about that. I hope my warnings didn’t fall on deaf ears.

Drizzt Do’Urden

Silverymoon was nothing like Menzoberranzan. There were so many things catching Rizzen’s attention he nearly tripped over his own legs every minute. The city smelled of wood, of the animals being shepherded through the streets, of the wind carrying the smell of summer and the last drops of morning dew, mingling with the smell of food cooking in the kitchens. And there were many other creatures he never saw openly going about their business everywhere. Dwarves, gnomes, humans, even some elves. This diversity equally appalled him and intrigued him. He never knew he hungered for something new, something he never saw or heard before. The thrill of exploring the city occupied his troubled mind enough to forget about the voice he began to hear back in Coldcreek, when he lay on the bed wracked with a fever, tendays ago. Sintara and her friends kept on fussing over him, which he still found odd and suspicious but he did what he always: endured it without as much as a word.

Sometimes he still found himself looking back over his shoulder, towards the mountain, knowing that somewhere in the woods lies the cave entrance that leads down to the Underdark. He always shuddered and forced the longing he felt towards the familiar dark caverns to the deepest pit of his mind. He had trouble with bearing the bright light, so he usually wore a piece of clothing tied in front of his eyes, and let Sintara lead him until it was dark enough for him to safely remove the blindfold. After they left Coldcreek and spent a few tendays on the road to Silverymoon, he found he adjusted a little bit to the light of day. It still stung his eyes, making him sneeze and his tears fall if he had to stand in direct sunlight or accidentally looked up, but when they passed the city gates following Drizzt, he could very well do without a blindfold. The small accomplishment filled Rizzen with joy, but only as long as he didn’t hear the voice telling him that it was no victory but betrayal.

Their small company was welcomed by the city guards, who led them to Lady Alustriel’s residence, where she greeted Drizzt like an old friend. Rizzen didn’t understand much of what was said between them, because he still didn’t know the common tongue surfacers used, so he just stared at the wall blankly. He caught a glimpse of a silhouette of someone the others didn’t seem to notice. He furrowed his brow and turned to Sintara, but she was in the middle of a conversation with Alustriel, and he didn’t want to interrupt. The shadow was gone when he turned back.

From that moment on, he felt that shadow lurking around him, no matter what he did or where he went. Its presence made him feel on edge, even more so than the constant expectation of a sudden outburst of anger or a hit in the face. His heart beat faster even when there was no one around. The company got nice rooms in the tavern, free to stay as long as they worked for Lady Alustriel and refrained from breaking the law. Rizzen spent days locked in his room – which he did not share with Sintara, at least not all the time – and staring at nothing. His nerves were tense, he jumped at the smallest of noises and he kept on seeing that shadow from the corner of his eye.  As the days progressed, he felt less and less real. He began to think that he’s in Reverie, and he’s just imagining things, or dreaming. Especially after he finally could add a name to the shadow that stalked him.

It happened two months after settling down in Silverymoon. The summer had ended, but the weather was still warm and Sintara asked Rizzen to accompany her for a stroll through the city to obtain a scroll from a wizard. Andrea was already there, she informed him.

“It will be good for your health as well.” She tucked a strand of silver behind his ear. Not daring to say no he obeyed, but he felt too tired for a walk.

“As you wish.” Even his voice sounded like he was permanently exhausted. Rizzen cast a longing glance at his bed, then he followed Sintara down the stairs.

The scroll waited for them along with the sorceress, and the errand was over quickly, for which Rizzen was grateful. The two women chattered in front of him while he tried hard to force his irritation down. Usually he didn’t mind listening to the other members of their party chat, even if he didn’t understand a word – or maybe because of it – but right now he felt like shouting at them to shut up. Then he remembered something, a random scene from the past, where he was trying to cheer Malice up because of something that didn’t turn out the way she wanted it, and he swore he could hear her voice yelling “shut up!” at him. His anger turned to dread, and he looked around like he was looking for the source of the voice. Andrea and Sintara didn’t notice him stopping in the middle of the street.

The wind blew, carrying some dead leaves and the faint scent of decay. Rizzen began to hear the sounds of the busy street as if he was under water, muffled and distorted. His heart beat fast and he was gasping for air.

“You bore me.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Stop your whining!”

“Just do what I said. Let the women do the thinking.”

“Patron? Such a useless title.”

“Stupid male.”

He wanted to get away from them. He blinked, and for a moment he saw stalagmites and a small grove of giant mushrooms. He never realised he was walking towards that direction. The voices kept on yelling at him, threatening him but he could never see where their owners hid. He quickened up his pace, almost reaching the edge of the mushroom grove, when someone tackled him, bringing him to the ground.

Sintara felt her heart skip a beat when she saw Rizzen staggering towards the bridge over the Rauvin river, leading to the main gate and no matter how good a runner she was, she feared she can’t stop him from falling into the water. She jumped at him and landed on top of him, terrified to see the blank expression and the empty eyes.

“Nice catch!” Andrea congratulated when she caught up with her. “What in the nine hells is wrong with him?”

Sintara shook her head and tried to turn Rizzen’s face towards her. He was unresponsive, just stared at the river for moments that seemed endless before blinking and looking around perplexedly. Seeing Sintara, his expression became terrified.

“Do you hear me?” She began, while deliberately positioning herself so Rizzen couldn’t get up. Andrea prepared a web spell to catch the confused drow in case he tried to run.

“What happened?” Rizzen began to squirm nervously.

“You had some kind of a fit.” Sintara explained. “I thought you were going to jump off the bridge.”

“What? No.” Rizzen laughed fretfully. “Wait... How did I even end up here?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember following you to the tavern, but...” he trailed off. He couldn’t recall the minutes that passed between walking behind Sintara and ending up sprawled on the ground with her on top of him on the bank of the river.

“Strange.” Sintara got up and pulled him to his feet. “We better get you back to your room. It’s safe there.”

He thought that as well, right until that night. Rizzen had trouble falling into the meditative trance elves called Reverie, which substituted sleep for them unless they were severely injured or exhausted. He also had trouble sleeping, no matter how tired he always felt. That night he finally could ease his tense nerves into letting him lay down and closed his eyes.

Something wasn’t right, he felt it nearly in an instant. Someone was there with him. He tried to open his eyes, but his head felt heavy, like he was in a haze of incense the priestesses used for some ceremonies. It was almost like he could smell it, mixed with a hint of brimstone. He finally managed to open his eyes, and what he saw froze the blood in his veins. A tall and muscular drow female in revealing clothing and the ceremonial headdress of the priestesses of Lolth stood right next to his bed, her eyes glowing like embers down on him. He even saw the six squirming vipers he was all too familiar with.

“Did you think you can run away from us, traitor?” Briza growled and lifted her whip to lash out at the petrified male.

All four of the Sisters of the Red Moon heard the blood-curdling scream from Rizzen’s room, and all of them jumped out of bed to see what the matter is. Ilga arrived first and broke down the door, Andrea and Tippletoe followed but not as closely as Sintara did. Ilga caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye and grabbed Rizzen’s arm before he could run out of the room while Sintara checked it for intruders. They found no one but Rizzen kept on fighting Ilga and shouting the same words over and over again. Andrea saw the other guests of the tavern gathering around the room to see what caused the ruckus.

“Calm down, elfie!” Ilga shook Rizzen and wrapped her arms around the drow’s lean form, holding him in place. He still kept on repeating the same words which the half-orc didn’t understand, but the volume on which he kept on parroting it toned down as he crawled into the arms of the woman holding him.

“The room is clear.” Sintara reported, coming out to the corridor to join the rest of her party. “I found no sign of entering. I think he might have had a nightmare.”

“What is it he keeps on saying?” Tippletoe inquired, patting the distressed drow’s leg.

Sintara looked at Rizzen’s trembling form and back at the gnome.

“Il’zhah ghil. She’s here.” She translated. “She’s here, save me.”

It took a long time until Rizzen finally calmed down enough to be taken back into the room he was desperately trying to get out of. He firmly believed that Briza was still hiding in there somewhere, waiting for his protectors to disappear so she can have her revenge.

“Want me to stay with you?” Sintara asked while the rest of their party went back to their respective quarters for the remainder of the night. Rizzen nodded though he wasn’t sure how Sintara being in the same room with him and his tormentor will make any difference. He sat down to the edge of his bed and stared at the wall, sometimes turning around to see if there’s anyone else there. His senses were heightened like in battle, only this time there were no foes to beat but his own demons. He felt the mattress shift as Sintara occupied the other end of the bed.

“Take a deep breath and hold it in for a few moments, then let it out.” She told him.

“I can’t.” He ground it through his clenched teeth. “I feel like I’m drowning.”

“Try to focus on my voice. Breathe.”

Rizzen tried to breathe as he was told and when Sintara told him to hold, he held it despite his mind screaming at him that he’s in danger and he will die.

“Release slowly.” Sintara ordered him again, and he exhaled loudly. The sense of dread and being threatened eased somewhat though did not disappear.

“Do you want to talk?” He heard her voice again after a short pause. He shook his head.

“Fine. Do you mind if I sleep here? You can wake me up anytime if there’s something you need.”

Rizzen turned around and stared at Sintara’s face, not really knowing what to say.

“Actually, I’m tired.” He muttered. “But wouldn’t be sleeping together inappropriate?”

“I can sleep on a chair if it bothers you.” Sintara offered, and was about to get up, but Rizzen reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Don’t!” He realised he shouted and let go of her immediately. “I’m sorry, I just... I don’t mind you being here. I’m just not used to someone sleeping next to me... Well, someone other than the Matron Mother.”

His expressions shifted into a mask of sorrow deeper than the ocean of fear that dwelt inside him.

“She was never there when I woke up. Or tossed me out like a used tissue after she...”

Sintara lifted his chin up with her finger to look into his eyes.

“I will not leave you.” He turned his face away, avoiding eye-contact. Sintara took his hand instead, and gently squeezed it. “I promise you, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

It meant little, but he accepted it without making any faces or judgements. He was tired, and he didn’t want to keep her up any longer, so he lied down next to her, staring into the darkness while she drifted off, holding his hand.

No matter how hard Rizzen tried to wrap his head around his captors – because he still saw them as the people who held him captive – he just couldn’t. He played along with them, even got used to their proximity but the deepest part of his mind told him to be wary. Andrea, the sorceress tried to teach him some words on the common tongue of the surface, but Rizzen was always too tired and anxious to listen and learn.

Most of the time he could barely muster the strength he needed to get out of his room and brood in the corner of the downstairs area of the tavern. On occasions he did, he was mostly unbothered by the passersby and various people doing business or drinking there, and he avoided contact as much as he could.

It was strange to watch the humans and dwarves and various travellers, wondering why they were there, and where will they go. Rizzen found he could amuse himself with this guessing game for a long while, and it was also something that took his attention away from the voice in his head that repeated insults and threatened him with losing his sanity. So he indulged himself in it often. Sintara and the rest of her friends didn’t force him to do anything, only kept an eye on him in case he tried to escape again or wander too close to the river.

So he stayed at the tavern even though he wouldn’t mind to explore Silverymoon on his own. By night of course, when the light was bearable and all the pesky surfacers were mostly gone too. Sometimes he drifted off to Reverie without noticing, only to wake with a jump because of a nightmare or memory he desperately tried to repress emerging from the depth of his mind. This was how usually his caretakers found him.

“I’m glad he seems like he’s coming out of his shell.” Andrea discussed it with Sintara some months after the Sisters discovered Rizzen’s pastime. “I wonder if he’ll be willing to learn to communicate with people if we give him enough time.”

“That might take a whole lifetime for a human.” Sintara reminded her with a half-smile. “And I don’t want to push him. If he will spend the rest of this century sitting in the corner of my room because that is how he feels safe I will definitely just let him.”

“But what if he doesn’t feel safe, but doesn’t dare to say so?” Andrea prodded. “From what you told me and what I’ve seen, he’s never safe from his own mind. Yet he doesn’t say a word. Even though he knows we understand him, even Ilga.”

“How about we ask him about it?” Sintara shrugged. “After all, he knows what’s best for him.”

They –of course – found him sitting on his usual spot, listening to the bard singing an old ballad about a dragon and its tears and throwing himself to the sea to let the waves wash away his fear. Rizzen usually acted like no one and nothing existed outside of his little bubble, but now the bard had him perk his head and listen no matter if he didn’t understand the lyrics.

Sintara and her friend arrived to the tavern during the bard’s performance, and the sorceress couldn’t help but nudge her companion on the side and point at Rizzen. Sintara felt some relief seeing him paying attention to the outside world.

They sat down next to him, and waited until the performance was over to greet him. He seemed much more energetic than ever before, and it was both relieving and terrifying.

“I want to know what that song was about.” Rizzen asserted after a long ramble about the various people he watched during the day and the bard’s performance. “I want to understand it, maybe learn it, I don’t know.” He made an absent-minded little smile which disappeared almost in an instant. “Oh... I’m rambling, sorry. I’d probably just waste my time anyway.”

Andrea frowned while Sintara felt equally sad and angry about whoever made him feel like his interests are unimportant and boring, especially making him feel like he shouldn’t even try anything because he “would only waste his time”.

“I think it’s not true.” She spoke up. “You want to learn that song? Go on. Andrea can help you with learning the language or even I can, if you would prefer that. You do what you want. And it’s never a “waste of time” to learn something new.”

Rizzen nodded and lowered his eyes, but didn’t speak for the remainder of the evening.

He had trouble with resting no matter if Sintara was in his room in Reverie, huddled up in a chair or lying next to him. Rizzen couldn’t find peace, not even after closing his eyes. He always heard the vipers hissing, or wandered the empty halls of House Do’Urden, trying to run away from Malice’s ghost only to spring up in his bed, screaming and soaked in cold sweat. Sometimes he saw the altar with his captors – allies? – on it. Other times he saw them die and was unable to prevent it, just watched on, glued to place, frozen. He came to accept it, like he accepted the lashes and the derisive comments.

He saw Briza stalking him in his room or in the dark corridor at night more frequently. Sometimes she suffocated him while he couldn’t move. His head hurt like it was about to split in two at the next day.

He never said a word about it to anyone, but Sintara and her friends had this weird kind of sense which always told them if he wasn’t feeling too well. After a while, he began to think he’s a burden on them.

“Look at you.” He believed he heard Briza’s low and intimidating chuckle “As worthless as ever. What do you think, how long the heretic and her rabble will tolerate you eating their bread while being completely useless?”

Rizzen swallowed the knot in his throat and braced himself against the wall, trying to soothe the pain in his head by pressing it against the stone.

“Do you think she cares about you?” The mocking tone rang in his ears again. “You, a weakling that gets terrified by loud noises? A coward that screech like a shrieking mushroom if startled? What value you possibly have for her? You can’t even fight anymore.”

“Enough...” Rizzen groaned as much as he was able between his gritted teeth and shame.

“She’s just feigning politeness to fool you, idiot!” Briza yelled at him. “It’s so typical of you to fall into a trap like this. No wonder Mother Malice wanted you gone. You’re pathetic.”

“I said stop!” He only recognized he was yelling when he heard the door to his room creaking.

Sintara froze in her track when she heard him shout “stop”. She was about to tell Rizzen that she and her friends were leaving for a few days to fetch herbs from the elven herbalist living in Moonwood, but seeing him made her change her mind rapidly. Rizzen was shaking, his forehead pressed against the wall, and he sometimes cried out loud to some unseen entity to stop whatever it was doing. His voice was hoarse and he looked like he was about to collapse any moment. Sintara went over to him and gently touched his back, making him scream in terror.

“Hush, it’s only me!” She tried to calm the male drow “Rizzen, what’s wrong? You look sick.”

He was about to answer her but Briza grabbed his throat and began to squeeze so hard he couldn’t even press out a sound. His eyes went wide and he opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, but nothing could leave him but a faint and terrified moan.

“Get the healer!” Sintara turned and yelled out to Andrea, who waited for her outside Rizzen’s room. “Now!”

She turned back to him and tried to calm him down enough to be able to communicate, but in vain. Rizzen’s breathing was laboured, and he was clearly panicking over something, yet he was unable to speak and he was shaking too much to use hand-signs. Sintara wanted to sit him down, but as she began to move away from him, he latched himself onto her and made a sound like he was suffocating. Sintara was seriously worried for his life. He dropped to the floor, and pulled his knees up to his head, curling into a ball. Sintara knelt beside him and caressed his shoulder and was absolutely clueless about what she could do to help him. She wanted to give him space so she began to move away, but his arm lashed out and grabbed her hand, holding on to it without even looking at her.

Finally, after a few moments that seemed like eternity, Rizzen drew a long breath and threw his head back just like someone emerging from under water would. His breathing became steadier and he stopped shaking, but he still couldn’t speak.

“Are you... feeling a bit better?” Sintara inquired cautiously. Rizzen turned his head towards her, and frowned. He slowly shook his head.

“It’s all right. I’m here with you.” Sintara squeezed Rizzen’s hand still clutching hers. They sat on the ground in silence for at least half an hour before Andrea knocked on the doorframe and stuck her head inside.

“The healer is here, Ilga is escorting her up.”

Sintara nodded to her and helped Rizzen stand up to shepherd him to the bed, sitting both of them down on the edge of the mattress.

As soon as they settled, Ilga entered with a priestess in tow. Rizzen turned towards Sintara, betrayal and terror etched into his features.

“What is it you need assistance with?” The priestess inquired, and Sintara began to explain.

“He’s unwell. Having trouble breathing and sleeping, and when I came in an hour ago, he had some sort of a fit. It’s not the first time to occur, and I’m desperate. I want to help him, but I don’t know how.”

The priestess nodded and turned to Rizzen asking about his distress but he backed away from her, casting a confused glance at Sintara.

“He doesn’t understand Common.” She apologized.

“I see. Would you be so kind to translate what I say to him then?”

“Certainly.”

Rizzen didn’t understand a word about what was spoken between the human priestess and Sintara. He only knew one thing though: priestess means bad news. Part of him heard the alarm horn sounding, and wanted to get away as far as possible, while his other – more dominant – part just didn’t care enough to actually move. Then Sintara turned to him and told him that the priestess was there to heal him.

“She will not hurt you.” She assured him “But if it makes you comfortable, you can lean on me while she’s casting her spell. I will translate to you what she says, and to her what you say if it is all right with you.”

It was the strangest thing he ever experienced. No the healing spell, he had been healed magically countless of times before, but the notion that his feelings about it were considered. He let out a confused sigh and leaned to Sintara’s shoulder, letting the warm sensation of the spell pass through him, making his harrowing migraine disappear.

But he wasn’t ready for talking about himself to a strange surfacer priestess of some moon-goddess.

“Now that the wretched headache is out of the picture, how about we discuss what may cause it?” The priestess flashed what Rizzen pegged to be a reassuring smile. Too bad he knew that if anyone smiled at him it was only to hide their derision.

“I had a bad dream. It was nothing.” He murmured. Sintara translated his words.

“Bad dreams usually don’t last for the whole day.” The woman shook her head. “What your friends told me, made me believe you have a serious problem.”

“I am fine.” Rizzen hissed antagonistically. “I don’t need to be coddled by you, or any of your kind.”

Sintara translated this as well, but apologised and turned to him.

“Love, nobody is going to hurt you.” She tried to stress her point by caressing his face. “Tell her what troubles you! She’s here to help.”

“They’re lying!” Briza cackled behind him. “Go on; entertain them with the story of how pathetic you are! I know I always loved a good laugh.”

“I... uh.” Rizzen tried to stay angry, but he was too tired for that. After all, what does it matter if several more people think he’s worthless and weak? He felt his throat tightening again so he drew a long breath with he held in for a few second before releasing, like Sintara taught him. It did help fend off the inevitable for a short while.

“If I tell her, she’ll think I’m mad.” He pressed out.

“No, she won’t.” Sintara held him close. “And I won’t either. I want to know what’s wrong, so I can help. But I can’t do it alone, that’s why she’s here.”

If that needed an explanation at all. Rizzen stared at Sintara, trying to spot any sign of fakeness or hidden contempt but all he saw was concern. He still didn’t believe she was without ulterior motives, but gave in. He didn’t tell everything about his life though. He told the two females about being a warrior, about the duties he had while commanding Malice’s soldiers, and generally serving her as a consort. He left out everything he felt like it was too painful to talk about. He jokingly mentioned some of it though, like if he contradicted himself on purpose. The way Malice hit him so often he basically had the map of her throne room memorized, so he could tell her anything out of hitting range. His worries of having to be Briza’s consort in case she succeeds in assassinating her mother. His musings of her probably hating males so much she’d kill him immediately.

He swallowed the feelings of intense shame and embarrassment that came with talking about his issues. He poured it all out without even realizing it. His anger about being used. His confusion for being made to think everything was his fault. For making him believe that he was a failure. All the pain he felt and all the fear he still held. Two hundred years made the water level pretty high and the dam broke down under the pressure he felt. When he couldn’t go on anymore he bit his lip and forced himself to look at the “audience” he never realised he had. He anticipated sneers and frowns, but when he took in the faces of the women surrounding him, all he saw was compassion.

Andrea covered her face with her hand, while Tippletoe fought back tears. Ilga stared at him with a mixed expression of sorrow and outrage. Sintara held him close and he felt her hand squeezing his shoulder every time he spoke about something that was difficult for him to tell. Even the priestess looked at him with understanding that was alien to him.

“Let’s give Rizzen a moment to be alone.” Andrea suggested. Everyone nodded and left the room one by one, leaving only Sintara and the Priestess last. Before she left, Sintara pulled Rizzen close and gave him a kiss on his cheek. “We’ll be right back. You’re very brave.”

After the door closed behind them, Rizzen let out a frustrated sigh. He just knew they went to laugh at his misery. He pulled his legs up under him, and buried his face into his palms.

“Why am I this stupid?” He asked himself. “Why did I tell them everything they can use to make my life worse than the nightmare it already is?”

“You’ll deserve everything they’re going to give you, fool!” Briza laughed.

Downstairs, every member of the Sisters of the Red Moon gathered around the priestess of Selune to hear her verdict.

“I’m afraid I know what your friend is going through.” She declared with a heavy sigh. “His ailment is not of the body; I could have eased that permanently. His mind is what is ill.”

“What is it and how can we make it go away?” Tippletoe crossed her arms and stared up at the human’s face.

“I’m afraid there is no cure for that.” Nilsa, the priestess stated apologetically. “You know, my father suffered from the same thing. I believe it is called “battle-shock” or “melancholia”. It is like the soldier never truly leaves the war. His demons will haunt him until he either takes his own life, or learns to live with them. I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do.”

Everyone silenced and looked around dejectedly until they heard Sintara’s voice firmly say

“No. I refuse to believe it.”

It was clear after looking at her that she shed a few tears before steeling her will.

“And how can you even say such a thing after he told you everything he had to go through? How can you just shrug and say “he’s broken beyond repair” like a doll thrown to the dumpster by a careless child?! He’s not an object, but a person. And I refuse to believe that there is nothing I can do to help him!”

“She’s right.” Ilga grumbled. “There has to be a way.”

Nilsa shook her head.

“I didn’t say anything like “he’s broken beyond repair”, but you have to understand that these ailments never really go away. He might feel better with enough time and care given to him. But he might never recover from all the pain that was inflicted on him. And that should be something you are ready to accept.”

Sintara nodded but she was still upset.

“So what can we do to help?” Tippletoe tapped her feet to get Nilsa’s attention.

“Be patient.” She replied. “Don’t force him to participate in anything he is reluctant to. Don’t overwhelm him with questions or new sensations. Avoid crowded or noisy places. Don’t force him to talk, but listen when he needs to. Understand that he is afraid of judgement. He can turn violent or aggressive, and he’ll be suspicious of everyone and everything. Sometimes he’ll be irritable, sometimes he’ll be unresponsive. Expect that. Don’t patronize him or make him feel like a burden to you. Also try not to make him see that you pity him even if you do.”

Nilsa sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Of course, it is also possible that he’ll show different symptoms. I only share with you what worked in my father’s case, but he was a human and your friend is an elf. It is terrifying to think that two years spent in a devastating war caused my father to develop this ailment. I seldom feel grateful for us humans not living for hundreds of years, but if I think about it, two centuries of that nightmare would kill any of us.”

“Rizzen is a damn hero, he just doesn’t realise it.” Tippletoe commented.

“So if I understand you correctly, the best we can do to help him is to be patient with him, and let him do things on his own terms and pace?” Andrea inquired.

“More or less this is what I was trying to say, yes.” Nilsa nodded. “Patience is key. Giving him space when he needs it is also important. What is also important but I forgot to mention earlier, is that you should be aware to never make him feel like he’s excluded. Make sure he has a say in decisions concerning your party, or everyday life. Include him in conversations. And most of all, know he’s doing his best and probably loves you, even if he acts like the opposite.”

Well, no one said it will be easy.” Ilga shrugged. “But I think we already have enough experience with being patient with him, so a little more won’t hurt.”

“Thank you, Nilsa.” Andrea said “May we seek your guidance in case Rizzen’s condition worsens?”

“I’m afraid I can’t really help much more than I already had.” The priestess frowned. “But in case he harmed himself or suffered injuries because of an activity, by all means bring him to me.”

The Sisters bid farewell to the priestess, and stayed downstairs in the tavern for a long while.

“We should plan a rotation or something, so none of us gets burnt out.” Tippletoe suggested “And one of you should teach me some Elvish, so I can understand him.”

“I still can try to teach him Common.” Andrea replied. “He was kind of willing the last time I spoke with him about it.”

“How about we don’t make decisions over his head?” Sintara grumbled. “If anything, we should go back to him and tell him what’s going on. Everything else can wait until then.”

“She has a point.” Ilga nodded and stood beside Sintara.

“Fine with me.” Andrea stood up and began to climb the stairs, her fellow adventurers in tow.

Rizzen still sat on the bed with his legs pulled up, resting his head on his knees when he heard the knock. He didn’t reply and he didn’t go to answer the door, but whoever was outside had left after a while. Strangely enough, sitting alone in his room calmed him despite the lingering feeling of imminent danger. At least he didn’t hear Briza anymore. He had no idea if she was still there or left through some interdimensional portal, but he didn’t care either. He was still restless, finally giving up on sulking on the bed curling up to a ball, pacing the room back and forth instead. He ached to do something, but nothing ever came to mind he could partake in without feeling like he’s underqualified. He once had a set of armour and two swords, but he always felt inferior to the legendary weapons master Zaknafein, and his obnoxious offspring.

He danced a little, but has been told that he has “zurkhwood feet” after a single attempt to dance with Malice at a party thrown by her. Every single thing he ever tried was doomed to be ridiculed and torn apart, compared to someone else who “did it better”. Malice also loved to play that game where she feigned interest just to laugh at him when he got enthusiastic about a topic. Rizzen stopped in the middle of the room when he arrived to the conclusion that there was nothing left in the world for him that wasn’t tainted by the memory of his spouse ridiculing him for taking interest in or practicing. He was only permitted to do two things, but even those performances were overshadowed by someone else.

Suddenly he didn’t feel like being left alone. If he stayed in one place for too long, he could see the illusion coming apart at the seams, saw the empty black halls of Malice’s castle, and heard the faint laughter of her and her daughters. So he decided to get away from the room.

The Sisters were sitting around a table closest to the staircase, and were drinking and playing a card game half-heartedly, but everyone dropped their cards as soon as they saw him storming down the stairs, barefoot and dishevelled. Sintara ran towards him and wrapped her arms around him as he reached the end of the stairs. He didn’t expect that. Neither the welcoming pats nor the cup of mulled wine Tippletoe gave him as soon as he sat down next to Sintara.

“We were worried about you.” Andrea told him. “There are some news concerning you, and we wanted to discuss it, but you didn’t open the door, so we figured it’s best to leave you alone.”

Rizzen only half-believed her, but his alarm once again went off at hearing that they have news concerning him.

“Why would you...” He trailed off. What was he about to ask anyway? Did he even care?

“Nilsa, the priestess who was here to heal you told us that you have some sort-of illness.” Andrea continued.

“I am not ill.” Rizzen growled.

“You are unwell, and we are worried about you.” Sintara put her hand on his arm. “Please don’t be mad at us. We don’t want to upset you, and we don’t think that being ill is your fault or that it devalues you.”

“So... What is it?” He managed to press out after taking a few sips from his drink. He never liked alcoholic drinks. He wasn’t even permitted to drink them much. “There’s hardly anything more un-classy and disgusting than a drunken male.” as Malice used to tell him.

“She told us that your condition is caused by an illness of the mind. It causes you to remember things you don’t want to, and locks you in a constant state of melancholia.” The sorceress explained.

An illness of the mind. So these people heard what he told them about the countless battles and the abuse he had suffered, and decided that he was crazy. Rizzen laughed bitterly. After all, why did he ever expect anything else? He should have never told them a word about it. He should have kept it inside, where it was safe from unsolicited judgement. What a fool he is. Maybe spending a few tendays in the company of Drizzt infected him with his stupidity. Trusting surfacers and priestesses... He got what he deserved for that.

“So she told you that I’m crazy and you went with it.” He concluded.

“She didn’t say that you’re crazy.” Sintara tried to help her friend out “She just told us what’s wrong, so we can help you.”

“Help me?” Rizzen repeated “Why thank you, you helped me immensely by dragging me into a foreign land and forcing their judgement on me. At least Matron Malice didn’t act like she cared about me!”

He sprang up and made his way towards the exit.

“Where are you going?!” Sintara shouted after him.

“Away!” Came the curt answer.

Tippletoe had no clue about what was going on so Andrea quickly filled her in while the rest of their party gathered their things. Sintara ran up to Rizzen’s room to fetch his boots at least.

“No one said it will be easy.” Ilga sighed and stood up.

Chapter Text

A year had passed quickly after that fateful evening in the Bright Blade Brandished. Rizzen was hard to find, but eventually the Sisters did find him cold, hungry, miserable and lost in the city’s less reputable district. He reacted with venom and hostility towards any and all kinds of kindness shown to him since then, and it took months to get through this defence mechanism. For it was - as the small band of adventurers came to learn much later – nothing else but his attempt at shielding himself from further harm. Sintara worked hard to gain back some measure of trust with Rizzen, but he wasn’t having it. He still obeyed her, but something has changed drastically. She was no longer allowed in his room to stay the night. He kept his distance from everyone, but accepted Andrea’s offer to teach him Common.

He struggled with it though, for it was so different from the language of elven people. Rizzen’s greatest frustration wasn’t the different wording or the much simpler grammar. It was that he had a horrible pronunciation. Andrea couldn’t force back her laughter sometimes when he uttered a word or sentence in Common, but it was barely understandable because of his thick Elvish accent. It was better to not know than to be flawed in your knowledge if it came to drow, and Rizzen almost gave up studying the language. Again, something he could only achieve to be mediocre in.

He berated himself at night when he was alone, staring out at the still too bright city – Rizzen never came to be adjusted to the constant need of lighting for humans – and reminded himself of the long-long list of his failures. His son, overconfident in his martial skills while he was much more suited to be a wizard. His daughter, too meek and obtuse to be a high-priestess like her sisters. Himself, who couldn’t even learn a primitive language used by near-animals. Rizzen sighed and pressed his head against the glass. Maybe Dinin was something he could see as a success, having the perfect amount of arrogance and seething rage he needed to drive him forward. Then again, he probably got it from his mother and not him. Also, he was probably dead like the rest of them.

Rizzen seldom thought about the fate of the other members of House Do’Urden, and he couldn’t figure out why he even cared. Nalfein he never liked much. Maya tormented him just the same as any other females in the Household. Dinin also wasn’t his favourite drow to be around, and Rizzen definitely did not miss any of them. But somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he should be just as dead as they were.

A loud knock drew him out of his gloomy thoughts, accompanied by Andrea’s muffled voice behind the door.

“Rizzen, are you awake? May I talk with you?”

He wanted to tell her to go and hang herself, but held his tongue and went over to open the door, hating himself even more than he did before. It was one thing to be submissive and obey a drow woman’s every order, but to be lectured by a human? Rizzen felt like if any other drow from his former Household would be here, they would marvel at the new depths he sank into while laughing their ass off.

“I came to apologize.” Andrea told him after he opened the door to a crack, enough to see her but not to enter. “I can’t help but feel like I offended you today.”

Again, this charade of politeness. This condescending pity they all shared. He stared at her without a word before closing the door. Andrea knocked again.

“Please let me in, I don’t want the whole inn to know what we are talking about!”

He grunted in frustration and opened the door despite his better judgement. Andrea slipped in and closed it behind her. Rizzen didn’t move from his spot next to the door, a bad habit of always having to anticipate the perfect moment to get a run for it. He felt the old tension in his guts, the knot tying itself around his throat and the all-too familiar feeling of anger welling up inside.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about today.” Andrea began, oblivious to the drow’s growing distress. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you. I had no idea that this is something you’re sensitive to.”

As it was his fault that he hated to be ridiculed. Rizzen crossed his arms in front of him, the apprehensive slouch of his shoulders indicating his utter dismissal of whatever she was trying to say.

“I wasn’t laughing at you, you know...” Andrea tried to lift his mood a bit “I was laughing because your accent is cute.”

Rizzen exhaled loudly, barely holding his tongue from saying what he might regret deeply right after he said it. Cute. This insolent iblith thinks his failures are cute. As in adding insult to injury. His eyes flared with rage and they probably glowed a bit brighter than usual, for this time Andrea noticed that something wasn’t right.

“Hey, I’m trying to apologize here... Also, having an accent is not a big deal. I have an accent too when I’m speaking in Elven. That is because I’m not an elf. Nobody will hold it against you.”

Little did she know that whatever he began to practice and turned out he sucks at was held against him every single time. If there was one thing in common between elves of light and dark, it was their obsession with perfection when it came to skills.

“Good for you, that you can feel confident in your inferiority.” Rizzen couldn’t help the snide remark. “But unlike your kind, drow have standards.”

“And you think you failed, because you couldn’t learn a language perfectly in a few months? Come on, it takes years even for other elves!”

Andrea was willing to give him some slack knowing his background, but the endless accusations and derisive comments began to grate on her nerves.

“Ah, here we go again...” Rizzen rolled his eyes. “Other elves can do it, why can’t you?” He mocked Andrea’s tone of voice.

“That’s it. I’m done with you.” The sorceress put her hands in the air. “Come back to me when you’re finally done feeling sorry for yourself, and mustered the give-a-damn to actually learn. I’m going to give you some space until then.”

She left the room in a hurry. Rizzen stayed on his spot, and his tiny spark of victory began to be overshadowed by regret. He couldn’t afford to antagonize these surfacers, and he knew it. He successfully undermined his own opportunity to gain a foothold and maybe carve a niche for himself, because he chose this particular moment to be petty.

After spending the whole night berating himself for his foolishness, Rizzen left his room early in the morning to see if any of the Sisters are awake yet. They always had something to do, so the group of women never spent the whole day inside, they usually left before the tavern opened, to sometimes come back long after closing hours. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Andrea sitting by herself at their usual table by the staircase, nursing a mug of something hot, according to the swirls of steam and the slight red glow to Rizzen's heat-sensitive eyes. The drow stopped in his tracks and just stared at the back of her head for a while before gathering his resolve and walking over to her.

“Good morning.” Andrea grumbled tiredly without looking up. Rizzen cleared his throat and knelt down next to her.

“I beg your forgiveness!” He began, while the familiar old feelings of shame and humiliation flooded him like a tidal wave. “I accept whatever punishment you want to deal to me, I am aware that I made a mistake.”

Andrea finally turned towards him and shook her head.

“Please, you don’t have to get down on the floor.” She sighed. “I accept your apology though.”

Rizzen still didn’t stand. He was clueless about what should he do at the given moment. Of course, he didn’t really expect Andrea to punish him for crossing the line with her; she – after all – wasn’t a drow but something they saw as lesser. He figured apologizing to her didn’t have any risk, so he did it.

The sorceress examined the drow for a short while before putting her mug down to the table and leaning back.

“As much as I love the idea of men kneeling before me and begging for my forgiveness, I have to stress that you don’t have to apologise for having a different opinion on things than me, Rizzen. If anything, you should tell me if I’m going too fast with your lessons because the last thing I want to do is overwhelm you.”

Seeing the drow still haven’t move from his spot, she continued.

“And about accents... I’m teaching you this language so you can understand what the people around you are saying, and maybe it will make you feel less isolated. No one, really, not a soul will care about if you’re speaking it perfectly or not. The goal is for you to understand, and speak it well enough to be understood.” She smiled a little and leaned forward, rustling the hair on top of Rizzen’s head. “And like it or not, everyone will say that your accent is cute, because it is. Maybe try to take it as a compliment?”

Rizzen frowned under the cover of his hair, but sighed and sat back on his heels, looking at Andrea with resignation.

“If that is how it’s going to be, then I accept.” He asserted. “I have a lot to learn yet.”

Andrea’s smile got bigger, but it lacked the predatory expression Rizzen was accustomed to.

“Indeed. How about we get you a nice hot cup of tea as well, and continue where we left off yesterday, hm?”

“I have no objections.” Rizzen nodded.

“Very well.” Andrea stood up and went over to the fireplace, picking up a lone mug from the countertop, and filling it with the contents of the kettle on the mantelpiece. She went back to her table and put the mug in front of the empty seat opposite of hers.

“Take a seat!” She gestured and Rizzen finally stood up from the floor.

Somehow, not being able to pronounce words correctly right away had no importance that day.

Another summer later he could speak Common well enough to be able to order his own meals or ask for directions, and he even could hold up shorter conversations with the locals. The warm feeling of success planted a little seed inside him that began to grow, and Rizzen found a sort of curiosity he never knew he had. He still had a hard time getting used to the loud and sometimes quite smelly humans and their near-blind eyes that needed light for everything, but he tried his best not to show his disdain. He still had trouble with getting rest, so there were still days when he was confined in his room, unable to do anything else but staring at the wall with tired, bloodshot eyes. Briza still came to him and tried to strangle him in his bed sometimes, marking the next day to be tortured by a nasty headache.

But his newfound curiosity and the wish to avoid thinking about his past drove him forward to learn new things or at least try to find out if he’s interested enough to learn them. After their little clash, he tried his best not to anger Andrea, and they got along fine as student and teacher. Tippletoe annoyed Rizzen to no end, especially since he could understand her incessant nagging and the gnome’s squeaky voice didn’t help her case with the dark elf either. Ilga volunteered to help him keep in shape and sharp his rusty skills in swordplay, and oddly enough, Rizzen was grateful for the half-orc’s help. She turned out to be a strict but careful instructor, once again something that was alien to the drow.

Yet the greatest of mysteries for him was the only other dark elf in their circle. Sintara kept her distance since he pushed her away, never attempted to overstep his boundaries despite being in a position of power over him. She stopped being affectionate with him as well, which filled Rizzen with dread. He couldn’t care less if he offended the non-drow members of their party, but if Sintara decided she had enough of him, he knew it would mean that he will either be tossed out to the street to fend for himself, or maybe she will take him out to the woods and stab him in the heart. It only dawned on him that nearly two years had passed since they left Coldcreek, and despite telling everyone that he is her husband, Sintara never approached him in that manner. It vexed him to no end. Malice couldn’t wait to tear his clothes off on the day she declared him hers, and she never went a day without using his services until Zaknafein entered the picture. Why would Sintara claim him if she wouldn’t take him?

He wondered about this for a long time, not daring to ask her directly. She brought him several books he could read if he felt like it, and was distant and polite through their time together in his room. Rizzen felt his throat tighten and his heart beat faster as he tried to gather his resolve to overstep the societal demarcation line which had been drawn by the blood and tears of countless male drow, to keep them in check.

“I think the one about Silverymoon’s former archmage will be to your liking.” Sintara flipped a few pages of said books between her fingers. “I really don’t know what kind of books might interest you, so it’s fine if you don’t read all of them.”

Misunderstanding the reason for the awkward silence settling between them, Sintara stood up.

“I’m sorry.” She took a step back from Rizzen’s bed. “I shall leave.”

“No!” Rizzen exclaimed, promptly scolding himself for his insolence and going on in a much lower tone. “Please, stay... I wish to talk...”

He hated how his voice trailed off and how his guts wrenched and his throat tightened to the point of threatening him to lose the ability to speak.

“I’m here.” Sintara sat back on the mattress, yet still too far for Rizzen’s taste. She waited patiently until he gathered enough strength to finally blurt out the words that had been circling in his mind.

“Do you want me?”

The simple question brought a multitude of expressions to her face, and it was oddly her time to be speechless. After a short while Sintara regained her composure and cleared her throat.

“Why are you asking me things like that?”

“You claimed me, yet you haven’t taken me. Am I not attractive to you? Did you change your mind?”

Sintara’s face lighted up with understanding. She immediately hid it in her palms.

“Rizzen, I’m going to be honest with you...” She sighed. “What I think about your looks doesn’t matter. If it makes you feel better, I do think that you’re an attractive male. But you have been abused to the point of not being able to think clearly in matters like this.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” His voice was half-mad, half close to crying. “That I can’t think for myself?”

“Your judgement is clearly fogged by the standards of our kind still.” Sintara explained. “And yes, I would rather take a male who is in charge of his own will and can consent without fearing my reaction.”

“I am consenting!” Rizzen cried. Sintara lowered her head.

“Tell me something...” She turned to the male after a few moments of silence. “And please, don’t say what you think I would want to hear, but say what you really think about this... Do you care about me, or just afraid I will do something bad to you if you don’t try to serve me in whatever means you think I need?”

The whole concept was foreign for Rizzen, but he was told to tell the truth, so he took a deep breath and told her the truth.

“I’m afraid.” The short sentence doomed his existence, at least he certainly felt like that.

“I thought so.” Sintara nodded. No yelling, no hitting, no fussing.

It was the weirdest thing he ever felt. The uncertainty threatened to drive him crazy.

“If it ever comes to between us to be intimate” Sintara spoke again “I would want you to want it. I mean really want it, not just be afraid that I will hurt you for refusing.”

Rizzen hung his head. He tried to decipher what she was trying to tell him, but he couldn’t make any sense of it.

“Am I repulsive? Or is it because of that priestess telling you I’m crazy? You don’t want to be tainted by it, I understand...”

“No, you don’t.” Sintara objected softly. “I am not repulsed by you, and I definitely don’t think that you’re crazy. But you were hurt. Used. I don’t want to use you, or hurt you.”

“Why?”

“I think I cannot explain this any better than I already have. I see your worth, even if you don’t. So there’s no need for you to try and prove it to me. Not by sleeping with me, not by running errands for me. Understand?”

Rizzen nodded, but in reality he didn’t.

“I mean... Do you even want it?” Sintara spread her arms perplexedly. Rizzen shook his head, as it was the truth. He didn’t want to be intimate with anyone for a long time now. Even seeing himself when he bathed was enough to turn his stomach. Even the thought of someone else’s touch on his skin was enough to make it crawl.

“I don’t think I am able to do it at all...” He confessed. She wanted the truth after all.

His inability to perform his husbandly duties was no secret for decades. All of the younger males laughed at him and made fun of him because of that. His face flushed with red hot shame even now.

“It’s not your fault.” Sintara came closer and put her hand on his ankle. “You hear me? It’s not your fault!”

Rizzen tried so hard to believe it, but he couldn’t. It was just another one of his failures. Another reason for Malice to seek out someone else, and another thing she could rub in his face. He still remembered her disgusted expression as she looked him over.

“Do you still want me to stay?” Sintara’s question tore him out of his miserable thoughts. He nodded.

“Are you comfortable with me being close to you?” She asked another one. Rizzen hesitated. Until now he only tolerated Sintara’s touchy-feelyness because he thought that was the price of her protection. He could very well do without being touched all the time, but on the other hand she had an uncanny sense of when he needed to be held or needed a pat on the shoulder to make whatever situation he found himself in tolerable. She ground him to the present, and it was a thing he desperately needed sometimes.

“I’m unsure of how I feel about it.” He confessed. “But I’m not uncomfortable. I do feel scared about it sometimes.”

Never knowing what came after a caress was the one to blame. Rizzen pulled his legs up to him and wrapped his arms around his knees. Sintara kept her hand on his foot after he settled. It felt warm.

A few days after their talk in Rizzen’s room, Sintara and her friends went out to do some errands on the behest of an older lady, who was worried for her daughter whom she haven’t seen for months. Andrea told him when she came to inform Rizzen about the delay of that day’s lesson. The party didn’t take him with them on any of their assignments, and Rizzen had a feeling it had a lot to do with his twitchiness and general mental disarray. He picked up a book from the pile he got from Sintara, and tried to read. Much to his surprise, Silverymoon’s history indeed got his interest for a while before he couldn’t really concentrate on reading anymore. He got used to it, and his companions tried to adjust his lessons and interactions to a time limit so they leave enough space for him. There were still days when he couldn’t focus on anything for more than a couple of seconds.

He rarely had an episode so severe like the one where Sintara had to call a priestess to him in the past year. The bustling tavern downstairs did not help him with his unwanted flashbacks and general distrust of anyone not belonging to the circle of his companions though. Yet he found himself sitting at the table next to the staircase from time to time, as he did that evening as well. Trying to get through a book about the various magical discoveries of none other than Lady Alustriel’s sons, he found his attention wandering from the dry and academic text a lot. He heard loud noises and chattering so he looked up from the pages to see a band of adventurers entering the Bright Blade Brandished.

Time seemed to slow down for Rizzen as he fell into the old routine of measuring them for potential weak points and assessing the level of threat they posed to him. There were five of them, mostly fighters with one scrawny half-elf in robes. They didn’t notice the drow eyeing them from the corner of the tavern and made their way straight to the bar. Rizzen turned his eyes back to his book and only stole a glance at the obnoxious adventurers. It took them only a few minutes before one of them noticed him and all the Nine Hells broke loose.

“What’s that?!” one of the armoured members of the party asked loud enough for a few heads to turn to his direction. “You let scum like that in here? What’s next, goblins? Orcs? I thought this city has standards.”

Rizzen lowered his head and let his hair fall in front of his face, hoping that the loud humans will leave if he just ignores them, as vermin like them ought to be ignored. He was wrong.

“Hey! Drow! I’m talking to you!”

Rizzen groaned faintly. This is not going to end well. He turned to the man now standing dangerously close to his table.

“What do you want?” He grumbled in Common.

“Go the hells back to where you came from!”

“I could say the same to you.” Rizzen shot back.

“You are the one invading places you don’t belong in!” The fighter continued, leaning too much into Rizzen's personal space. “This is our land; it belongs to us, not filth like you! Get out!”

Rizzen felt his blood pressure rising along with the sense of threat driving him to try and remember the words of a spell he got memorized and never got the chance to use. He swallowed the knot in his throat and put on his old indifferent mask while asking “Are you done?” as dismissively as he could. Sadly, he was sitting, much smaller and obviously distressed by the man’s threatening presence, so no amount of false aloofness was enough to drive him away. The fighter grabbed Rizzen’s book and yanked it out of his hands.

“I’ll be done when your stinking ass will be out!”

Rizzen sprung up from his seat and tried to put some distance between them, but he was too close to the staircase.

“Leave me alone!” He yelled, and nearly fell over. The fighter’s companions closed in as well, the same predatory grin on their faces. One of them mimicked Rizzen’s panicky voice, and the others began to laugh.

“Your spying for your demon-Goddess ends now!” The fighter spat and grabbed Rizzen by his hair. He screamed and began to thrash.

“I’m not a spy! Let me go!”

The human tossed him over to the table. Rizzen landed next to it on the ground. He was shaking and once again, the illusion of the surface world fell apart, revealing a battlefield. Voices shouted orders, priestesses shrieked prayers for the Spider Queen, to gain favours for themselves and bestow misfortune on their enemies. Rizzen had no idea why he was unarmed in the middle of an assault against another House, but he figured he lost his swords during the fight. Another soldier of the enemy House tried to drag him to his feet, but he evaded the other drow’s hands and kicked him in the shin as hard as he could. The enemy drow cursed loudly and fell over, giving enough time for Rizzen to get away from his vicinity. He went for the wizard, now emerging from behind a makeshift barricade. Priestesses and wizards were top priority targets to eliminate, for they posed significantly more threat than mere fighters. Rizzen didn’t think; just let his body remember the motions of each attack. He broke the wizard’s jaw and incapacitated him by a hard blow to his head. If Matron Malice wants to keep him she can heal him.

Another fighter came at him from behind; he ducked from his unarmed blow to retaliate by kicking the soldier in the groin and while he doubled over, elbowed the other drow in the back of his head.

He would much prefer to have a sword in hand, but he figured he’ll have to do without as long as he can’t find one on the ground. He was preparing to run anyway. He found it alarming that no other member of House Do’Urden was present. He swore he came through the gates with Dinin and Nalfein, but none of his sons were around. He was alone in enemy territory, and saw the heavily armed soldiers of the other House coming his way. He raised his hands in front of him and uttered the words for the spell.

Sintara and friends arrived at the Bright Blade Brandished to find it in flames. Several members of the Spellguard and the Knights in Silver were present, and the sounds of a fight could still be heard from inside. Sintara exchanged looks with Ilga and began to run, leaving their new charge in Andrea and Tippletoe’s care.

“What’s going on?” She asked the first battlemage who stood in her way.

“I’m afraid there is a problematic adventurer inside the inn at the moment.” The man answered coldly. “You should seek lodging elsewhere, milady.”

“Our friend is in there.” Ilga pointed towards the building, which had been successfully saved from burning to the ground by the wizards.

Before the Spellguard could utter a word two Knights came out from the inn, dragging a shouting, struggling and dishevelled Rizzen by his arms.

“Careful with this one!” One of the Knights warned his comrades. “He’s a spellcaster.”

“Report!” The captain of the Knights stopped in front of the two.

“Damage is estimated by the Spellguard as we speak. Lot of stuff broken, two dead. Most victims are just incapacitated or severely wounded.”

“Take him away!” The captain inclined his head, and the two Knights began to drag Rizzen with them, despite the drow’s considerable effort to break free from their clutches.

“Wait!” Sintara ran past the two Spellguards who tried to block her way. “Where are you taking him?”

“Madam, you cannot enter this area, please leave!” A Knight in Silver grabbed her arm. Sintara broke free from his clutch and went straight to the captain.

“I asked, where are you taking him?”

The captain turned around to face the drow woman nearly as tall as himself.

“To the dungeon in the High Palace, at least until he can be tried for murder and destruction of property.”

Seeing Rizzen suddenly go limp in the clutches of his captors made Sintara’s heart break.

“Please don’t... He wouldn’t bear it.” She pleaded.

“Well maybe he shouldn’t kill two and wound a dozen more people if he wouldn’t want to go to jail.”

The captain’s dismissive tone pissed Ilga off to the level of intervening.

“Listen here, mister Knight! That drow over there is ill. He keeps to himself, and would never hurt anyone unless provoked.”

“Where did I hear that before?” The captain rolled his eyes.

“Fortunately I can testify that the drow in fact acted in self-defence.” came an unfamiliar male voice from the crowd. All participants turned to its owner, a blond-haired wood elf wearing a green brigandine making his way towards them in graceful strides until he stopped next to Sintara.

“And who might you be?” The captain pulled his nose up.

“Dairen Oakshadow, member of the Silver Wardens.” He flashed a disarming smile and a small insignia at the Knight-captain. “I was inside the tavern when the group of adventurers began to harass the drow.”

“Harassed you say?” The Knight-captain was still sceptical, but it seemed he was more inclined to listen to the Warden than he was towards Sintara.

“You know. Racist comments, threatening, and when he fought back they drew swords. I wouldn’t be surprised if they planned to kill him.”

“Speculations.” The Knight-captain sighed and waved his hand.

“Maybe, but should I remind you of the case of that drow woman with child being brutally lynched in the Goodman’s District some years ago? The culprits were humans. In fact, it was a party of adventurers similar to the one in this case.”

The Knight buried his face in his palm while the elf crossed his arms in front of him and looked at Sintara and Ilga.

“These women here are also members of an adventuring party known for rescuing people from abusive households and protecting witnesses and victims of slave-traders and criminals. If this drow is their charge, it is highly probable that he is a victim himself.”

“So I should just let a potential murderer go, because he had a rough childhood?”

“No.” Sintara took back the line of conversation. “But please don’t lock him up in a dungeon! He’s been tortured and it would remind him of that.”

“I have an idea that might work for both of you.” Dairen inserted. “The Wardens have a safe house in the district where the Knights in Silver could keep watch over him and his associates until the court decides what to do with him.”

“That sounds definitely better than the dungeon.” Sintara nodded. “Also, I will stay with him.”

Ilga looked back at the rest of their party and the battered young girl they fussed over.

“I better go back to Andrea and tell her then.” She sighed. “Message us if you need anything.”

Sintara nodded and turned back to the Knight-captain.

“I vow to take responsibility for my husband’s actions. If you lock him up, take me with him.”

“This is not how things work here, ma’am.” The Knight-captain grumbled. “But very well. We can pass custody of you over to the Silver Wardens, and send two of my Knights to guard you.”

Dairen grinned.

“Follow me then!”

For the following days, Ilga and the remaining Sisters never stopped pestering the aides of Lady Alustriel to get an audience. It was Andrea’s idea to get her attention to the dealings of the city. She knew that they could also turn to the High Mage, the official ruler of Silverymoon, but she didn’t trust the man, also they made the deal to reside in the Bright Blade Brandished in exchange for their services to the Silveraens* in need with the Lady and not with the High Mage.

They became more bothersome when Ilga got the message from Sintara about the verdict of the Star Court: They found Rizzen guilty of murder and wanted him to pay a fine of 20.000 gold pieces before his exile from the city.

Knowing well he doesn’t have anything more than the clothes on his back, paying the fine seemed impossible. Ilga went to withdraw the party’s reserves from the auction house, but they were still short a few hundred gold. Tippletoe started a petition to change the verdict based on the fact that Rizzen acted in self-defence, and the court seemed to forget about that fact, letting the surviving members of the offending party go while only detaining the drow. She was successful in forcing the court to repeat the trial, but they only got a tenday’s delay, and the fine still had to be paid to cover the damage Rizzen’s spells caused anyway. They needed work, and needed it fast.

After nearly a tenday – close to the deadline of the fee's payment and the new trial – a pair of Knights in Silver came and knocked on the rackety shack's door which now served as living quarters for the Sisters and their charge. Ilga waited outside until the Knights told Andrea that they are here to escort them to Lady Alustriel’s palace. A Knight was to be left behind to keep an eye on the girl until they are allowed back.

The road to the spectacular part of Silverymoon was spent in silence, none of the Sisters willing to engage in conversation with the Knight who guided them. Their collective moodiness eased somewhat when they saw Sintara in the hallway, none the worse for wear besides a tired expression on her face.

“How is he?” Andrea inquired after the Knight left them alone.

“Bad.” Sintara replied. “He told the court today that this is unnecessary, and they should do something productive instead of wasting both of their time.”

Andrea laughed despite her better judgement.

“He has a witty tongue that’s for sure.”

“No, it’s not that.” Sintara shook her head. “You see, drow don’t have a justice-system. If you can get away with what you've done, it is like you didn’t even do it. If you were sloppy and left survivors or witnesses, then the whole City Council will come after you and all of the members of your House, for you have failed. He doesn’t see why pursuing justice for the victims is important.”

“I wonder what Lady Alustriel has to say in the matter.” Tippletoe frowned and fought herself up to a comfy armchair which was originally designed with a human’s sitting height in mind.

“I guess we’ll see soon.” Ilga shrugged and stared at the two-winged door separating them from their friend and the Lady of the Silver Marches.

Several hours passed before they saw the door open. A familiar face – that of a blond wood-elf – greeted them and invited the Sisters inside Lady Alustriel’s study.

“I apologise for making you wait for so long.” Alustriel greeted the newcomers. Rizzen sat with his back to the door, and peeked at his friends over his shoulder before turning back towards Alustriel immediately. “Your friend told me about what happened in the Bright Blade Brandished a tenday ago. The way I see it, this is a grave misunderstanding that resulted in many people wronged and two of them dead.”

Sintara stopped next to Rizzen and put her hand on his shoulder protectively.

“We brought the gold needed to pay the fine.” Ilga put the sack containing the coins on top Alustriel’s desk. “Now let him go and let us catch the motherless bastards who started all of this.”

The elf Silver Warden stepped closer to the half-orc, raising his hands in a gesture that meant to be placating.

“Lady Alustriel and your friend already came to an agreement of sort.” He asserted. “You are only here because he insisted we talk to you as well.”

“As Dairen says.” Alustriel nodded. “I thank you for being considerate and paying the fine. It will be used to renovate the Bright Blade Brandished and to compensate travellers who lost property in the fire.”

Rizzen shrunk in his seat. Sintara stroke his hair while staring Alustriel in the eye.

“I would exchange pleasantries with you all day long, but alas I have duties to attend to” Alustriel stood from her seat. “I have come to an agreement with your friend, which consists of him helping me with a task I need done, and in exchange I shall pardon him and will not exile him from the city.”

That was something unexpected. Ilga and Andrea exchanged looks while Tippletoe hummed. Sintara gazed intently at the silver-haired woman in front of her.

“As you probably know, Dairen is a member of the Silver Wardens.” Alustriel gestured towards the elf. “They have been watching you since you entered Silverymoon two years ago.”

“That explains a lot.” Tippletoe grumbled.

“We know that you specialize in rescuing people in need of protection from their tormentors.” Dairen joined in “And I just happen to have a job for you.”

“There’s someone I need saved from her current place of living.” Alustriel continued. “Her name is Vorka, and she is about to be a mother. She is in danger though, and I wish that you go and find her, then escort her to Silverymoon unharmed.”

“Vorka is a druid, so you’ll probably find her somewhere in or around the Moonwood.” Dairen added.

“So if I understand it correctly, we have to find and escort this Vorka to the city, and in return Rizzen’s exile is forgotten?” Sintara inquired suspiciously.

“Yes.” Alustriel answered in earnest.

 “We might need equipment.” Andrea crossed her arms in front of her.

“You shall get whatever you need to fulfil my request.” Alustriel assured her. The sorceress nodded approvingly.

Finding Vorka was harder than any of them would think. The Moonwood was full of places where a druid might easily hide if she wanted to avoid the rangers and other folks travelling frequently through the forest. They spent days and nights searching in vain. Sintara and Rizzen stood guard during the night, while the other members of their party slept, in turn they hid and rested during the day if they could afford to stay in one place for a while. Well... Sintara rested, and Rizzen tried hard not to jump at shadows. He was twitchy verging on being paranoid, looking over his shoulder every now and then. His hands often wandered to the hilts of his twin-blades he got from Alustriel as a gift. The noises of the forest still unnerved him and he had to concentrate hard on not to cry out in fear every time an animal or another hooted, bleated, shrieked or cawed close to him.

After a day or two Ilga began to insist that the animals are following them.

“They are too organized.” She explained. “And too close. Most of the time, animals flee when they see us.”

“Well, not this time.” Rizzen added darkly. “I wouldn’t put past this Vorka to sic her beasts on us to be devoured.”

“She’s out here alone, and she’s probably just as scared as you are.” Sintara cast a reassuring smile at him.

“I may not know much about druids” Rizzen talked back “but I know that they are anything but defenceless and afraid if they are out in nature, the insane lot of them.”

“Don’t worry, we’re here with you!” Andrea patted his shoulder before treading the road ahead.

“Yay, good for me!” Rizzen said sarcastically.

“Yes, good for you!” Ilga turned back to him. “Imagine being stuck out here without us! It would be way worse, admit it!”

Rizzen grumbled something under his breath but he had to admit that the half-orc was right. He knew he couldn’t make it without them.

“Oh, sussun pholor dos! You’re right. Happy now?”

Ilga flashed a toothy grin at him.

“You’re such an agreeable fellow, Rizzen. I like you.”

Rizzen wished he wasn’t half as agreeable she thinks he is. He wanted to tell her that he despises all of them, and only sticks to them and their ridiculous ideas of “justice” because right now his best chance at survival is to stay. This Vorka or whoever could rot where she was if it would depend on him only. He shuddered when another shrill call of a bird of prey cut through the misty air among the trees. He noticed something when he looked down, namely that the long blades of grass became longer and slowly tried to tangle them.

“Um...” He tried to warn his companions but they already treaded too far into the territory of the entangle spell.

“Dammit!” Andrea steamed.

“Lemme burn them!” Tippletoe put a new bolt into her giant crossbow, filled with flammable liquid.

“No, you'll going to burn us too!” Sintara flailed while trying to cut the tangling vines.

Ilga was the only one who remained silent until she finally began to speak on a language none of her companions understood. It definitely sounded like someone trying to grate pebbles while pressing them under a bigger stone simultaneously.

After she repeated the sentence a few times, another voice answered. It was slightly lighter and higher-pitched than Ilga’s but spoke the same language. Rizzen could also recognize the name Vorka.

Ilga gestured for them to remain motionless while she spoke to the owner of the voice again. After she was done, another figure emerged from the nearby trees. An orc woman, wearing animal furs and leather with several leaves and flowers in her long black hair stepped forward to the edge of her own spell’s area of effect. She was small in orcish standards and thin, so much that her bulging belly was hard to miss even under the furs.

“I am Vorka. What do you want?” She switched to Common.

“Lady Alustriel sent us.” Andrea informed her. “To escort you to Silverymoon.”

Vorka looked all of them over, and growled when she saw the two dark elves.

“Silver-lady sent drow? Hardly.”

“We work for Lady Alustriel.” Sintara explained. “We are not Lolth-worshipping drow. We have forsaken her.”

“Speak for yourself.” Rizzen grumbled.

“Drow came to my people.” Vorka put her hands on her hips. “They killed the old Chieftain. Now Gravnak reigns with blood.”

Her face soured as she probably thought back to that event.

“If Silver-lady sent drow, I guess I have to accept.” She sighed in resignation.

“They are good drow.” Ilga assured her. “Rizzen there is a bit jumpy and fussy, but he’s all right. You’ll see.”

Vorka sighed and waved her hands. The spell ended prematurely, setting the Sisters free.

“Ancestors preserve me; I hope I’m not going to regret this.” Vorka pulled her fur-coat closer.

Rizzen didn’t even try to hide his displeasure about Vorka turning out to be an orc. He just barely got into tolerating humans, elves still made him want to draw his swords and hack them up, and now he had to put up with an orc that was heavy with child. Oh, the indignity! The scandal! Rizzen wished he could just get swallowed by the earth, but that would mean getting back to the Underdark. He didn’t want that either. Not anymore. Or more precisely, not more than wanting to tread through the forest with an orc which kept on complaining and slowing them down.

“Keep it up, iblith!” He hissed at her the next time they had to stop because of the druid. “Or we’ll leave you behind to be found by your filthy brethren.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Ilga stood up from the log she settled down on to wait until Vorka gathers her strength. “Watch that tongue, elf! You respect the wise-woman or you’ll get your scrawny ass spanked!”

“I have no respect for the likes of you!” the drow growled.

“You better start to grow some then!” Ilga towered over Rizzen.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Sintara intervened, making both parties scoff but otherwise stay silent.

The first of the orc raiders came a day after they found Vorka’s hiding place. Two warriors, several goblin slaves and a worg swept through the forest. They managed to evade them for a while, but after a day of harsh-paced retreat, they found the Sisters’ trail.

“We have to make a stand.” Andrea asserted, supporting Vorka who could barely stand and was breathing heavily from exertion. “We cannot run any further.”

“She’s right.” Ilga grumbled. “We also have to be careful not to hurt the baby.”

“Rizzen and I can set an ambush.” Sintara plotted “Tippletoe could hide in the bushes and pepper them with her flammable bolts. You two should stay close to Vorka and protect her.”

“Sounds like a good plan!” Tippletoe agreed.

“Let’s do it then!” Andrea nodded.

Rizzen almost began to object, but he shrugged and followed Sintara to the nearby trees. At least he got to kill some orcs. That should count as something.

“Will you be all right?” Sintara asked, caressing his face.

“I will.” Rizzen answered flatly and yanked his head away.

“I’m worried about you. If you rather wish, you could stay behind with Andrea and Vorka. I can smash some orc heads with Ilga, we’re a good team.”

“Stop coddling me.” Rizzen began to get irritated. “I am not some invalid, I can fight.”

“I know, Rizzen.” Sintara attempted to placate him “But are you ready to do so?”

“I’ll drown them in their own blood.” He grated on a voice filled with bloodlust. “I’m aching to kill something ever since the day I was unfortunate enough to be dragged out of the Underdark.”

His rage did nothing to stop Sintara from worrying about him. She hoped that finding an outlet for it may ease his dark mood somewhat, but she couldn’t help but feel reminded of her own demons while she watched him slashing and stabbing with his blades. They made quick work of the two orcs, and went to take down the worg while Sintara heard the clicking sound of Tippletoe’s crossbow and the shriek of the goblins who got set aflame by her bolts. Thorns and vines tangled the goblins in place, unable to flee from Rizzen’s twin swords. The worg got in their back, passing Sintara and aiming for the druid, but it got stopped by Ilga’s hammer in its face.

After finishing off the goblins, Rizzen went on to help Ilga eliminate the last threat. When they were done, he threw his hair away from his bloodied face while trying to catch his breath. Sintara thought he was unnervingly beautiful, a terrifying force of nature, someone to be reckoned with. She passed him on her way back to Vorka and Andrea’s spot, and she caught his smile. In that moment, Sintara wished to be able to show Rizzen the way she saw him, to be able to show him how much she admired and desired him. To give him back his confidence and dignity. She sighed in resignation and turned back to the road.

Having a chance to get rid of his pent up anger and frustration did wonders to Rizzen’s mood. He barely insulted anyone after that fight, and definitely toned down the “drow superiority”. If anything, he was almost back to his usual timid self. He began to warm up to Vorka a little bit, if only showing this by not calling her names and being generally indifferent to her. As much as the Sisters knew, indifference was the most anyone besides Sintara could get out of the male drow. Ilga and Vorka chatted a lot, mostly in their shared language the others pegged to be Orcish but sometimes switching to Common if they wanted the others to join. Andrea talked about magic and old legend with the druid, while Tippletoe and Ilga traded jokes and recipes with her. Vorka was hungry a lot.

Seven days after retrieving her, the party stopped in a clearing, far enough from the road to be hidden. They tried to fool their pursuers into think they were heading to Mithral Hall, while taking a turn towards back to Silverymoon. Having no skilled ranger with them, this feat proved difficult. They had no illusions about their plan and knew they were running out of time. Andrea wasn’t sure they can reach Silverymoon before Vorka’s baby is born.

Rizzen relapsed into an irritable state, isolating himself from the rest of the party, only responding to Sintara’s orders. The Sisters decided to leave him be, never forcing him to do anything he didn’t show any interest in doing and otherwise leaving him to sit on a rock away from camp and sulk. Vorka however, wanted to know what haunted the dark elf. Instead of asking his associates, she decided to try and converse with Rizzen himself.

“Dark elf has children?” She inquired, adjusting her thick fur-coat to cushion the rock  as she settled down next to the drow.

“I had...” He answered indifferently “My son killed my other son to gain power and my daughter’s favourite game was inventing clever and creative ways to humiliate me.”

Vorka raised her brow.

“They did this to their father? Why?”

“Why not?” Rizzen shrugged. “I’m just the male who sired them. They owed me no respect or courtesy.”

It hurt to say those words, but despite how he tried to demand respect from every member of the House, Rizzen knew he did nothing to deserve it. He found the Sisters’ treatment of him odd and suspicious because he simply did nothing that would warrant their respectful and caring manners towards him. Vorka patted him on his shoulder.

“If you were orc, you would be owed respect. For Gravnak, I am just female who birthed his son, he owes me no respect.”

It was Rizzen’s time to raise his brow and turn to towards the orc wide-eyed.

“But... Giving birth to a child is horribly painful and complicated!” He blurted out without thinking. Just as he did to Malice the night Drizzt was born. “It should be respected!”

Vorka gave him a sorrowful smile.

“See, Rizzen and Vorka are not different.”

The dark elf scoffed.

“I am nothing like you.”

“Keep saying that to yourself. But your women have no respect for you, and say you are cattle. Orc woman get no respect and treated as cattle. I see no difference.”

Even though his every cell rebelled against the mere idea, Rizzen found himself somewhat agreeing with the core sentiment. He still felt like that there were significant differences between drow and orcs, but he decided not to voice his thoughts on the matter anymore. Vorka made a short painful groan and rubbed her belly.

“He kicked.”

“How long until he’s...out?” Rizzen dared to ask.

“Any day now.” Vorka answered, rubbing the spot where her child kicked her.

There was an awkward silence between them. Rizzen broke it with clearing his throat and scooting a bit farther to leave Vorka some space on their shared rock.

“Will you be all right?” He asked just to end the unpleasant stillness.

“I will manage.” Vorka shrugged. “I’m happy to raise him on my own. He will not be like Gravnak.”

Rizzen envied her confidence.

“You cannot know that.” He frowned.

“No I cannot.” Vorka agreed “But I have to try to make him not like Gravnak. It is worth a try.”

Rizzen turned to her with a troubled expression. She smiled at him, flashing her tusks.

“He will be a happy little orc.”

The drow couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of a happy little orc running around in Silverymoon. He found it ridiculous yet it sparked a string of thoughts he would deem blasphemous if he would still be in his homeland. If given the chance, he could raise his children. Not the ones he already had of course, but if he would have another one... Then his face turned gloomy and he bit his lip. No. He had no place in his children’s life, and that was how it supposed to be. Giving himself to the would-be mother was more than enough involvement for him, and as he remembered the ridicule and derision he got from all of his offspring, he was absolutely sure about never wanting to sire a child again.

“Your children weren’t happy little drow.” Vorka commented, seeing his glum face.

“No drow is happy unless he gains an advantage or power over someone or something.” Rizzen shrugged.

“They did not love you.” It was a statement not a question. The notion itself made Rizzen laugh bitterly.

“Why would they? Love is useless. It gives nothing, but takes from you. I am not even worthy of love, for I am worse than useless. I am nothing but an obstacle to remove for my son, or a grim reminder of his possible fate. My daughter has no use of me either, unless she wants to bed me or sacrifice me.”

Vorka turned her face towards the camp, where the Sisters prepared dinner over the campfire and argued about who should do the first watch.

“You say what they feel for you is useless?” she turned back to the drow. “They love you and respect you.”

“They lie.” Rizzen shook his head. “They lie to me just as much as they lie to themselves. There’s nothing in me to love. Sintara just wants me for her own ends, and the others... I don’t really know if they are terribly cruel or just simply dense.”

“Or they don’t lie. Have you thought about that?”

“It would make no sense.”

“Maybe they want you to heal. Maybe they do respect you.”

Rizzen bit his lip again and clenched his jaw before flashing dangerously glowing eyes at the druid.

“Or maybe they do lie. I am not a toddler, needing their pity or patronising. I may be weak and useless, but I’m not stupid. I know they don’t give a dead bat’s ass about me, and only act like they care to laugh at me behind my back. I know I’m just their pet they play with when they feel like it, and then leave me to rot in a room alone.”

“Or maybe you are the one pushing them away.” Vorka said gently.

That one sentence silenced him faster than Briza’s snake-whip, but had the same painful effect. Why do surfacers had to be so damn confusing? Vorka cocked her head to the side, studying Rizzen’s face.

“I am sorry if I offended you.” She turned away.

“No...” Rizzen shook his head. “You didn’t. I just don’t like to be reminded of my own stupidity.”

“You’re not stupid. You’re hurt.”

“Would you stop saying that?” He grumbled.

“Acknowledging you have been hurt is good for you.”

“I have not been hurt that bad.” Rizzen crossed his arms. “I knew drow who had been flayed alive or cut to small pieces for disobeying their Matron Mother, or had their voice chords severed for talking when she didn’t ask them. They had it way worse than me. Yes, Matron Malice hit me and didn’t care if I wanted her advances or not, but she was merciful. She never killed me despite threatening me.”

“She still sounds like a bitch.” Vorka shrugged. “And you’re wrong. Just because other drow had it worse, it doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt. I know orcs who had been treated worse than I had been, but Gravnak is still a stinky, dirty bastard who beat me and hurt me. That does not change the fact that Gravnak is shit. Your Matron Malice is shit too.”

“Don’t say that.” Rizzen pleaded.

“That’s the truth.” Vorka spread her arms.

“Not my truth...”

“Then keep on saying it until it becomes your truth too.”

“If only it would be that easy...” Rizzen smiled painfully.

“It’s worth a try.” Vorka asserted. “And now I have to go pee.”

The drow kept on staring at her as she wobbled away into the nearest bush, pondering about her words. Rizzen couldn’t help but find the wisdom in them, despite wholeheartedly disagreeing with everything Vorka said. If he were to convert to her truth that would mean his whole life was a lie. He couldn’t bear it.

The next night marked both the time for Vorka’s baby to born and their pursuers to catch up with them. Vorka’s magic erected a shack from vines and branches where she and Andrea retreated to long before the first worg appeared near camp. The sorceress had some experience with being a midwife, so the party let her stay with the mother in labour. Tippletoe set traps around their spot, but even after this much precautions, Rizzen still felt like they were too out in the open. He wasn’t the only one. Ilga and Sintara tried to cook up a plan to cover the whole camp in case the orcs try to surround them. Everyone was tense and restless, and Vorka’s cries of pain and various orcish curses didn’t help the mood. Not long before midnight, the worgs and goblins indeed surrounded the camp, followed by orc raiders and a handful of berserkers. They were heavily outnumbered.

“We can’t let them have her.” Sintara told Rizzen when they could steal a moment to be close. “I need you now. I know you don’t think much of her, or the reasons why we do this, but please help me.”

He nodded, looking over to the magical vine-shack that began to grow thorns.

“I’m so freaked out right now.” He confessed.

“I’m here with you.” She patted his shoulder. “We’re a good team. We can make it.”

“But what if we can’t? They outnumber us. Maybe we should let them take her and the child.”

Sintara held his hand in hers and reached out to turn his face towards her with the other.

“Would you say the same if it were you? If you would be on the run from Malice with your child?”

“Even if I did, she’d kill me without question. And giving me and my child back to her would be the wisest thing anyone could do. You know that.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.” She caressed his face.

“No it doesn’t.” He grumbled “But still. Giving her back would be our best chance to survive this.”

“We will survive because we have each other.” She grinned. Rizzen wanted to believe her, but didn’t.

Gravnak himself stepped forward after his soldiers were done with circling the camp. He looked over the small company of women and spat on the ground.

“You dare steal my belongings, you worthless half-breed cunt?!” He roared at Ilga. “I’ll skin you alive for that!”

“You’re welcome to try, you son of a blind ox!” Tippletoe loaded her crossbow. “Step right up; I have a nice warm welcome-gift for you!”

“I’ll step on your ugly little head and feed you to my worgs, gnome!” Gravnak laughed. “Give me what is mine, and you can have a quick death!”

“We don’t have anything belonging to you.” Ilga shrugged and measured the weight of her trusty hammer in her hand, ready to swing it into Gravnak’s face. Vorka cried out inside the shack.

“I hear the whore’s whining.” The orc chieftain snarled.

“Yeah, I hear it too.” Ilga grumbled. “He’s annoying and just won’t shut up about us stealing something from him which isn’t even his to begin with!”

“The child is mine!” Gravnak boasted. “No one touched that mouthy little piece of shit before me, I made sure of that!”

“Aren’t you a dear?” Sintara sneered while stepping out of the shadows on Ilga’s right. Gravnak’s eyes went wide and he roared in anger.

“Drow! You are behind this? You’ll die screaming for mercy like the rest of this scum!”

“I don’t think so.” Sintara grinned sweetly at him. She saw what he didn’t, namely Rizzen and his twin blades creeping up behind one of his orcs and cutting them down in total silence.

“Go on, bleat some more about how superior you are to us, I never get tired of that one!” Ilga flashed her smaller, but still frightening fangs at the orc.

“I will take my son back from you, and you will be the one bleating!”

“How do you know you have a son?” Tippletoe prodded, seeing Rizzen assassinating another orc successfully. “What if Vorka gives birth to a daughter?”

Gravnak’s face distorted into a disgusted snarl.

“Then I’ll smash its head on that rock, and make sure I’ll do better next time. But not before I kick the living crap out of that good for nothing bitch.”

Sintara could feel the tension radiating from her friend and saw Ilga’s knuckles go white on the hilt of her warhammer. Tippletoe sniffled and aimed.

“That’s it. I heard enough.”

The flammable bolt hit the orc chieftain just a second before Ilga’s hammer collided with his armour. He responded with a battleaxe of his own, trying to cut the half-orc in two. He roared out in pain when he felt a blade find the hole in his armour and stab him. Gravnak span on his heels and swung his axe, but his new opponent evaded it easily. When he saw the other dark elf, Gravnak almost called retreat.

The male drow snarling at him had two swords. The orc chieftain grew up around these parts, and he heard about the drow with two scimitars hacking up scores of orcs on his own. He backed away slightly, while trying to observe the elf, who adjusted his grip on his blade. This one had straight-bladed shortswords, not scimitars. His eyes were red and not purple, as the legends went. Also he saw no sign of a giant cat either.

“Kill the drow and get me my son!” Gravnak barked to his soldiers. The goblins and worgs attacked the camp, but none of the berserkers responded.

Tippletoe and Sintara retreated to the shack’s entrance, standing with their backs to each other. They tried to prevent the worgs from getting inside. Andrea’s spells were dearly missed, as the numbers were still on Gravnak’s side. Ilga kept on hammering the orc ferociously, while Rizzen peppered him with stabs wherever he could find an opening. Gravnak wasn’t idle either; he managed to embed the blade of his axe into Ilga’s shoulder, nearly severing her arm. Despite her grave wound, the half-orc didn’t even slow down. She had to back off to drink a potion after another hit, leaving Rizzen alone to stand his ground. He blocked the axe with his swords, and ducked from another attack, but it wasn’t the first time Gravnak had to fight a drow. He anticipated Rizzen’s move and lashed his hand out to grab the elf’s throat.

“Got you, you little worm!” The orc grinned maliciously. He began to squeeze his hand around Rizzen’s throat, ignoring his kicks and squirming. Vorka screamed again and a strange vibration shook the area around the shack, sending worgs and fighters alike down on the ground. Rizzen freed himself from Gravnak’s clutch and backed away from him. His vision blurred and for a moment, reality fell apart again. He heard some woman barking orders, and the pained cry of falling opponents. He heard the wizards of House DeVir chanting. The orc slaves rushing to kill as many drow soldiers of House Do’Urden as they could before getting cut down. Rizzen fought himself to his feet and blocked another attack, then spun on his heels and ran.

He knew he killed them. He knew they should be dead. House DeVir was no more, the war had been won, and the victors commended. Yet no matter where he turned, he saw the face of a drow he knew should not be alive. He even heard Mother Malice’s cries as she used the pain of giving birth to fuel her dark magic. He pressed his hands to his ears to shut it out, and ran. He dropped his swords while fleeing, but he didn’t care. All he knew that he wanted to get away as far as possible, before the dead take him with them.

Ilga downed her potion and suppressed her cry of distress as it mended her flesh. She still couldn’t use that arm fully, but she did what she could. Gravnak threw Rizzen to the ground, and was about to stomp on the coughing elf’s chest when she arrived with a blow, knocking the orc off from his feet. Red hot rage flooded Ilga’s head, and she couldn’t see anything else but this monster. She smashed her hammer into the orc’s face, ignoring the iron gauntleted fist hitting her. She flew several feet when Gravnak finally managed to throw her off, but the outcome was already clear. Ilga hammered the chieftain’s face into a pulp, he barely could stand, not to mention lift his heavy axe. She let out a loud battlecry and crushed the orc’s skull the same second Vorka gave birth to her daughter.

“She’s healthy and strong.” Andrea smiled and handed over the bundle with the crying little orc to Vorka. The druid took the baby and chanted the words for a healing spell. When she was done, she seemed to be in a much better shape. She gave the baby back to Andrea and fought herself to her feet despite the human’s objections. Standing, Vorka began to chant again, weaving the strands of an ancient spell. She knew her friends were in need of help.

Outside, the attacking worgs and goblins found themselves impaled by roots and attacked by nighttime birds and other predators of the forest. The battle was won. When she stepped out from her shelter, Vorka saw Tippletoe supporting Sintara, who suffered some serious bite wounds by the worgs, and saw Ilga drop her hammer to the ground while rushing over to embrace her. Gravnak was pretty much dead according to the fact that half of his head was missing and scattered around the nearby flora. Vorka chanted and chanted, until all of her protectors’ wounds were healed. Then she collapsed into Ilga’s arms unconscious.

“Where’s Rizzen?” Sintara exclaimed anxiously.

“He was with me, we fought Gravnak together.” Ilga answered. “But I don’t know where he is now.”

“Maybe he’s wounded or fainted, and he can’t come here.” Andrea mused. “Someone better check it out.”

Sintara fought herself to her feet.

“If we’re not back until sunrise, leave for Silverymoon. We’ll meet you there.”

Ilga also stood.

“Hells no. I’m coming with you, who knows how many of Gravnak’s cronies are lurking outside.”

“Wait for me!” Tippletoe rummaged through her pack for spare bolts. “I have some new toys I didn’t get the chance to try!”

Vorka opened her eyes and sat.

“I’m going too.”

“Honey, you just gave life to this adorable little thing, you should rest!” Andrea tried to push her back to her bedroll.

“No. He might need me. I want to help.”

She glanced over to the baby.

“Take care of her for me, until we come back!” Vorka pleaded. Andrea sighed.

“Fine, fine. I’ll babysit and keep the fire burning. Bring him back in one piece, will you?”

Sintara didn’t even answer her; she bolted out of the shelter. Ilga supported Vorka and Tippletoe rushed after the dark elf.

They found traces of blood and the ornate pair of short swords an hour later.

“He threw away his weapons?” Ilga mused. “Why?”

“Or maybe he was taken...” Sintara tried not let her worry cloud her reason, but it was harder than she thought. “Maybe there are still stragglers of Gravnak’s troops left behind, and they captured Rizzen.”

“He’s a tough guy.” Tippletoe tried to comfort her friend “I bet he could escape them.”

They found him at the break of dawn, clothes torn and full of small cuts from branches and leaves. He was bleeding but ignored it, having that haunted look on his face Sintara remembered from the first days after coming to the surface.

“Rizzen... Do you hear me?”

He didn’t answer, only nodded slightly. When Sintara went over to him and held his shoulders to assess his injuries, he burst out crying without a sound. Fearing he will suffocate, Sintara tried to make him remember the breathing exercise she taught him, but he was too far gone for that. He was shaking and struggling to breathe again, slowly descending to his knees. Vorka let go of Ilga, and staggered over to him, sitting in the grass beside the distressed elf. She put her hand on his back and began to chant. Soon Rizzen took a deep breath and stopped crying.

“What happened?” Sintara crouched down in front of him. “Did they capture you?”

He stared at her with tired eyes.

“No.” He mouthed. Sintara swept his hair away from his face.

“You lost your swords?” She inquired gently, only to make him cry again.

“Never again.” He managed to press out. “I can’t. I can’t...”

Vorka cast another spell and Rizzen stopped crying again.

“You are tired.” She caressed his back. “I am tired too. Let’s go back to camp and rest.”

Sintara helped both of them to their feet, and supported Rizzen until they got back to camp. Vorka lied down on her bedroll and fell asleep instantly. Andrea was already asleep, the baby in her lap. Ilga took her from the sorceress and put her into a makeshift carrier made from her cloak.

“Here, sweet little thing.” She whispered to the baby orc. “Comfy, isn’t it?”

Sintara never left Rizzen’s side and was deeply disturbed by his mental condition. He fell asleep and that alone was telling how exhausted he must be. He began to stir and mutter in his sleep, rising Sintara from Reverie. He cried out for someone to help him before springing up and gasping for air.

The Sisters of the Red Moon and their charges entered the gate to Silverymoon in silence a few days after Vorka’s daughter has born. They headed to the Palace district, to report to Lady Alustriel.

“I want to give a name for her.” Vorka broke the silence as they treaded the streets.

“Do you have one you want to give her?” Andrea inquired, still fussing over the baby. Vorka shook her head.

“All I know is that I want her to have a nice name. Orc girl-names are not nice. They all mean something like “garbage”, “not-wanted”, “no good”.”

She pondered for a while before turning to Andrea again.

“Humans have nice names?”

“Some of them are nice, yes.” The sorceress nodded.

“Like yours?”

“No.” Andrea laughed. “My name means that I’m like a boy.”

Vorka raised her brow.

“But you’re not like a boy.”

“See? Sometimes names don’t really fit with us.” The sorceress grinned.

“What about dark elves?” Vorka turned to Sintara.

“We have nice female names, yes. But I doubt you would want to give a drow name to your daughter.” She rubbed the back of her head.

“Maybe as a last resort.” Vorka shrugged.

“I think I have an idea.” Ilga rocked the baby in her carrier. The little orc squealed loudly and laughed.

“What is it?” Vorka turned to her.

“Allegra. It means “happy”, full of life.” Ilga explained. As if stressing her words, the baby giggled again and caught a loose strand of Ilga’s hair.

“I like it.” Vorka nodded approvingly. “It is pretty. And fits as well.”

“So, welcome to the world, little Allegra.” Ilga tickled the baby orc’s chin. “We’ll keep you safe.”

Lady Alustriel saw them right away, and sent for her aides to fetch the document about the Sisters’ clearing of debt and Rizzen’s pardon. As soon as the young half-elf left, Sintara closed the double doors and sat down with her partner to the single sofa in the study.

“I thank you for bringing her here.” Alustriel began. “I reckon you might wonder why I would help an orc druid...”

“Actually, no we don’t.” Ilga spoke, giving Allegra back to her mother. “Vorka is a woman who needed to get away from her tormentor. That is all we need to know, and that is all we care about.”

“Very well.” Alustriel nodded. “You did well, and you shall have your reward. Not just the papers I already sent for.”

Ilga and Tippletoe exchanged glances, while Sintara only cared about Rizzen’s state of mind, only looking up to the Lady of the Silver Marches once.

“All of you received citizenship in case you want a place to stay.” Alustriel stated. “I’m aware of your financial status, and am willing to rent you some abandoned places in the city. Vorka is also awaited at the glade of Sylvanus, as the sole druid to tend it.

“Thank you.” Vorka bowed her head respectfully.

“As for today, I think all of you had an exhausting trip. I prepared the guest rooms for you to stay in.”

Everyone thanked the Lady of her generosity, and after some more pleasantries, the Sisters retired to their separate rooms. Well, except for Sintara and Rizzen, who were asked to stay by Lady Alustriel.

“I sense that something is gravely wrong with you.” The Lady spoke to Rizzen. He only shrugged and refused to speak.

“He is unwell.” Sintara nodded, squeezing Rizzen’s hand.

“He is also under the effect of a potent spell.” Alustriel pointed out. “Something that suppresses his emotions.”

“I guess it is necessary.” Sintara explained. She wanted to say something more, but Rizzen beat her to it.

“I’m a coward. I fled from the fight. I let Ilga deal with that orc alone because I was afraid.” He shrugged. “I keep seeing the ghosts of my dead enemies and my dead mistress, and my dead son. I keep seeing the battle against another House. It never goes away, and I can’t rest, I can’t find peace no matter what I do. I prefer this emotionless state. At least now it stopped hurting. I still remember, even when I don’t want to, but at least I don’t feel a thing.”

Sintara looked at Alustriel with despair written on her face.

“Gods. It must be horrible.” The Lady stared at him concernedly.

“It is.” Rizzen answered indifferently. “Most of the time I wish I was dead, or want to kill myself. But I’m a coward. I would never do it.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Alustriel inquired to which Rizzen lowered his head.

“Elendar. I shall endure. As long as I either learn to live with it, or finally be brave enough to end it.”

Sintara let out an exhausted sigh. Hearing Rizzen’s innermost thoughts, especially in such a casual manner broke her resolve and she excused herself to flee the room.

Alustriel found her on the balcony, desperately trying to gather her composure and not break down like Rizzen did.

“Your friend will stay here.” Sintara heard the silver-haired lady’s voice behind her. “I think I can find a solution to ease his distress, even if temporarily.”

She nodded, not feeling enough strength to do anything else anymore.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Alustriel stepped next to the drow.

“I am willing to answer your questions.” Sintara rubbed her eyes. The cool night air helped her with her own distress and exhaustion.

“Why are you so attached to him?” Alustriel wanted to know.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sintara shot back.

“He told me that you met only once before, hundreds of years ago. And while I admire your effort of saving him, I just can’t seem to get your motivation.”

Sintara took a deep breath.

“I would lie if I would say that I know what drove me that day...” She swept her hair away from her eyes. “Seeing him lying at the base of a sacrificial altar, helpless and scared. Unarmed in the middle of a bloody conflict. Seeing him after such a long time, and finding that the spirit that intrigued me is long gone.”

“He is not your responsibility.” Alustriel lectured her. Sintara closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

“I am the only drow around who can help him.”

“Well, I certainly know another one.”

Sintara couldn’t help but laugh.

“Who, Drizzt? They may share a family name, but they are anything but what you surfacers might call “family”. He hates Rizzen. He would sooner stab him in the heart with one of those fancy scimitars of his than help him in any way.”

“Then it is up to us, I’m afraid.” Alustriel leaned to the banister, gazing at the night sky above Silverymoon.  “I have to admit, I never saw another compassionate drow besides Drizzt.”

“That doesn’t mean we don’t exist, no matter what he told you.” Sintara grumbled. “And I wasn’t always like this.”

“Would you tell me then how did you become the saviour of the fallen, and the needy?”

Sintara laughed.

“I would never call myself in such a tacky title, but thank you. And yes, I can tell my story if you would want to hear, but I might warn you that it’s not nearly as interesting as Drizzt’s journey. At least according to his published memoirs.”

“I’m sure you’re just being modest.” Alustriel chuckled. Sintara grinned and turned around to sit on the banister and to face the lady.

“I was a priestess of Lolth for the first century of my life. I was just as evil and cruel as any one of them. I loved power, I loved to crush my enemies under my heels. But ultimately, this was my downfall... I loved. It is frowned upon, to say the least. Love is seen as weakness, abhorrent in the eyes of the Spider Queen, but I’m sure you already heard the diatribe from our mutual lavender-eyed acquaintance.”

She stopped to gather strength for the next part.

“I had to flee after I lost my ability to cast spells. I fell out of Lolth’s favour, and every other priestess knew it. I ran from Menzoberranzan with nothing but the clothes on my back. I made my way to Gracklstugh, a duergar city. As arrogant and ignorant I was I angered a slave trader. It got ugly, to say the least. I was no match for them without my magic and my whip of fangs. They made quick work, and quicker coin of me. I worked in their mine for years before they decided that I’m unsuitable for that, and sold me to another duergar who took me up to the surface, and sold me to a human.”

Sintara shuddered, and swallowed the knot in her throat.

“He was a warlord of some sort. Of a nomadic tribe. He... Used me. Tried to break me to be docile and lifeless like their other women were. He did things to me I still can’t talk about. He kept me on a leash like a pet, and paraded me in front of the other warlords. I barely remember anything from those long years I spent as his possession. Finally I snapped. I killed him with my bare hands when he was old and slow enough for me to beat. I ran away, wearing only the leash he kept me on. The sun burned my skin, the stones tore my feet, but I kept on running. When the elves found me I was on the verge of death.”

She stopped her tale to look at Lady Alustriel, who listened intently with equal parts curiosity and compassion on her features.

“I was taken in by an elf named Galanodel Silverlight.” Sintara continued. “She became to me... Something I never truly had. A mother, teacher, saviour. She taught me compassion, and things I never knew I needed. I mourned her when I lost her to a band of stone giants.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. And now I understand your reasons to help others. I was afraid that you had ulterior motives.”

Sintara shrugged.

“Most people suspect ulterior motives if it comes to drow.”

Little did she know about the real reason for Alustriel’s curiosity stood in the doorway leading to the balcony. Rizzen turned and left the two women alone. He needed time to think.

Both Rizzen and Sintara got a room in Lady Alustriel’s palace, along with access to the library. After a long and harrowing discussion, it was decided that Rizzen is no longer fit to fight. He relapsed into his frozen state, not leaving the room he resided in, not sleeping, not eating, and avoiding contact with any living creature. After Alustriel suggested to him to try and focus on his magical abilities and studies, Rizzen became a frequent sight in the library, if only to make people shut up and leave him alone. Sintara visited her friends, all settled down in Silverymoon. Ilga and Vorka moved in a tiny house on the corner of a street near the glade dedicated to Sylvanus, and raised Allegra together. Ilga worked as a bouncer in the nearby tavern. Andrea sold her services as an herbalist, while Tippletoe began her own business as an inventor and alchemist. They still went on assignments given to them by the Silver Wardens or Lady Alustriel herself, but after Vorka’s case, they left Rizzen behind. He took it as another sign of him being a burden, and being completely useless, no matter how much work he got from Lady Alustriel in the meantime.

Reading helped only little, when he felt like he’s unwanted and forgotten. The Lady was patient, even more so than Andrea. She also knew the same spell Vorka used to keep Rizzen from breaking down. She gave him a recipe for a tea which was supposed to help him rest. Elves couldn’t be put to sleep by magic, but drugs were an exception to that rule. After a few botched attempts, Rizzen could brew his own sleep medicine. If it was a good thing or bad, he couldn’t really decide but he only cared about that it worked. Even if temporarily, but having a few hours of rest without nightmares and sleep paralysis was a blessing.

He found that there were days when he could function almost normally. After settling down and beginning to study magic, his nerves twitched just a little less.

Other days it all came crashing down on him, sometimes worse than before.

He still struggled with learning the spells of the third level of knowledge, but he tried. As long as he occupied his mind, he had no time to think about the past. After three years spent in the library, he became well-known throughout the University of Silverymoon as the “quirky, busy-bee drow”. He was seldom seen without his cup of herbal tea, which helped him remain calm.

It was a damp, warm spring day when Tippletoe barged into his quarters.

“I have a great surprise, you must see right now!”

Rizzen stood, but his alarms began to ring. The gnome pulled him through half of the city without telling him where they going.

“Where are the others?” Rizzen prodded. “Are they staying behind?”

“I think they’re already there.” Tippletoe chirped, ignorant of the drow’s growing distress.

She led him out to the Moonwood, through the crossroads and into a meadow flooded with heathers and other wildflowers. Indeed, Sintara and Andrea and the rest of their friends were sitting in the middle of the scenery, on a large patchwork blanket. Allegra wobbled over to Vorka and gave her a flower which she began to twist and work into something she had in her hands.

Ilga waved at Rizzen and Tippletoe, the gnome running faster towards the blanket.

“Leave pie for me!” She piped.

“Look, our new wizard is here!” Andrea wrapped her arm around Rizzen’s shoulders after he settled down between her and Sintara.

“And he looks so fine today.” The female drow complimented him, making Rizzen’s face flush.

“Is there any reason for you to drag me away from my studies?” He asked timidly.

“Oh, there is, there is.” Vorka nodded. “It’s just not ready yet.”

Rizzen raised a thin white brow.

“Umm... What?”

“Here.” Andrea put a small dainty in his hand. “Try it. It has liquid happiness in it.”

Rizzen put the dainty down.

“I’d rather not. I don’t know what you humans mean by “liquid happiness”...”

Andrea cackled.

“Strawberry jam, love.” Sintara beamed at him. “It’s filled with strawberry jam.”

The sun wasn’t too bright, despite the sky being a clear blue without as much as a cloud. They laughed, they danced and jested, and even Rizzen permitted himself a smile every now and then. He was playing with Allegra when he felt something touching his hair. Thinking it was a bug, he swatted it, and his hand was caught by Vorka.

“Hey, no ruining my pretty work!”

“What are you doing with my hair?” Rizzen grumbled.

“It’s so soft and shiny...” Vorka hummed, and kept on ruffling Rizzen’s hair.

“Are you done?” The drow asked after permitting a few moments for the orc to admire his snow-white locks.

“I am. Andrea, show him!”

The sorceress gave Rizzen a small mirror. He couldn’t help but start giggling when he saw what Vorka had done. In his hair, there was a multitude of heathers, all woven into a crown on top of his head.

“I shall crown you king of the meadows, and Honorary Sister of the Red Moon!” Andrea declared. “Also the prettiest elf of all!”

Allegra squealed and clapped her tiny hands along with the adults as they all hailed Rizzen.

“You’re unbelievable.” He chuckled.

He kept the flower crown pressed in his spellbook for long years to come.

Chapter Text

Heavy grey clouds poured rain over Silverymoon that evening in late Marpenoth. Several hooded figures hurried to shelter, a certain dark elf among them. Rizzen pulled his heavy cloak closer, trying to fend off the cold and the rain, the few strands of hair that got loose from under his hood now dripping with water. If anyone would be close enough, they could hear him mumbling incessantly, and if they would be happened to be fluent in the drow dialect of Elvish, they would surely blush from all the curses.

No matter the past decades he spent in the World Above, Rizzen could never get used to the constantly changing weather. He hated late autumn and winter, barely peeking out of his laboratory or living quarters if he could avoid it. Sintara and he moved out from Lady Alustriel’s palace to a decent two storey house in the dock district, to be close to the University of Silverymoon where Rizzen worked as a researcher, while occasionally helping out in the library. He clutched a book in his hands borrowed from said library, holding it close under his cloak, afraid of getting it soaked.

Having not much else to do, Rizzen spent the past two decades trying to learn magic. He became a decent wizard, despite his difficulties with focusing and his tendency to overwork himself. After finally being able to memorize and cast spells from the fifth level, he began to conduct his own research into various themes, some more morbid than average humans might like. He never broke the law again though after the single instance of setting the Bright Blade Brandished on fire while experiencing a bad flashback. He always gathered the necessary permits and paid attention to all the various rules of conducting research inside the University’s own laboratories.

His peers liked him, though mostly ignored him. And he wanted it that way. Gods knew if he would be required to lecture or do more public work he’d end up stuttering and embarrassing himself, or worse, would remember something he doesn’t want to remember. He closed the door behind him and put the book on the small counter before getting out of his cloak which got heavy with rainwater and dripped all over the floor. Rizzen grumbled and put the cloak next to the fireplace on a hook to dry. He then went to fetch a piece of cloth to wipe the wet stains from the floorboards. The house was creaky and in need of repairs already, the last thing they needed were rivelled floorboards. After he was done, he picked up his book from the counter and went over to his desk, lighted a candle and flipped the pages open while settling down into his seat.

As soon as his eyes saw the text on the pages he felt a stinging pain, like he had been stabbed in the eyes and having the mother of all migraines at the same time. He gritted his teeth and forced his eyes open to run through the pure evil written on the pages. The letters disappeared as soon as he read them, burning into his mind forever as irrevocably as his torment. He felt a strange sense of dark anticipation, a sort of malevolent giddiness as he thought about the ways in which he will use the spell. Rizzen grinned and was still grinning when the parchment set itself on fire and burned to ashes, leaving only a faint smell of brimstone in the air and a pile of dust in front of the drow.

He swept his desk clean from the last remnants of evidence. He didn’t want Sintara to know what he’s been doing. She’d probably disapprove of it and Rizzen didn’t want to explain to her the many reasons why he felt he must do it. He decided not to tell any of his friends about his plan he was brewing for quite a long while. He just finished cleaning when the door opened, and Sintara came in, her cloak also dripping from the rain.

“Evening, love!” She greeted him while closing the door and putting her bag down “I’m surprised to see you’re home so early.”

“I thought I can leave a little earlier today than when I usually do...” Rizzen shrugged. Sintara’s smile disappeared and got replaced by a worried frown.

“Are you feeling unwell again? Shall I go get Nilsa?”

Rizzen shook his head and leaned to the counter while Sintara walked past him, hanging her coat next to his near the fireplace.

“I’m fine.” He didn’t lie this time. “I just got done with my work faster than I anticipated.”

“Well in that case...” Sintara went back to her bag and proceeded to put its contents on the counter next to Rizzen “...you can help me make dinner.”

“Um... Certainly.”

He fetched a bowl after Sintara asked him to, and helped her mix ingredients for dough, all the while listening to her prattling about everything. Mostly their friends.

“Andrea and Nilsa will leave town for a while.” Sintara commented while heating a frying pan. “They asked me to ask you if they can leave Truffle and Mr. Sinister with us.”

Rizzen shrugged and gave the bowl with dough to Sintara.

“Can’t they take their Abyss-spawn cats with them?”

Sintara chuckled.

“Come on, you love Truffle.”

“I may have a fondness for that particular beast, but the other one just scares me to death.”

“He’s a furry little blob of shadow with two bright eyes, why are you afraid of him? He’s adorable!”

Rizzen laughed softly.

“You sound like a co-worker of mine. She said nearly the same thing about me the other day...”

Sintara examined his features, looking for signs of impending breakdown, but the male drow just mirrored her smile.

“You know, it’s good that people think you’re adorable.” She turned back to her pan, trying to flip the pancake in the making, but tearing it in two. “Dammit. I ruined it!”

Rizzen bit his lip to hide his smile.

“The next one will be better.” He said only half-teasingly.

“Andrea showed me a trick, I might do that.” Sintara stuck her tongue out at him.

“I’ll keep watching.”

She tried to flip the next pancake by throwing it up and making it turn in the air, but it ended disastrously. The half-raw pancake stuck on the ceiling, Rizzen couldn’t stop laughing and Sintara’s angry cursing quickly turned into a chortle.

“If you think you can do it better, then be my guest!” She gestured to the pancake. Usually, Rizzen would chicken out and apologise profusely for laughing at his mistress, but now he felt like he can actually one-up Sintara by showing her he’s better at something.

Another pancake joined the previous one on the ceiling.

“We were supposed to eat them, not decorate our home with them, you know.” Sintara scratched her nose while grinning.

“I can do it!” Rizzen asserted. He flipped another pancake and managed to catch it before it fell into the fire. “Ha! Told you!”

They managed to make a few pancakes which were actually edible. Sintara fished out a jar of Andrea’s summer jam, a delicious mix made of strawberries and blueberries and various fruits, to fill them with. She looked over the mess they made of their kitchen and was slightly dejected by the prospect of having to clean it up, but then she saw Rizzen smile. There were a lot of things in that single expression. Victory, a little bit of taunting, a faint shadow of the pride he once had. Sintara couldn’t help but go over to him and kiss him.

Rizzen was surprised, but returned it eagerly. He wrapped his arms around Sintara, letting her hold him close. She pushed him to lean to the counter while they separated to catch their breath.

“That was... Unexpected.” Rizzen smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry for making a fool of you...”

Sintara rolled her eyes and gave a smooch on the male’s cheek.

“I would make a fool of myself every day from now on if it means I can see you smile.”

He leaned into her arms and placed his head into the crook between her neck and shoulder. She stroked his hair and back, giving him a small kiss on the tip of his ear, sending a tiny shiver down his spine.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” He asked after a long pause.

“We can stay like this forever, if you wish.” Sintara squeezed him tighter.

“No, I don’t think so.” Rizzen chuckled softly. Sintara believed this to be another bout of self-doubt stemming from his depressed state of mind and wanted to cheer him up but he continued. “The pan is on fire.”

After a short and panicked rescuing of what once was a frying pan and some other dishes, the couple agreed on collectively to never again make pancakes by themselves.

A few months passed, and Rizzen was positive to be feeling much better than he ever did before. Maybe it was the Undermarket buzzing with life – no matter that life was composed of mostly dwarves and humans with a few exception of elves and others here or there – because of the Brewfest, maybe it was because of his usual gang of friends being back together, he couldn’t decide, but he was feeling it. Maybe it was only the strong and bitter dwarven beer he downed. Vorka, Ilga, Allegra and he sat at a wooden table set around a huge campfire where dwarf and human cooks roasted meat and prepared bread, cheese and other delicacies. Sintara, along with Andrea and Tippletoe tried to get closer to the food sellers to place their requests. The queue was nearly as long as the Rauvin river and murmured just as loudly. Nilsa approached balancing a large tray with the next round of the company’s drinks. She managed to dodge a flock of children running amok through the crowd and let out a relieved sigh when she finally put the tray in front of her friends.

“Look who saved the day!” Ilga cheered and took the largest tankard to give it over to Vorka. Nilsa sat opposite of Rizzen, who also browsed the tray’s contents, looking for his drink.

“It’s the one with the curly straw.” The priestess informed him. “To the left from the bottle of blueberry-wine I brought for Tippletoe.”

“Thanks.” The drow nodded and took the tall fancy glass and took a sip. “What is it? It’s glowing.”

“It’s a cocktail called “Fairy Dust”, and you absolutely have to try it!” Nilsa enthused about the beverage. “It was made by some alchemists from the University.”

“Oh.” Rizzen nodded and pushed the glass slightly away. He had to admit though, the taste was phenomenal. He might even believe the glowy specs in the liquid were actually pixie-wing residue.

Sintara and the rest of the gang joined them as well, carrying all the food they could carry. The largest trays landed in front of the orcs and the smallest ones in front of the drow. Thanks to the drinks and the minstrels, the mood was light and the crowd’s murmur didn’t bother Rizzen the slightest. The setting was so unfamiliar to him that it bore no threat of flashbacks to anything. At least he hoped. After a few more of the peculiar Fairy Dust cocktail and a taste of Tippletoe’s favourite blueberry wine, he became much more talkative than he ever was.

Also he laughed at everything. His companions laughed at that he laughed at everything. He felt like the whole Undermarket was on fire. Sintara too, according to the ever growing pile of clothes next to her and the significantly less on her. After downing her next batch of sample from the brewing-contest participants, she stood on top on their table and began to dance. Ilga and Vorka started beating the table like a drum, getting several heads turned to their direction. But all eyes were on them, when Sintara began to growl an ancient chant.

“Usstan vel’uss usstan, plynn ol xor aluvé, natha dobluth a xukuth. Nau quar’valsharess nau jabbress, ussta draeval inbal doer!”

At first, everyone seemed like they are afraid of dark elves attacking from all directions, or that some horrible curse or spell will befall them, but after a wizard from the University cleared that the words weren’t arcane in the sense of being verbal components of a spell, the more sober people relaxed. The less sober ones kept staring at the bare-chested elf lady growling and dancing on the table.

Rizzen kept on staring as well, but for other reasons. He understood his partner’s words, and was confused. Though her method of performance resembled orcs more than drow, the words were a chant usually muttered by warriors before battle. Male drow, who rejected Lolth and her clergy. Ones like Zaknafein. Rizzen vaguely remembered the weapons master recite this chant under his breath when he thought no one else hears him. He thought to blackmail him with the knowledge, but knowing Malice let even bigger transgressions of his slide, Rizzen dropped the subject. It would only end in humiliation and possibly physical insults for him. Sintara recited the whole thing, cheered on by the onlookers, some of them suggesting her to get rid of even more clothes before she tripped and fell into Rizzen’s lap, her laughter loud and hoarse from the previous exertion of her vocal chords. People bought her a full tray of drinks after her performance ended, which she gave away to her friends mostly, while she stayed half-sitting half-laying in Rizzen’s lap, cheering and singing along with the minstrels, who took back the stage and the crowd’s attention.

Sintara was hard to convince to cover herself before they left the Undermarket, but soon after getting back to the surface, she took all of her clothes back, and would put on even more if they had. The winter wind blew through them, temporarily sobering all of them up. The party split up and everyone went their own way towards their own home. Rizzen and Sintara stuck together so closely one might mistake them for a particularly tall dwarf instead of two elves. They stumbled into the tiny room of their house, and collapsed on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, their coats getting wet from the melting snow. After they got rid of them, Sintara felt the soft touch of a pair of hands on her waist and turned around. Rizzen pulled her down to kiss her, as boldly as the hefty amount of alcohol in his veins made him dare. Sintara returned it, and began to unlace his tunic while directing him into his own small bedroom on the ground floor.

As soon as the door closed behind them she pulled him with her, landing on the sack of hay he used as a bed. He was still kissing her, unwrapping her like a present while she tried to get rid of his clothes as well. The cold, sobering feel of panic came when she unlaced Rizzen’s trousers and was about to pull them down. His hands darted and latched onto hers, while he was only capable of uttering a single word “Don’t.”

Suddenly he didn’t feel like it. He didn’t see a woman he wanted to pummel into the mattress until she screams his name in bliss just half an hour ago. He saw a dark bedroom, but not his. He felt his skin burn but not from pleasure. He slowly descended to his knees and shook his head to chase away the physical feeling of the assault on his dignity.

“What’s wrong, love?” Sintara asked sobered up by the male’s distress.

“I’m sorry, I can’t...” He shook his head and sprang up to run away, but she caught him.

“Hey, hey... It’s all right. You don’t have to... We don’t have to do anything.”

He nodded, and let her lead him out of the bedroom to the one upstairs, used by her.

“I have a more comfortable bed. It’s big enough for both of us.” She explained. “We’ll talk a little and then sleep, how does that sound?”

Rizzen nodded again.

“I’m a failure...” He muttered after he lay down. Sintara dressed in her nightgown and sat next to him.

“No, you’re not.”

“But I am.” He laughed tiredly. “Back when you were dancing and chanting on the table...”

Sintara made an acknowledging sound while she snuggled close to him and pulled the cover over them. Rizzen stared at the ceiling and sighed.

“I thought... I thought I finally overcame it. I wanted you so much it would only take a word from you and I would do it then and there. But I was wrong.”

Sintara caressed his face.

“You have no obligation towards me to do anything. I’m not helping you because I want something from you in return.”

“I know that!” Rizzen grumbled.

“Still you keep beating yourself up for not being able to do something that is purely optional, and in no way will affect my relationship with you.” She scolded him. “I admit, I would not object if we could get more intimate. But I don’t want to rush either.”

His eyes were glowing red in the faint light coming through the shutters, as he turned his face towards hers.

“You keep telling everyone that I am your husband. I have been with you for more than twenty years. Not once during those two decades we acted like we are truly partners.”

Sintara raised one thin brow.

“Really? Didn’t we?”

Rizzen was embarrassed, she could see from the hot red glow of his face in her eyes’ infra-red spectrum, but she wanted to know what he meant by that.

“I never hit you, or humiliated you in front of a lot of people, that’s true. I also didn’t parade you like a prize-winning riding-lizard either. I never cheated on you, though I admit I took a peek after several fine specimens of elvenkind. But none of them mean to me as much as you do.”

After she finished, it was Rizzen’s turn to raise his eyebrows.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” He stammered.

“Nothing.” Sintara shrugged. “I just want you to know that I’m not her. I want you to remember this. I will not have a harem of other people while acting like I’m the queen of the world and you are nothing. And I know you don’t believe me.”

She was right, he didn’t believe her. But suddenly, he felt too tired to argue anymore.

“I chose you.” Sintara kept on stroking his face, tracing his lips with her finger. “And I will choose you again and again if it comes to that. I don’t care about anyone else.”

He wrapped his hand around hers and turned his face away. He didn’t want to upset her with his tears.

He never stopped thinking about that night though. Sintara didn’t bring it up again, letting him have some space. Rizzen was grateful for it, but the stagnant nature of their relationship began to frustrate him. He made progress with his spell, and his work at the University was appreciated, but he was still restless because of his feelings for Sintara. He began to feel the attachment long ago, but only now realised what it was thanks to the experiences of the past thirty-odd years he spent on the surface. Feeling attached to someone was not only alien to most drow, but it was significantly dangerous, as something others might have no scruples using against them. For a long while, Rizzen thought that it should be this way. Not now though.

Now, this strange affection he developed for Sintara only complicated things even more. What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if she does? Which one is worse? Rizzen had no idea, and it wracked his nerves. He usually shoved these annoying thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on his work, but sometimes, when he was alone in his own room; he couldn’t help but let the thoughts wander.

Years had passed. Another spring festival, another summer faire to give way to the High Harvest and the Brewing Contest in the Undermarket near midwinter, and Rizzen found himself staring at yet another spring with lush greens and pink petals falling onto the ever-greying hair of his friends.

Mortality was not something drow pondered often. It was accepted that they could die any day any minute. No one was safe from the deadly whims of Lolth and her priestesses. But here, hundreds of miles above that world, he felt like he'll never have to worry about that.  Rizzen hated to admit it to himself, but he grew to tolerate the pesky and smelly humans and orcs and dwarves around him in the past decades. Same as they learned to tolerate him. And as for the team of adventurers he usually hung out with, he didn't want to lose them. It wasn't like he experienced any sort of separation anxiety whenever they left him behind or went off to do their thing, but Rizzen became used to seeing them coming back. Greeting him and telling him all about their heroic and epic adventures saving damsels and dragons in distress, and slaying orc warlords and haughty kings. 

Seeing Vorka and Ilga's hair turn to grey from pitch black, and seeing the creases in the corners of Andrea's eyes filled him with anxiety like nothing else ever could. He began to look into magic that could preserve them as they were now, preventing the further decay of their bodies' structure, maybe granting them infinte existence. But then one night, Sintara caught him frantically running through spellbooks, while cursing in helpless rage and throwing everything to the walls until he was standing in a pile of paper sheets, and Rizzen knew he had to stop this. This was not the way he could make his friends stay with him.

"It's just how life is, love." Andrea told him while he unceremoniously latched onto her like a child onto his mother's legs. "And I'm not that old. I still have a few decades to live."

Elves were always wary about relationships of any kind with people belonging to short-lifespan species. Grief lasted for longer, the pain haunted for hundreds of years. Rizzen would never care for such nonsense if not for these women who became his protectors and healers despite having nothing to do with him.

"I can't bear the thought of letting you go." He explained, panic again rising in his voice. "I will find a way to save you, just the same you saved me! It's the least I could do!"

Andrea chuckled gently, running her fingers through the silky tresses of snow-white hair of the drow.

"You don't have to. I had a good life, but I wouldn't want it to last forever. I'm human. We are not meant for that."

"But..."

"Sweet thing... Don't worry about it."

Ilga said the same thing. Don't worry about it. Like losing the people who mean the most to him would be something he shouldn't worry about. This paradox drove him mad, and back to his library and spellbooks. There must be a way to stop this from happening.

Chapter Text

The strong scent of herbal tea filled the room where Rizzen worked, tirelessly scouring through ancient tomes and obscure essays about magic. He knew he was close, he could feel his fingertips touching the ethereal fabric of his desire, the knowledge he was seeking and finally could put together from all the pieces he gathered religiously from the books in the library.

It took a long time for him to gather ingredients without drawing too much attention to what he was doing. He prepared the vial of spring dew, and a single strand of unicorn hair. Those were pretty easy to procure, but now was the time for the harder part. Rizzen knew he eventually had to go through it, but he dreaded the procedure still. What he was about to do threatened to destroy everything his friends did to build him up in the past decades. But he had to do it if he wanted to finish what he started, so there was no time to waste. Rizzen still remembered the words of the excerpt from that evil tome he read, and a part of him was eager to let those dark thoughts and sinister words out of his head. He prepared for the ritual by cleaning out his room and drawing intricate symbols on the ground, the walls, even on the ceiling. He then brewed the potion using all ingredients he already had, for the most important part wasn’t the material component of the spell. 

“Well… Here goes nothing.” He sighed anxiously before clearing his throat and beginning to chant.

He was thinking of Malice and every little wretched thing she put him through over the course of that two hundred years while he was her consort. He didn’t shy away from the details, but tried to stay focused on the spell while mentally reliving the worst time of his life. Also, he omitted atrocities or humiliation committed by any other members of his family. This was about one particular Matron Mother he wanted to settle the score with. His sorrow and anger rose to dangerous levels, and for a short moment, Rizzen was afraid he’ll lose control of the spell. 

Then he reminded himself why he was doing it. And when the memories became unbearable, he concentrated on the vial in the middle of the magic circle on the ground, forcing the memories and the time they had happened out of his mind. The vial was only a quarter full. It wasn’t enough. Rizzen was pleasantly surprised and equally puzzled by the realization. Oh well. He knew there was more than enough suffering and grief in that time period he could use. There were plenty of memories given to him by Briza, and just enough by his own children to finally fill the vessel to the brim. Rizzen stopped chanting and stood, approaching the vial gleaming in the dim magical light. 

It felt liberating. With the burden of those memories lifted from his shoulders, the drow felt like he could fly if he wanted to. But he was also wise enough to know that the ritual was far from complete. The unicorn hair and spring dew brewed into a potent, silvery liquid sat atop his desk in a small cauldron, waiting for the vial’s contents. Rizzen brought it to the circle, and slowly, steadily poured the liquefied memories into the other potion, while talking to the ghosts of his past. 

“You had no right to hurt me. It wasn’t my fault. I have value regardless if people can use me. I will not let people use me again. You were the one at fault. It was your doing, your downfall. I am free. I’m no longer bound to you.”

The last words were hard to say, but Rizzen sighed and uttered them anyway.

“I seek no revenge. I have forgiven you. I do not hate you, for that would require me to feel something for you, Matron Malice. I don’t feel anything, to me you are nothing. I’m no longer bound to you.”

He felt elated, like recovering from a long sickness, as all the fear and rage and misery caused by Malice faded from his memory. The liquid in the cauldron changed color. 

“To my offspring, and my tormentor: I’m not your toy. My body and mind are not yours to break and mock as you see fit. I deserve decency and basic respect regardless of my status or my skills or my usefulness to you. I am a living being, that should be enough. I’m free of you. I’m no longer bound to you.” 

The liquid in the cauldron solidified and turned into a shimmery black, like the night sky. Rizzen felt his magical energy radiating off of it, and was sure that the ritual will succeed. Now he only needed the last part, which was the most important. 

He leaned forward, seeing the reflection of his face in the swirling, ethereal material in the cauldron, and dropped the final ingredients into it: a petal of a red rose, taken from Andrea’s favorite specimen living in her garden, a drop of holy water made by Nilsa, a piece of nutmeg from Vorka’s kitchen, a tiny chip of metal from the blade of Ilga’s axe, a gear from Tippletoe's crossbow and a strand of Allegra’s hair. Rizzen also wondered if he should add the memory of a kiss from Sintara, but he decided that this will be only for the ones that wouldn’t be by his side that long. 

“To my loved ones: I am grateful. I have not known the reason for the void in my heart, until you filled it. I am eternally bound to you. I give you this gift of time, transformed from my years of agony to years of joy for you.”

The cauldron’s contents stopped swirling, and turned into a small ball of light, growing ever brighter as Rizzen said the words of the ritual. The final parting words sent the ball of light to the runes on the ceiling. 

“To my love: Forgive me. I devote what is left to you. I am by my own will, eternally bound to you.”

The light dissipated, and with it, Rizzen’s elevated mood. He was drained, and he decided to leave the small room as it was, locking the door and going upstairs to rest before he cleaned up the mess after the ritual.

The next morning found him in his bed, rested and calm like he never was before. Taking the stairs down felt like flying. He saw Sintara and the family cat watch the kitchen stove like a hawk, and Rizzen took the distance in a few long steps to drag her into an embrace. 

“Hey there, what’s the occasion for such merriment?” She asked, laughing while he planted a kiss on her neck. 

“It’s a good day.” Rizzen replied.

“I’m glad. You need good days.”

“And breakfast. What’s cooking in there?”

After eating their morning meal, Rizzen was out the door and went to see how Vorka was doing. He found her in her grove, tending to a patch of flowers and some insects. 

“Top of the morning to you, as folks around here say…” He greeted the druid, who looked at him with a puzzled expression. 

“You are weird.” Vorka stated

“I’m happy.” 

“You’re not happy often. What’s the reason?”

“I think I finally did something meaningful. Something significant.”

Vorka slowly shook her head and stepped next to Rizzen. He noticed that her hair had a darker shade than before, and the wrinkles of age softened on her face. 

“Does this very significant deed have to do with my back not aching anymore, and my hair growing darker than the night sky?”

“Wasn’t it always that way?” 

Vorka hummed then turned back to the patch of flowers. 

“Something was in the air last night.” she grumbled. “Strange magic.”

“I better ask Andrea if she knows something about it.” Rizzen nodded and turned to leave.

“You do that.” Vorka concluded “But it seems to me you already know what magic was that.”

The dark elf smiled and walked away. 

Andrea also felt a “strange tug on the Weave” as she put it, and her features also seemed to be decades younger than she was in reality. Nilsa looked at Rizzen with the same puzzled expression Vorka did, but her gaze carried some sort of judgment the drow couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

“I see that you are exceptionally well today.” Andrea said while sitting on her ornate sofa, petting her elderly cat. “I never saw you like this before.”

Rizzen felt his face flush, but he only sat down opposite the sorceress and stared down at his teacup. 

“I feel like there was a great burden on me before. And now it’s gone.”

Nilsa walked out of the room, not even addressing what the drow just said. Andrea reached over and took Rizzen’s hand.

“I have a feeling you don’t tell us something. You know what happened last night, but keep it away from us.”

“I’m an open book to you, it seems.”

“Please, if you know what it was, talk to me. Or we can talk to Lady Alustriel about it. She knows what it was for sure.”

In any other case, Rizzen would feel threatened. Now he just sighed and squeezed Andrea’s hand.

“It wasn’t something malevolent, that is all I know.”

He lied, and he knew she saw through him. Andrea was observant, maybe more so than Sintara. 

“Rizzen… What did you do?” 

The question came not from Andrea, but from her spouse. Nilsa sounded scared and desperate, and sowed the seed of doubt in the drow’s mind.

“I…” he found he couldn’t just say it. He cleared his throat and looked Nilsa in the eye.

“I will tell you. All of you. But I have to do something first. Meet me at Vorka’s house this afternoon. I promise to tell you everything.”

With that, his light and happy mood disappeared. When the door closed behind him, Rizzen was the same nervous mess as usual.

That afternoon saw the Sisters of the Red Moon gathering in the small house, chatting and waiting for Ilga to finish roasting the meat for dinner, while Allegra diced up some fruits and vegetables. Andrea and Nilsa brought wine and mead, Sintara and Rizzen came bearing the gifts of gossip and truth. They were the most close-knit community the drow ever saw, and as he looked them over, he still wondered how he came to be a part of it. If someone would tell him several decades ago that he will feel better in the company of orcs and humans and a forsaken priestess of Lolth, Rizzen would probably laugh at the person before stabbing them for even hypothesizing such a thing. But he felt better than ever. He knew he made a significant sacrifice for them, and he would do it again in a heartbeat, even if it meant giving his last reserves of life essence. Now he needed to tell them about it. 

Sintara had a bad feeling ever since she saw Rizzen relapsing into his dark mood after being so lively in the morning. She never knew how much she needed to see him be happy and free from his demons. The sudden change scared her, and when he told her to arrange the meeting with their mutual friends, she started to worry. Right at that moment, sitting next to her, holding on to her hand, Rizzen seemed nervous. The ever present raincloud settled over his head once again, and Sintara hated the thought of it. 

“All right, everyone!” Ilga presented the large tray with everything good placed on it “Dig in! Let’s hear the bad news with a full belly.”

Neither drow could eat much, both of them were too nervous for even getting a bite out of Ilga’s steak, or even the fruits. This wasn’t lost on the rest of their companions, so the mood turned tense pretty quickly. 

“I think it will be better if I speak right now, and maybe we’ll eat after?” Rizzen broke the awkward silence. 

“Very well.” Ilga nodded and put her piece of meat down on her plate.

This was the moment of truth. Rizzen gathered his resolve and sat in a position so he could see the faces of every one of his friends. 

“The strange magic that turned time back on your body’s clockwork? The one you kept on asking me about all day? That was my doing.”

Nilsa rolled her eyes, like she already knew. Andrea’s face contorted into a worried grimace. Ilga raised a brow and Allegra looked absolutely indifferent while Vorka and Sintara exchanged a look of understanding. Rizzen continued.

“For you to understand why I did what I did, and what is the true meaning of it, I have to tell you a story.”

“We’re listening.” Andrea crossed her arms and cast a pointy look at the drow.

“You all know what I have been through." Rizzen ran his fingers through his hair. "After I settled with you here, I began to work on a spell.”

“What kind of spell?” Nilsa inserted. Rizzen looked at her with a haunted expression.

“An evil kind. One driven by my desire for vengeance. I admit that after all these years, I was still trapped in the Underdark, in my own mind.”

“Love, we know. We all understand.” Andrea sighed and reached out to rub Rizzen’s arm. 

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head “You really don’t.”

How could they? He never knew how to tell them. 

“There was only one thing greater than my anger and grief and outrage I felt towards Matron Malice for what she had done to me. And that thing was gratitude. I am, and will be forever grateful for all of you to get me out of there.”

“All right, that doesn’t sound so bad.” Ilga nodded.

“You’re welcome, but what does it have to do with the magical anomaly we were subjected to?” Andrea inquired. 

“What did you do?” Sintara almost whispered.

Rizzen felt a sliver of the same pride and excitement he felt while casting the spell. The spell that turned his anger and grief and painful memories into life essence he gave to his friends.

“I sacrificed my revenge for you.” He explained. “See, the spell I was preparing would summon Matron Malice’s spirit and would give her my two hundred years of suffering and humiliation condensed into a single moment. Gods know I have no more need for those memories.” He trailed off, not really knowing how to proceed further. Andrea kept her hand on his arm, and he put his hand over hers while still holding on to Sintara’s with his other hand. 

“So I studied. Spells of the obscure, the lost arcane knowledge. I read a part of the Book of Vile Darkness, and I thought my revenge will be grand and will finally give me closure. But… As the years passed my desire for vengeance changed.”

Rizzen looked up, afraid of the judgment his friends would pass onto him, but all he saw was compassion. 

“I have known you as my friends for decades.” He continued, while fighting the knot in his throat that kept on getting tighter. “And I barely aged in that time, while you grew up and grew old.”

“Hey!” Andrea slapped the elf’s arm playfully, but as she saw the look in his eyes, she knew it was something painful to talk about for him.

“I’m not stupid.” Rizzen stated “I know humans and orcs live shorter lives than us or the darthiir. But I can’t just stand around and watch you die.”

“So you did…what, cast an evil spell on us so we won’t die?” Allegra asked in confusion. 

“The vital components of that spell were my memories. In order to use the pain and anger in them, I needed to sacrifice them. So in a way, I no longer remember what Malice did to me, I just remember it was bad and that I wanted revenge.” Rizzen explained further. “And I no longer remember any specifics of what kind of torture my other family members inflicted on me, but I still have the scars. Both on my body and my mind. But it doesn't matter. I changed the spell, so instead of summoning the spirit of a dead matron mother, I summoned another. Instead of transforming my hatred and pain into a weapon, I transformed it into life essence. I had two hundred years to give, so I gave it all. To you.”

Awkward silence fell onto the company sitting around the table. Not even a fly was buzzing, so it seemed time had frozen. Finally, Andrea came to her senses, and dragged Rizzen into an embrace. 

“Oh, my sweetness… I have no idea whether to kiss you or hit you.”

“Can I choose?” Rizzen attempted to jest. 

“How… How could you?!” Nilsa’s cry cut through the air. Every eye turned on her as she slammed her hands down on the table and stood, shakily staring at the drow in her wife’s embrace.

“You had no right to decide for me how long I will live!” 

Rizzen visibly shrunk into Andrea’s arms. Sintara also stood in case she needed to protect her spouse from the priestess. 

“I think we should all sit down and calm down.” Ilga tried to placate both parties.

“She’s right.” Vorka inserted.

“Thank you.” Ilga nodded but the druid shook her head.

“Not you. Nilsa.” Vorka stayed seated, but she cast a sorrowful look at Rizzen. “You really did something big. But you shouldn’t. Not without asking.”

“Can’t you feel just a little grateful for him to sacrifice literal years of his life?” Allegra took Ilga’s side. 

“He had no right.” Nilsa grated. “I did not consent to this.”

“Orcs and humans are not meant to live for hundreds of years.” Vorka sighed. “It is not natural.”

“It can’t be undone, so how about we stop whining and make the best of the situation?” Ilga rubbed her temples. 

“Am I supposed to be grateful for this…curse?” Nilsa snapped at Ilga. “Or what do you mean by “making the best of the situation”?”

The half-orc warrior stood up and gestured towards the door.

“I don’t want to be rude to you, but if you’re going to act like a piece of dung, go and lay in the garden.”

Nilsa went pale and everyone else went quiet.

“Excuse me?”

“Excuse you, but a friend gave his life so you can live and you make a fuss about him not asking you first?”

“So I just accept that he forced his will on me and roll with it?”

“I didn’t say that. But now you’re just making it all about you.”

“Oh, sorry that I’m not one to tolerate people crossing a line with me.” Nilsa crossed her arms. 

“In order for him to cross a line, you should have communicated that there’s a line.” Ilga pointed at the priestess. “I wonder if you make such a fit if someone sacrifices themselves in battle so you can live.”

Nilsa stepped back.

“But there isn’t a battle!”

“For him, there is!” 

Rizzen had enough of the two arguing about him like he wasn’t there.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped a boundary. I had no idea you felt this way.”

Nilsa directed her ire at the drow.

“I shall find a way to end your curse. And from now on, you are not my friend.”

She turned and stormed out of the house. Andrea didn’t follow.

“I apologize on Nilsa’s behalf. She’ll come around.”

Vorka also stood and shook her head in disbelief before returning to the grove she tended to. 

“I for one am grateful for what you did.” Allegra broke the silence. “And I promise you I will use my borrowed time wisely.”

Rizzen didn’t even hear her. He fought back his tears and shame. 

In the end both Nilsa and Vorka resigned to their fate, but something was broken in their relationship with Rizzen. Andrea came to visit by herself most of the time, and Ilga moved out from Vorka’s place after they had a big fight about Rizzen’s gift. Allegra was torn between her mothers and spent a lot of time in Sintara and Rizzen’s company.

After about a month, Sintara had more than enough of the squabble. She went out one day and dragged Nilsa over to talk with Rizzen. She was reluctant, but seeing the broken drow made her willing to talk at least.

For a long while the two of them were sitting opposite of each other, staring at the ceiling or at the wall, but doing everything they could to avoid eye-contact. Rizzen broke after an hour, and began to apologize profusely. Like he always did. 

“Save your breath.” Nilsa sighed. “Unless you are to take this curse off of me, I’m not interested in forgiving.”

“I can’t undo the spell.”

“Well, you should have thought about it before casting it.”

“But there’s nothing I can do now.”

Nilsa turned her nose up but after another long silence, she sighed again.

“Nobody ever asks me before deciding something for me. Is this too much to ask?”

Rizzen didn’t answer, just hung his head and squirmed nervously.

“Nobody asked me if I wanted to be a cleric.” Nilsa went on. “Nobody asked me if I wanted my father to go away to fight with orcs and nobody asked if I could handle caring for him. Every important decision in my life was made for me and not by me. So sorry if I’m not happy about one more person not giving a damn about what I want.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well… Apology accepted.” Nilsa eased up. “I just freaked out because I thought if someone, you would probably understand how it feels.”

“I had no idea. I just didn’t want to lose you.”

Nilsa reached out and patted Rizzen’s hand.

“You won’t lose any of us as long as you remember. But now that you shoved two hundred years worth of misery onto us, we’re definitely here to stay.”

“Misery loves company, as they say.” Rizzen flashed a wan smile which Nilsa mirrored.

“Look, I’m not going to apologize for what I said, only for how I said it.” She concluded. “And I hope that next time, if you make a big decision or grand gesture, you ask me first.”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

“So… are we friends or enemies?” Rizzen asked, only now daring to look at Nilsa.

“Right… I admit I overreacted with that bit. Of course we’re friends. Just… really, don’t do stuff like this again.”

Sintara saw them hugging before Nilsa said goodbye and went home. Only Vorka remained to make amends with. She however, wasn’t as easy as the priestess.

“It is against the law of nature!” the druid persisted. “You defy it, you bring its wrath upon you.”

Rizzen sat on the patch of grass next to a small circle of stones embracing a large flower and didn’t look at Vorka. 

“I apologize.” He said for the umpteenth time that day. “I am afraid of losing you. To old age, to illness, to foes… I know it was selfish of me, but I wanted you and all my friends to stay with me until I die.”

Vorka groaned frustratedly and sat next to the drow.

“Death is a part of life. I don’t think I have to tell you that. A thing has to die, so another thing lives. It’s the circle of life, and you upset it.”

“I cannot take back the years I gave to you.” Rizzen pleaded “Can’t you turn it into something useful for you? I would never do such a thing for anyone else but you and the rest of my friends for I don’t think I can bear the thought of living without you.”

Vorka patted his back and laughed.

“You couldn’t bear the thought of sitting on the same stone as me a couple of years back. Times change.”

“But I do not.”

“Really now?” Vorka leaned back and looked Rizzen over. “You had shorter hair back then. Now you wear it down to your waist. Also you wear no armor. No weapons but the books and wands and your words.”

“What do you mean by this?”

“Times change. And so do you. In subtle, small ways.”

They sat in silence until Rizzen spoke.

“There are some things that never change. I still see the shadow of a woman I don’t remember the name of. On some nights, she sits on my chest and strangles me while I can’t move. I know it was this way before the spell.”

“But why do you think you will stay the same as you are in another decade?”

Rizzen stared at the flower and the honey bee buzzing around it.

“Because I’m a drow. As unchanging as the Underdark.”

“Nah, not how it works at all.” Vorka waved dismissively. “You’re an elf, all right. And elves mourn for long. But it would pass as the seasons pass. Winter comes and before you know it, it’s springtime again. Bad days come, but before you know it, you feel better again. This would be the same without us.”

“Let me decide that.”

“Nah, don’t work that way.” Vorka stuck her tongue out at Rizzen. “You didn’t let me decide if I want to live forever.”

“Not forever, but for two hundred years more.” Rizzen stuck his tongue out in a similarly mature manner.

“Two hundred years is forever for an orc.” Vorka explained. “But no point in arguing anymore. What’s done is done. It has passed as the seasons pass.”

“So… Are we still friends?”

“I was angry at you, but I never stopped being your friend.” Vorka dragged Rizzen into an embrace. “And I will be angry at you and you will be angry at me again, for we’re here to stay for a long time, thanks to you.”

Rizzen wanted to say something more, but he noticed Ilga and Allegra approaching them with baskets and a large blanket. Andrea, Nilsa and Sintara were close behind, chatting about this and that like they always did. 

“What a nice, sunny day for eating pie and talking about why it isn’t wise to keep your annoying friends around for unnaturally long.” Andrea grinned and sat next to Vorka. Sintara sat next to Rizzen, and squeezed him reassuringly.

“We’re here.” She whispered. “We’re not going anywhere.”