The style and tone of this particular story are rather different to anything I've written before. It should be mentioned now that my take on Solaufein has nothing to do with Weimer's mod; this is instead my perception of the character. As usual, most things in the story do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them. As always, reviews are most welcome.

Chapter One – The Surface

Under her feet, the dark rock was slippery, damp with the rain she could taste on the air. Torches flared, bright against the high, spanning arches of trees. She could hear the elven soldiers shouting orders in their strange, lilting language. Every breath she dragged into aching lungs seemed heavy with the cool scents of the night.

"Kera." Jaheira caught her elbow, steadied her when her heel skidded. "Slowly."

She complied, even though every nerve in her screamed at her to bolt until she felt grass beneath her boots and the curving maw of the caves that had opened up into the elven ruins became some terrible dark patch in her memories.

"Wait." The elven scout darted ahead of her. Lean and lithe, he turned, his pale hair turned livid in the torchlight. "Elhan would see you, traveler."

Elhan. She had heard that name before, when the ragged, exhausted dozen soldiers had faced them in the ruined chambers below the earth.

"You will come with us. You have nothing to fear, if what you say is true."

And she had been given little choice, since she was as wrung through as they were, and between them they carried twelve swords. Unwillingly, she had turned over her own weapons, as had her companions, and each jolting step against the smooth rock had taken them towards a surface she had not seen for far too long.

She stopped, head down and breathing hard. Almost running, the elves had pushed out of the ruins quickly, leaving dead drow and fallen friends behind, their blood mingled on the ancient stone. Between her feet, she noticed crushed grass, slick with rain.

"You. Human." The same scout stepped forward, one hand wrapped around his bow. "Elhan will see you."

"And my companions?"

"They will remain here," he said.

"No." Kera lifted her head, brushed dark hair out of her eyes. "They come with me."

The elf's mouth twisted. "And the drow?"

The drow.

The drow commander who had sneered at her when she stumbled over her words and tried to apologise for being late. The drow commander who had spun and fought with unerring, startling grace in the arena.

The drow commander she had allowed into her confidence, and to whom she had offered a way out, a way out of his city and up to the surface.

"And the drow," she said, somehow keeping her voice even.

The elf's eyebrows arched, but he made no comment. He turned, a sharp snapping movement, and beckoned them on, past tents and a campfire and trestle tables laid out against the curling grass, lined with arrows. Past the coppery play of the last fire, she saw a tall elf in gleaming armour. Beneath the gold curves of his helmet, loose strands of fair hair escaped. His face was all imperious angles, and the gaze he turned on her was cold and implacable.

Before he could speak, she stepped past the circle of the firelight, and said, "Elhan?"

"Yes." His dark eyes flitted from her to Jaheira, and across to her other companions. "I understand you were recently in the Underdark."

"Yes."

He nodded slowly. "The drow," he said in the same tone. "I am to understand that he came with you from Ust Natha, yes?"

"Yes."

"And that my people let him pass with you."

Anger flared, somewhere deep inside her, behind the walls of cold exhaustion. "At my request," she said.

"Why?"

"Because I asked them to."

"And why would you do that?"

She clenched her fingers hard enough that her nails dug into her palms. "That is my business."

"No. You bring a drow into my camp, at a time when they attack the surface and attack my city. I will have the reason, traveler."

Because he helped us, she wanted to snarl back at him. Because he had nowhere else to go. Because I was asked to murder him and chose not to.

"He is no follower of Lolth," she said eventually.

"Indeed. And have you seen evidence of this, or has he simply spoken of it?"

"I have seen it," Kera snapped, aware that her voice was cracking. "Is that enough?"

"Since I know you little better than your drow friend, no." Elhan laid one hand on his sword hilt. "Will you vouch for his behaviour?"

"What does that mean?"

"That means his hands and ankles will be tied if you give me no guarantee of his conduct."

She drew in a long, steadying breath. Under her skin, she could feel her blood pulsing slowly and angrily. Some insidious, terrible thought sank through her mind, and she wondered how quickly she could have this elf on his back, his arrogant throat torn open. She glanced across from Jaheira to where the drow commander stood, his poise coiled and his hands hanging loose at his belt. His shoulders were rigid, and she could see tiny beads of sweat on the sharp, ebony angles of his face. When the wind keened, and dragged the torches into rippling orange plumes, his eyes narrowed, but he did not turn away.

"I give you my word," she ground out. "I'm sure he'll behave."

"Very well." Elhan gestured to his guards, standing silently behind him. "I should warn you, however, if he does not, my guards will restrain him, and not gently."

Like they did in the ruins? She wanted to say it, spit the words at him, enough that she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself silent. She recalled how spells had flashed against the crumbling arches, and Imoen had called out a warning.

"Drow!" The blond, wide-eyed elf reared back, swords in both hands. "Forward!"

"No!"

Another spell bloomed, white light whipping out from Imoen's fingers, and Kera prayed it would show the elves that their ambushers were not of the Underdark.

"No," she shouted. "Don't! He's with us."

But the elf crashed full-force into the drow, and his twisting momentum tore them both around. The drow lashed back at him, landed a hefty blow to the inside of the elf's leg. Another snake-fast strike snapped the elf's swords from his hands, and the drow kicked his feet out. He spun the elf onto the ground, one forearm wedged under his throat.

"Let him go, stranger." Another elf stepped forward, one side of his face thick with blood. "And explain why you are here."

For a long, terse moment, she glared over the point of her sword at him. Ten soldiers flanked him, all of them coiled and waiting. Kera weighed her chances, decided that, even numbers aside, they had the disadvantage. A long slice beneath her ribs made breathing awkward, and Imoen's spells were nearly spent, and the ugly gash along Haer'Dalis' calf muscle had spoiled his grace.

"Solaufein," Kera ordered. "Let him up."

The drow hesitated. "I do not think…"

"Let him up," she repeated wearily. "We don't have a choice."

He nodded and glided away from the elf. Another smooth motion sheathed his sword, and Kera saw the elf uncoil behind him. "No, wait!"

The elf crashed into him, snaked one arm around his neck and yanked. When the drow's hands flew up, he kicked the back of his knees, ruining his balance and toppling him. With one hand vised in the drow's white hair and his other arm locked around his neck, the elf said, "Now. Who are you and why do you have a drow with you?"

"Now." Elhan clasped his hands together. "There are things we must discuss, traveler. Would you prefer this to happen in my tent, or out here?"

"You're giving me a choice?" Kera grinned, wolfishly. "Out here."

"As you wish it." Something flickered across the elf's beautiful, pale face, something old and tired. "I am willing to help you, stranger. I am willing to give you food and shelter for at least tonight. However, I must confess I find it very odd that just when the temple here is attacked, you emerge out of the Underdark, bringing with you a drow guide. How is it you escaped Ust Natha, and how is it you were there to begin with? I cannot imagine you were sold to the slave pens."

"No. We weren't." She wondered if she should explain about the shipwreck, and the underwater city, and the sahuagin prophecy, and almost immediately decided against it. "We came to Ust Natha seeking a man called Irenicus."

Elhan stiffened. "This Irenicus…what do you know of him?"

"I know he owes me a debt of pain for what he has done to me," she said, quietly.

He rubbed one hand across his eyes, and sighed. "I must ask that we continue this inside my tent, with my wizards present."

"Wizards?" She shook her head, suspicious. "Why?"

"I must know what you know, and I must know that you tell me the truth. I am sorry," the elf said heavily. "Forgive me, but it is the only way I can help you."

"And my friends?"

"Will remain out here under guard."

Kera tipped her head back, felt the soft, misting drizzle touch her eyelids, her hair. "Solaufein comes with me."

"The drow? Why?"

"Forgive me," she replied, deliberately mirroring his tone. "But I would prefer all my companions breathing, and quite frankly I don't trust your guards not to let an accident or two slip past them."

"As you wish it." Elhan motioned, and the guards at the tent rolled the curtains back, knotted the ropes.

Somewhere close by, an owl called, the sound unusual and haunting. Kera exchanged a quick look with the drow, saw that his face was closed off and bleak, and she could not quite blame him. She followed Elhan into the cool gloom of the tent, waited while he lit the oil lamps. Marigold light fluttered over the rich scarlet and gold patterns woven into the cloth walls.

Elhan paused beside a small table, tugged his helmet off. "Wine?"

"Hospitality now?" Kera shook her head. "I'd prefer to wait until after the interrogation."

"Not an interrogation," he corrected. "An understanding."

"Of what? Whether or not I'm stupid enough to lie to mages?"

"No." Fury flashed across Elhan's face, but he turned away, motioned in the three robed elves who stood just past the flaps. They moved soundlessly, gliding over the soft rugs, and trained piercing, pale eyes on her. "Tell me what you know of Irenicus," Elhan said.

"I know he struck some bargain with Matron Mother Ardulace of Ust Natha," she answered. "The bargain involved the stealing of a silver dragon's eggs to keep her prisoner in her lair."

"Why?"

Her gaze flicked to the wizards, to their blank, listening faces. "So the drow could attack your temple, and by extension, your city, I suppose."

"Truth," a wizard murmured. "She knows much."

"Perhaps." Elhan's hands whitened around his belt. "What is your business with Irenicus?"

"Business?" The word escaped her throat in a snarled whisper. "I have no business with him except his death."

"Explain," Elhan said coldly. "Explain, and truthfully, traveler."

Explain the hollow knot of emptiness that clung somewhere in her, the space where her soul had been? Explain the lightning-bolt anger that took her and ruled her whenever she thought of him or dreamed of him? Explain how sometimes her own voice seemed far away and thin?

"He has committed a great offense against myself and my sister," she heard herself say, every syllable granite-hard. "I would see him pay for that with his life. Since he appears to have offended you in some similar manner, it would seem our goals might be the same."

"Perhaps," he allowed. "Am I to understand you followed him through the Underdark and to Ust Natha?"

"Yes, I followed him, and yes, he escaped me, and I will find him, with or without your help." Her voice wavered, and she flinched when Solaufein touched her arm. A simple brush of his fingers, but it jolted her, and the anger subsided. "Is that enough? Will you call off your little sages?"

"Irenicus has wronged us indeed." Elhan sat, cross-legged and elegant, and motioned for them to join him.

Kera hesitated for a brief instant, before giving in and sinking down onto the rugs. "How?"

"He has laid siege to our city. To our Suldenessellar." Anger roughened the elf's voice. "He and some hundreds of drow, and other terrible things. He would burn the trees and tear down every stone."

"To what end?"

Elhan's eyes flickered. "Destruction. Destruction and madness."

He's lying, she thought, but could not pinpoint why. Why would Irenicus care so much for this elven city, and why would this elf lie about it? She glanced sidelong at Solaufein, saw how one side of his mouth had curled up. He knows, too, she realised. He can see the elf's lying. "So why aren't you there, now, trying to save your city?"

"Because I can't," Elhan snapped, the words coming out raw and harsh. "He has closed the trees behind him, and I cannot enter."

"How is that possible?"

While she sat, part of her vaguely enjoying the plush feel of the rugs beneath her, he spoke of something called the Rhynn Lanthorn, some elven artifact that opened the way through the forest, and to Suldenessellar. Something that, if stolen, could leave the city isolated and lost.

There, the whispering, coiled anger in her prompted. To find the Lanthorn would be to open a way into the elven city, and into Irenicus' presence. She could find him, and carve her revenge out of his skin, and take as much time doing it as she pleased.

She found herself nodding almost before Elhan even asked properly.

"Yes," Kera said. "You need to stay here with your soldiers, so you need someone to find your Lanthorn."

"Yes," he answered, haltingly. "I confess, I am not sure where you could even begin."

"Bodhi," she cut across him. "Bodhi would have been trusted with it, and I imagine she's gone scuttling back to Athkatla with it."

Elhan exhaled. "Then, if you are in agreement, I will have food and drink brought for your companions, and on the morrow, you may begin your journey."

That quickly? No questions, no explanations? Just what is he hiding? Kera nodded slowly. "Thank you."

"I will have tents set up for you and your companions." Elhan scrubbed a hand through his hair, and in the dancing light of the oil lamps, he looked suddenly very tired. "And supplies prepared for you tomorrow."

Swathed in thick, warm blankets, Kera rolled over again and cursed her galloping thoughts. A bowl of hot stew and two glasses of wine should have set her straight towards slumber, but she lay staring up at the roof of the tent and listening to the wind thrumming outside and Jaheira's soft, measured breaths. The practical half of her mind lingered on the possibility of another drow attack; surely they would prefer the cover of darkness for any new assault? She twisted over again, and flinched when Imoen murmured, "Can't sleep either, huh?"

"No." She exhaled sharply. "Stupid, huh?"

"Yep." Close by, blankets rustled. "Good to be back on the surface, though."

"Yes."

The silence stretched, febrile and impatient.

It had not been like this, she reflected, not before Spellhold, not before Irenicus. How many nights had she and Imoen spent up until dawn, speaking of things that were mostly inconsequential, at Candlekeep and after?

Her skin prickled. She kicked the blankets away, rummaged in the darkness for her boots. Found one, and her sword. The other she discovered half under her pack.

"I'm pretty sure the elves are taking all the watches tonight," Imoen remarked lightly.

"I know." She tugged the laces tight, sat up and buckled her sword belt back on. "It just feels stuffy in here. I'll be back soon."

Without waiting to hear Imoen's reply, she pushed onto her feet and ducked out into the chill night air. Embers glowed in the firepits, and elven guards patrolled, their footfalls enviably silent against the grass. Overhead, the indigo dome of the night sky was lit by the fierce glow of the nearly full moon. Kera listened to the soft sounds of the night, the wind soughing against branches, and again tried to work out how long they had been beneath the earth. Too long, she thought. Too long amid the darkness and the drow, and trying desperately to stay alive. She looked down at her hands, clenched and pale, her knuckles threaded with old scars. For too long she had not looked like herself at all, had hidden behind the spell-wrought mask of a drow.

She dragged her head up, breathed in slowly and deeply, forcing her raging pulse calm. She remembered how Adalon's spell had cloaked across her, tiny needles jagging into her skin, burrowing bone-deep. How she had fallen, her knees buckling with the sudden, shocking pain. How the hands she had raised to her temples had become obsidian, and made finer, how the loose tresses knotted at her nape had become soft white.

She shook her head. She had no time for such thoughts, not now, not now that Ust Natha lay beneath them, and Athkatla waited.

Away from the tents, near three tall pines, stood the drow commander, Solaufein. He was facing away from the firepits and the camp, his head tilted back slightly. Kera crossed the cool, damp earth, let her boots scrape a little louder than necessary.

He turned before she got within about a dozen paces of him. His wary expression softened, and he said, "Sleep is elusive when you're expecting to be attacked, yes?"

"Oh, yes." She paused beside him, noticed that he was unarmed. "Your weapons?"

He shrugged. "The elves preferred to keep them for tonight."

She snorted. "Making a point, were they?"

"I am not wearing chains. I consider that an advantage, since I know exactly what my kinsmen would do to a lone elf in Ust Natha."

"True."

His gaze slid back up to the moon, and she wondered if she was intruding. "I'm sorry. I'm disturbing you, aren't I?"

"No, I was just looking at the moon." At strange, fleeting smile tugged at his lips. "I've never been able to just look at it undisturbed before."

"Oh." She scuffed one foot against the ground. Under the flood of pale light, his face was all sharp, shadowed angles. "I'll leave you to it, then."

"No," he said, softly. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry. I am not quite as quick with your language as I thought."

"You're better than I am at yours," she retorted immediately.

"You spoke it in Ust Natha."

"No. The spell spoke it in Ust Natha." She shook her head. How strange it had been, to feel her own lips and tongue framing those odd, alien syllables, all lilting sibilance. Stranger still, to hear the language falling from the mouths of drow and to know what they might be saying, even though part of her mind knew that she could not possibly comprehend the twisting, hissing words. "I don't know how it worked. It was part of the illusion."

He nodded slowly, his red eyes still on the silver disc of the moon above.

"Why would you need to speak our language?"

"It helps," he answered, dryly. "Those of us lucky enough to be chosen for surface raids find it useful to speak the enemy's language. Your language, elvish as well."

"Makes sense." She breathed in, tasted the damp of the loam, and marveled at how rich it was. "We're going to be leaving at dawn. Will you be alright?"

"I have seen the sun before. I will manage."

She nodded slowly. Whatever she had planned to say or demand died in her throat. So she stepped away from him, leaving him to the moonlight and his thoughts, and murmured, "I'll see you in the morning, then."