"My wounds are too grave. I'm a dead man. Just… leave me be."
Xan jerked his head away from the blonde half-elf and her putrid-smelling potion. His stomach churned, whether from the stab wound or the vile concoction before him, he honestly couldn't tell. As he lay on the forest floor, surrounded by ominous tall trees and a landslide to the east, he wished the earth would crumble beneath him.
"For Corellon's sake, stay still!" the half-elf Arquen snapped, pressing the bottle against his tight lips. She looked up and waved their companions over. "Rasaad, hold him down! This is the only remedy that may help!"
As Rasaad hurried over, she barked at Imoen. "Are we seriously out of healing potions? Not even one left?"
"Can't find any!" Imoen shot back. Xan turned just in time to see the pink-haired human flipping his backpack upside down, tipping all its contents—including his spellbook and unwashed garments—onto the muddy ground.
Before Xan could shout his protest, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder and his jaw being gripped with the other.
"Relax, my friend. What may taste unpleasant now is actually a part of the recovery process," the monk said in his gentle voice and serene expression, which to Xan had always been more creepy than calming. Someone who poked needles with ink into his face should not appear so at peace with himself and the world.
Arquen quickly poured the vile liquid into his mouth. It tasted like the gallbladder of an animal mixed with rotten grapefruit. Xan started gagging. Oh gods, first a stab wound, now poison inside his body. The half-elf was neither a cleric nor an alchemist, and he had no idea how she came up with this healing remedy.
Though perhaps poisoning him could end his agony. Pain shot through his entire body again and it took all his willpower to refrain from screaming out loud.
It was unbelievable, simply unbelievable, that he would let a drow be the cause of all this!
He couldn't muster the strength to glare at her but he knew the drow stood just a few feet away, recovering from her chase across the Peldvale forest. If Xan hadn't intervened, she would surely have been caught by the Flaming Fist mercenary, and most likely executed on the spot. Xan didn't move as quickly as Rasaad though, and while he wielded a moonblade he was certainly no warrior, so the mercenary had stabbed him right in the stomach.
"Is the potion working? Should we give him some more?" Arquen and Rasaad hovered over him, threatening to feed him more of the homemade potion. Xan squeezed his eyes shut and waited for death.
"I believe I can help."
It was the drow. She spoke in short breaths and an accented voice. Xan opened his eyes to see her kneeling down in front of him. Arquen and Rasaad exchanged looks, and everyone realized that they had no choice but to trust the stranger, even though she hailed from the Underdark and was of a race well-known for slaying surface elves on sight. Arquen nodded. Rasaad patted his shoulder softly before stepping aside.
The drow bent over him and placed her dark hand on his body, just below the rib cage where he had been stabbed.
The thought of having such a creature touching him made Xan shudder. This was the closest encounter he has ever had with a drow, and he had to be at her mercy. Then again, he was Xan of Evereska. Should he really be surprised?
The drow shut her eyes as she concentrated on her chanting. A warm glow cast over his wounds, and moments later the pain subsided. Xan sighed, for once in great relief.
It was the most inappropriate moment to contemplate on such matters then, or perhaps he was slipping into delirium that caused his thoughts to wander in that direction, but Xan found himself strangely entranced by the drow's features. Up close, he noticed that her dark grey skin had a bluish hue. She still kept her pale green hood over her head, with her face further concealed behind a fall of silvery white hair. He could make out a beauty spot on the left side of her face, just above her lip. Her upturned eyes were the color of amethyst, and she was now staring back at him.
Xan choked back a cough at the realization of admiring a drow.
She frowned at him as if she had read his mind, but said nothing. She ran her hands over his body again and, satisfied with her work of healing, she pulled him up to a sitting position.
The others had gathered in a small circle around them, no doubt eyeing the drow and her cleric abilities with interest.
"My name is Viconia. I–I'm not from around here," she addressed them slowly.
"I know you may not be willing to give me a chance because of my dark skin." She paused with a nervous yet unapologetic expression. "I am a drow, but if you give me a chance you will not regret it. Your darthiir will live as I have been able to heal the worst of the injury, but he will be weak for a few hours."
Arquen, their leader (because she started this whole nonsense quest to infiltrate the bandits' camp), stepped forward and extended her hand. "We have completely run out of healing potions. All I have left is this homemade potion I brewed back in Candlekeep. Xan would've been in a lot more trouble if you weren't able to heal him. It looks like we need the extra help, so of course we'll take you in."
The drow smiled. "I won't disappoint you, I promise."
Xan groaned in silence. They might as well send a message to the next village telling everyone to start polishing their pitchforks and stakes. Could their leader be anymore naive? Did she not know of the reputation of drow? Why, oh why, did he not part ways with Arquen in Nashkel when he had the chance?
"Arquen, I hate to break this to you," her human 'sister' Imoen began, "but there is no way we can make it to the bandits' camp in this state, even with the help of a cleric. We kinda underestimated how many bandits there were, not to mention the bears and the gibberlings and whatever monsters that roam these woods!"
"Then what do you suggest we do?"
"Maybe we ought to return to the Friendly Arm Inn? At least until Xan has fully recovered and all. Then, you know, fully prepare ourselves instead of marching off into the wilderness with nothing. Maybe… maybe find Jaheira and Khalid?"
Imoen shifted her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably, while Arquen bit down on her lip. Imoen added, "Xan almost died, you know…"
"Okay, okay, point taken! We'll head back to the Friendly Arm!"
Imoen broke into a wide grin and Xan caught her saying something about glorious hot baths under her breath. So much for the concern of him dying, he sighed to himself as he slowly got to his feet.
Everyone gathered their backpacks quickly, mostly repacking the items that Imoen had thrown out in her panic. Xan quickly shoved his clothes into the bottom of the pack before anyone else noticed that none of them were clean. He groaned as he found a few of his carefully packed rations and spell components in the dirt, all spoilt now. Then he spent a few minutes dusting the grass stains off his spellbook. The temptation to shout at Imoen was great… It wasn't deliberate—her panic state caused her clumsiness, he kept telling himself.
When his backpack was back in order, Xan found himself reluctantly handing it to Rasaad. There was a dull ache in his abdomen that made carrying the extra weight uncomfortable. The monk also offered to hold him up, but Arquen quickly stepped in between them. "I'll walk with Xan," she said cheerily. "You are still limping from the last injury, I can tell, so you can't expect to be both pack mule and steed!"
Xan hoped she couldn't sense the heat on his face as she slipped her arm around his waist, her tousled blonde hair rolling down his shoulder. "Can you walk?" she asked.
They took a few steps, and Xan cursed his weakened state under his breath. Although he felt steady enough to stand upright, his legs seemed to be pulled down by weights when he marched. "At a snail's pace, I regret to say," he groaned.
"Even if it takes a day, we'll get there," she replied with her never-ending optimism.
They set off westwards, backtracking their earlier course through the forest. Xan felt himself leaning into the petite half-elf constantly, which also made him feel utterly disgraced. Thankfully, Arquen didn't seem to mind, or at least she didn't show it. Imoen strayed ahead and was out of sight most of the time. Rasaad walked a few yards in front of them, glancing back every few minutes to make sure no one was trailing too far behind.
Some time passed when he found the new addition to their party at his side. They walked in silence for awhile, the drow glancing sideways at him and Arquen every so often. Sometimes she would catch his eye and hold his gaze for a moment.
After studying him for awhile, she finally spoke. "It is… curious that an elf would come to my rescue. Why did you save me from that brute?"
Xan sighed impulsively. "You would have been killed by that mercenary otherwise."
"Others would have found the killing of a drow pleasing to watch."
"I am sorry for not abandoning you to your fate."
Viconia stopped in her steps and Xan could feel her gaze bearing into the back of his head as they wandered ahead of her.
Then she caught up with him again and, to his surprise, she reached for his free arm. "Come, Arquen, let me bear this burden for awhile."
"Oh, it's alright, Viconia," Arquen replied. "I'm sure you've had quite the eventful day, and I'm used to picking up our frail enchanter. I do not feel at all encumbered."
Two women wanting to hold him up on either side was possibly the closest experience to being desirable he would ever have. Xan felt extremely awkward, and completely emasculated. They were now gripping his arms rather tightly, and he felt like a straw compared to Rasaad. At the last inn they stayed in, he'd accidentally overheard Arquen and Imoen discussing the monk's physique, how thrilled they were to discover that there were actually monks "frolicking around shirtless with washboard abdomens and tattoos on the parts of their body where you most want to run your hands over", which made him feel even more insecure about himself. Not that he wanted them to make him a topic for their gossip, but still….
"So, surface elf, how deeply do you object to my presence?" Viconia reminded him of her presence.
Xan didn't answer her straight away. Did she really want him to recount elven history to her? Was she hoping to provoke him into striking her?
"It is pointless to care who is a part of this group or not. In the end we are all doomed." He did however use the opportunity to move his arm away. "You do not have to linger by my side. I am managing quite well."
"I see you have recovered your senses, as well as prejudices. Very well then. I have repaid you for my rescue. I would have gladly left you to suffer and die, were you not my rescuer." She then marched ahead and overtook Rasaad, who glanced over his shoulder, this time with raised brows.
"Xan," Arquen said in a low voice. "I think she meant well. Why did you shrug her off like that?"
"You have little experience with drow," he told her, though he had never dealt with a drow before. Never interrogated one during any investigations and examined their thoughts. But he knew the stories. He once saw a senior Greycloak receive an assignment to investigate the Underdark, and immediately went home to bid his wife and two daughters farewell. He shuddered and said to Arquen, "Their kind is not to be trusted. It would be wise not to keep her in our company for too long."
"Oh, but she seemed so earnest when she said she won't let us down. I have not really spoken with a drow before, but it is curious that she should be wandering the surface alone, if at all. Perhaps she's not your typical drow?"
"True," Xan replied. "Regardless, I would not be so quick to trust her. You already have assassins to deal with, and the last thing I wish to witness is treachery within our group. I do worry for your safety, Arquen." The last line came out too quickly and Xan coughed. He really, really hoped Arquen wouldn't interpret it the wrong way as she smiled at him.
"Aw, it's nice to know how much you care, Xan." She gave his arm a little squeeze. "You're over a hundred years older than Gorion but you probably resemble him in his dashing bachelor years. It's adorable."
"Your foster father would not appreciate being called adorable," Xan groaned, and thereafter, they carried on the rest of their way in silence.