A/N: set after Berg'inyon joined Bregan D'aerthe. Chi wrote Jarlaxle, I wrote Berg'inyon.

Chapter One

To Jarlaxle, his family had always been a mystery. He had never understood them, their abstract ideas of power and their desire to control everything so completely that Menzoberranzan was in their fist. He couldn't understand why they didn't appreciate the delicate little strands of chaos and chance that made Menzoberranzan truly thrive. They wanted to crush the delicate spun glass of Menzoberranzan's soul, a soul that Jarlaxle never ceased to marvel at.

So it surprised him when Berg'inyon joined Bregan D'aerthe. Another Baenre, and his younger brother, had joined Bregan D'aerthe, and Jarlaxle did not know why.

Jarlaxle always prided himself on knowing the threads of intrigue and reading the fabric of the society around him, on reading people. For once, because this was his inscrutable family, his inscrutable sibling, he did not know why.

The moment he got the right chance, he invited Berg'inyon for a talk.

It was a deceptively quiet evening in Bregan D'aerthe, the kind of brooding, storming night that Jarlaxle liked to spend in his lounge, drinking his wine and reclining on a plush, red sofa to read a book. It seemed the perfect time to invite Berg'inyon to spend the evening with him.

Berg'inyon had agreed. So now they sat in the darkened room, seeming unusually dark to Jarlaxle due to the candles he usually lit for reading being absent. He had to switch to infravision for this visit, and he noticed that his lounge was not nearly as interesting as it was in light.

Jarlaxle sat on his sofa, one leg crossed over the other, and sipped his wine. Berg'inyon sat in a chair across from him at an angle.

The young fighter looked more than a bit uncomfortable. He had spent the last days mostly alone, not sure what to think of the mercenaries, nor what they thought of him. It was no secret that pretty much everyone hated the Baenres, and Berg'inyon had no idea what his exact position in Bregan D'aerthe would be. Jarlaxle hadn't told him much so far.

He was fidgeting with his glass of wine, staring intently at it, if only to avoid Jarlaxle's gaze. There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he couldn't put his thoughts in order, and he wasn't sure how Jarlaxle expected him to behave.

Therefore he just waited for Jarlaxle to say something. He could only hope that he hadn't made an enormous mistake when he had joined Bregan D'aerthe.

"A quiet evening, isn't it?" Jarlaxle commented. "It unsettles some people."

He looked at Berg'inyon intently. He could read Berg'inyon's expression well enough right now. He was uncertain because he'd never been alone with him before, and he didn't know how to behave when there weren't spectators around.

Nor, Jarlaxle thought, is he sure what he has heard about me is true, and what is a lie. He's waiting for me to make the first move.

Berg'inyon looked up insecurely and shrugged.

"It doesn't unsettle me. Menzoberranzan is often quiet, seen from the First House," Berg'inyon said as evenly as he could manage.

He looked much like his brother and tutor, the recently killed Dantrag, except for the more normal colour of his eyes, but at least right now he didn't radiate the arrogance and almost overblown self-confidence of most Baenres. Probably only because of his current situation.

Jarlaxle smiled a little bitterly and laughed quietly. "Yes, Matron Baenre does like to see control. One might think she believes herself Lloth." He swirled the wine in his glass and drank, his eyes sardonic.

"Oh, my pardon. She's dead, isn't she?" He laughed. "It seems so unreal. She lived forever." He raised his glass. "Hail the new Matron. May she retain her beauty longer than the old one."

Berg'inyon grimaced a bit, a mixture between a grin and an expression of anger. He wasn't used to people mocking his house - and his mother had been House Baenre. Until she had died. But then again, it was somehow ... refreshing. After a few moments, the grin prevailed.

"It's not like she has much beauty to lose anyway," he said dryly, hoping that Jarlaxle wouldn't mind his cockiness.

Jarlaxle laughed, a genuinely amused one this time. He grinned. "Come now, she has her good points. Deep down inside where no one will ever risk uncovering them."

He shook his head and sipped his wine.

"What a childhood you must have had inside that House."

Berg'inyon looked relieved for a second, but Jarlaxle's next words made him tense up even more.

"The result is the only thing that counts, and it was worth what I had to go through," he said almost harshly. But then his features softened a bit and he added with a sigh, "I just didn't think I would lose everything again so early."

"How did you lose everything?" Jarlaxle asked softly. He was truly interested in the answer. He couldn't follow Berg'inyon's logic.

Berg'inyon gestured vaguely. "The last weeks. My mother's death. Dantrag's death." It seemed perfectly obvious to him, and he didn't give more explanations. Instead he finally took a sip of wine.

Jarlaxle's expression changed to sympathetic concern. Berg'inyon was so young, so naive. He couldn't see what had happened clearly.

"An old crone who loved to mould her sons into silent, despairing automatons ... A brother constantly obsessed with a battle that passed him by, prone to beating anything that moved ..."

He shook his head, setting his glass to his lips but pausing instead of drinking.

"And I needed both of them to keep my position," Berg'inyon snapped. He seemed to regret his impertinent tone immediately and said more calmly, "At least I was her son, I'm only Triel's brother. I'm even less to her than to my mother. And with Dantrag dead everyone would expect me to take his place. In a few decades I could have, but not yet."

"Was your position so invaluable to your happiness?" Jarlaxle asked.

"My position was everything, the only thing I needed." The young drow looked confused now. What a strange question. "It wasn't easy to get there."

"Why did you join me?" Jarlaxle asked. "If you wanted a position in House Baenre, I assure you, this is not the outlet for achieving that."

"I just told you," Berg'inyon replied and frowned. "I could have had a position in House Baenre, Triel would have made me Weapon Master immediately. But I wouldn't have survived for long. My house offers me no future, not anymore."

"Then why be sad?" Jarlaxle asked gently. "This is the road to survival. Let yourself celebrate that."

"It's a replacement for what I can't have." Berg'inyon stared intently at Jarlaxle, wondering if he had gone too far by telling the mercenary that he hadn't really wanted to join his band.

"I understand," Jarlaxle said. "Life is like that. You want something, and then it gets taken away. You wonder what to do, and then you find yourself something else to do that will make you almost as happy. Do you think Bregan D'aerthe may be mutually beneficial for you?"

"I don't know yet," Berg'inyon replied calmly, business-like. "You haven't told me what you expect me to do here nor what I will get in return for my services."

Jarlaxle smiled. "You haven't asked."

"I asked, but probably not directly enough to get more than an evasive answer." He didn't sound aggressive, only a little bit annoyed. Not much like his older brothers. "I'm asking now."

Jarlaxle set down his wine glass and spread his hands, grinning ingratiatingly. "It all depends on what you want. Ask, and I may grant it for you. Probably, I will. I am lenient when it comes to family."

Berg'inyon just wanted to answer the question when he realised what Jarlaxle had just said. He blinked. And blinked again. He was silent for a few long moments, before he just said, "Family?"

Jarlaxle's smile went through many stages of confusion before evolving into a painful, embarrassed look, like he had stepped in rothe dung and not known it until he looked down to see what squished.

"I ... oh, dear."

"What are you talking about?" Berg'inyon had calmed down a bit during their conversation, but now he looked once again completely uncomfortable.

"I am a Baenre, you see," Jarlaxle said, still making that painful, embarrassed grin. "The exiled son."

"What? You can't be a Baenre. There is no 'exiled son'." Now Berg'inyon looked almost angry, as if he thought that Jarlaxle was mocking him.

Jarlaxle sighed, looked up at the ceiling and sipped his wine.

"Not technically. Putting it politely is calling me an exiled son. In ungilded words, Matron Yvonnel Baenre decided that I was too weak to be a Baenre, and sold me into slavery on my sixteenth birthday." He half-smiled, half-frowned, as if he were remembering what had happened, and trying to make light of it at the same time. "I was no good with magic, and an undermotivated, reluctant fighter. I was 'useless', by her standards. I was never given a House insignia until she discovered I had become a mercenary, and then she welcomed me in the back door."

Jarlaxle sipped his wine suddenly as if he needed it, and looked at Berg'inyon. "I was then a 'secret weapon' against the other Houses of Menzoberranzan. I would work for them, but my greatest loyalty would always be to the Baenres. I am never free."

He paused. "I assumed you joined Bregan D'aerthe because it is family owned."

Berg'inyon just stared at Jarlaxle. He was silent for a long time, but then he laughed and shook his head.

"That's absurd. You're trying to see if I'm a gullible idiot. I'm not. You have good ties to House Baenre, I wouldn't even be surprised if you had family links to our numerous cousins, but you're not -" He halted, realising only now what Jarlaxle's words implied. "You're not my brother," he whispered finally.

Jarlaxle didn't know how to reply. He snorted. "You don't believe it because it's coming from me. If Triel or Gromph had told you, you wouldn't question them. For that matter, if the departed Dantrag had mentioned it." He shook his head. "I am not lying. Yvonnel dead or not, no one I know would dare lie about connections to the Baenres. Why would they? Why would I? House Baenre is despicable. I would never claim to be part of something I hate so much."

Berg'inyon's eyes flared up in anger, and only the knowledge of his precarious position made him keep his temper. His voice trembled in suppressed rage when he said, "Of course I would believe them, but I have no reason to believe such an absurd story from you. No Baenre would talk about their house like that. Are you trying to distract from business or what do you expect to gain?"

"Before you call me a liar, why don't you go back to Triel, or Gromph, and tell them you know I am your brother. See how they react." Jarlaxle crossed his arms. "In fact, I could go bother them for you if you need convincing. I had no idea they thought to keep this from you." He spoke more to himself when he added, "What is the point?"

"Of course, I'll just walk up to my Matron or the Archmage, a few days after leaving their house to become a rogue, and bother them with something like that," Berg'inyon replied sarcastically. "You could kill me more easily. I can only hope I won't have to see either of them ever again."

"They know that you are under my protection," Jarlaxle said. "They won't strike. If this were not true, why would I be alive? I am a constant bother to them. It is because I have proved that I am useful." He rose from his sofa. "Come. Let us go together to settle this. I vote for Gromph."

"You are serious," Berg'inyon said in surprise. He didn't get up, but just stared at Jarlaxle. "But ... you could be useful without being related to them."

Jarlaxle shrugged. "Perhaps, but then Matron Baenre wouldn't say we are related. You seem reluctant to see dear old Gromph the Grump, so let's go see Triel."

"That's even worse," Berg'inyon groaned and shook his head.

Jarlaxle smiled. "Now, you really are being silly, Berg'inyon. If you won't believe me, and you won't visit Baenres other than me to hear their assurances, you are going to have to compromise your views somewhere."

He held up his hands to show his helplessness in the matter.

"Could you not contact them magically? So I won't have to meet them?" Berg'inyon wasn't even ashamed of his reluctance - every sensible drow in his place would refuse to face their family again. He was only being careful.

Jarlaxle sighed. "Would you believe them without being in person?"

"I don't know ... If you're willing to contact them you're either right or completely insane."

Jarlaxle grinned. "I am only partly insane, so I am right." He walked over to a beautifully formed quartz crystal and tapped it with a wand. It lit up with an inner glow. "Shall I call Gromph, or Triel?" Jarlaxle asked over his shoulder.

"Triel," Berg'inyon sighed. "Gromph is probably working." He seemed to be quite sure about that. Berg'inyon suddenly wondered if Jarlaxle might be right, if it might be possible ... And if yes, what would that mean for his future at Bregan D'aerthe?

Jarlaxle laughed. "Not that I mind interrupting him, but all right. We'll do it your way. We'll talk to Triel."

"Aberzith," he said, which didn't seem to mean anything, but then he added, "Triel Baenre, please."

The quartz crystal vibrated violently on the table for a moment, and then stopped.

Berg'inyon finally got up and walked over to Jarlaxle, stopping in safe distance and staring at the crystal.

"What is it?" Triel's voice hissed angrily from the glowing crystal. "You interrupted me in the middle of a -"

"You can go back," Jarlaxle said smoothly, "as long as you answer a question for me."

"What is it?" she snapped.

Jarlaxle made an innocent expression. "Am I your brother?"

"What kind of stupid question is that?" Triel asked angrily. "Are you trying to waste my time, Jarlaxle?"

Jarlaxle gave Berg'inyon a knowing look.

The young fighter still looked confused. He was surprised that Jarlaxle had a device that allowed him to call Triel that easily, but still ...

"All I want is one simple question," Jarlaxle said, conveying a pout with his voice, grinning all the while. "I can keep calling you, of course, but I don't want to inconvenience such a lovely and important ..."

Triel snapped, sounding even more agitated, "Yes! Lloth, yes! Jarlaxle, you are my brother, you insane, blasphemous, time-wasting..." Her voice faded out.

Jarlaxle clasped his hands behind his back and looked at Berg'inyon innocently. "I don't think she likes me."

Berg'inyon actually gasped. He stared at the crystal and then at Jarlaxle as if he saw him for the first time. And gradually, as his mind started to accept this unbelievable revelation, an expression of worry and almost fear appeared on his face.

"I don't warrant that kind of suspicion," Jarlaxle said gently. "I am lenient to family, as I said. If you want to be a lieutenant, you have it. I have no power to mistreat a family member, and probably never will. It will be a reflection on me if I treat you poorly."

"My ... other brothers thought differently," Berg'inyon replied slowly, bitterly. "You would make me a lieutenant, just because we're related? You don't know if I'm any good." This situation was getting more and more incomprehensible. Jarlaxle being his brother was unbelievable enough, but someone giving him something without any other reason than being related?

Jarlaxle gestured. "Why don't we sit back down? Now that you understand the situation more fully, we should be able to work out an arrangement that suits both of us."

Berg'inyon nodded helplessly and sank back onto his chair. He stared at Jarlaxle again and again, desperately looking for some similarity, something that might identify him as a Baenre.

Jarlaxle saw that look, and smiled to himself. It would be hard, since he had a different father than any of them, and he had also shaved his head, drastically changing how his face was perceived.

"I'll help," he said tolerantly. He turned his head away to give a 3/4 view to Berg'inyon, took off his hat, and tapped his cheekbone. "Here."

Berg'inyon narrowed his eyes, but after a few moments he nodded. Seen like this Jarlaxle reminded him a bit of Quenthel and a few of his other sisters. He supposed that the other Baenre sons just looked more like their fathers.

"I ... you understand why I couldn't believe you at first," he said suddenly. After all it had hardly been appropriate to call his new superior an insane liar. Even if it was probably true most of the time.

Jarlaxle gave him a jolly, pleased smile. "I stake my life on not having much of a resemblance," he said, putting on his hat.

Berg'inyon grinned a bit. "I would have never guessed ... It's not like Dantrag and me," he said, obviously embarrassed.

Jarlaxle nodded. "Right. You two look very much the same. The same father and the same mother. My father was different than yours. I also shaved my head to disguise my origins."

"I'm not sure we had the same father. Dantrag was about four centuries older than me, I doubt my mother kept any lover that long. Maybe our fathers were brothers. I don't know. It was enough to make everyone compare me to Dantrag," Berg'inyon snorted. "At least you didn't have to live through that."

"I was lucky enough to be discarded, yes," Jarlaxle said.

"And in the end you still ended up higher than me." Berg'inyon shook his head, but then he decided that he had already revealed too much. "So, what do I have to do as your lieutenant? Does it include being there for you to take out your anger on me?"

Jarlaxle knew he should have anticipated this question, given the structure of power in his old home, but he was still taken aback. He felt a lurch of sickness in his stomach.

"I don't take out my anger on anyone," he said quietly. "If I want to hit things, I hit furniture."

"How sad when you could hit your subordinates and, even better, your brother," Berg'inyon hissed. He knew he should be grateful that Jarlaxle was different - or pretended to be different - but this surprising news had thrown him off balance. He had actually no idea what he was saying anymore.

Jarlaxle got out of his seat and crossed the small space between them, bending over him. He reached out to stroke Berg'inyon's cheek. "I would never hurt you that way. That is one of the reasons I am glad not to have lived out my life in House Baenre. Everyone in House Baenre is exceptional. There is no reason to take out anger on each other, as if you were no more than a slave. You are more. You are great."

Berg'inyon flinched when Jarlaxle touched him, but he didn't draw back. "I see," he said slyly and at the same time very calmly. "That's what you want. I can live with that." He ignored the compliments, not sure what to make of them.

Jarlaxle sighed in drew back, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "No, not that." He muttered, "Hormonal fighters."

He shook his head. "I only want to be your friend. I want to have a brother who isn't old, or grumpy, or insane, or a slavering monster."

"My friend?" Berg'inyon repeated the words as if he didn't know what they meant. "I don't see why being my brother should keep you from wanting me. Do I not ... appeal to you?"

"Yes, yes, you're very handsome," Jarlaxle said impatiently. "Are you listening to what I'm trying to tell you, or are you going to be self absorbed because I'm not humping you?"

"I am listening to what you are trying to tell me, but I don't see why what you say is a reason for not wanting me." Berg'inyon shrugged and smirked a little bit. "I don't think you would regret it."

Jarlaxle rolled his eyes. "We can discuss that later. If you really find a bald, half-insane mercenary so enticing, then you can make overtures. My guess is that I would not be your first choice."

"I'm used to half-insane brothers, and you might just be the least unpleasant one," Berg'inyon slowly got up and walked over to Jarlaxle. "You're at least interesting."

"I guarantee that I am the least unpleasant one," Jarlaxle said, eyeing him warily. "And I am interesting."

"Well, then there's no reason against this," Berg'inyon said with a surprisingly charming smile. "But if you have different things to do and want to discuss it later, I won't bother you any longer."

Jarlaxle looked at a loss for words. "Are you sure you're all right? If you want to sleep with someone, anyone in this organisation is available."

"I'll find myself a soldier for the night," Berg'inyon said with a shrug. "Who knows how long you are going to keep me waiting?"

Jarlaxle raised an index finger. "I'm not - not..." He'd never been in this position before. Why was his brother so obsessed with sleeping with him? It didn't make sense.

"Yes, you are keeping me waiting," Berg'inyon said, though it wasn't clear if he didn't know what Jarlaxle meant or pretended not to know.

Jarlaxle flushed crimson. "Why are you so insistent upon this idea that I will sleep with you?"

"Because there is no reason for you not to sleep with me." Berg'inyon looked a bit confused. "And several reasons to do it."

"What reasons would those be?" Jarlaxle asked, looking both amused and confused.

"I'm handsome, nimble, I won't try to kill you, and I would give you whatever you demand," Berg'inyon said with a smug smile. "I'm sure I'm better than your average lovers. You said yourself that I was 'great'."

Oh, rothe dung, Jarlaxle thought. He grinned his painfully embarrassed grin.

"But why should you indulge me?"

"Now that is obvious, isn't it? You're my superior, my brother, you're powerful and attractive," Berg'inyon said smoothly without missing a beat. "Do you want to hear more, or shall I save that for next time?"

"Oh, get out of here," Jarlaxle said, trying to look angry. He was really close to laughter. No one had given him such a runaround. He had to hope that Berg'inyon would soon change his mind, or he would find Berg'inyon outside his bedroom, scratching to be let in.

He grabbed his glass and took a sip of wine to steady himself.

Berg'inyon just smirked and bowed a little. "Of course. Forgive me, brother," he said almost respectfully, before he turned around and left the room. Jarlaxle took another sip of wine, choked on it, shook his head, and laughed.

"What happened?" he said to himself. "He went crazy in here. I just wanted to know why he joined my organisation. I didn't look for a sex proposal."