Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the places in this story belong to me; and I don´t make any money with this. Slash, but this isn´t really a romance. Maybe I should mention that the Prologue takes place several decades before the story itself.
A/N: Thanks to Chi for beta-reading this. :)
Prologue
There were few who could enter the quarters of the Archmage of Menzoberranzan without his direct permission - and even those who could would think twice before actually doing it. Only one person was bold enough to come and go at will, knowing that he generally was welcome. Thus Gromph knew immediately who paid him a visit at this late hour when he heard a soft knock on the heavy door of his office.
The old drow grinned - it had taken him some time to teach his lover to knock at least before entering his study, if he didn´t want to run into some dangerous experiment.
"Come in," he called and slowly looked up from the spell book on his desk.
His younger brother Dantrag stood in the door frame, his usually amber eyes red with anger, his bottom lip trembling. Gromph couldn't help but think of a volcano, one of these strange surface mountains that spat fire, just before the eruption. The fighter's perfectly honed body seemed barely able to retain his rage.
Gromph studied him curiously, but with a concerned look on his face, while he rose from his plush chair. Dantrag was probably the only person the grim Archmage liked - which was why he had shown him a secret entry to his quarters. Drow brothers usually did not trust each other - the rivalry was simply too great. But there had never been such a rivalry between Gromph and Dantrag Baenre: as fighter and mage had they never competed for the same positions, and as Gromph had always spent most of his time at Sorcere, Dantrag was, even though only the secondboy, virtually the highest ranking male living on the Great Mound. In addition, Gromph was several centuries older than Dantrag and had already been a powerful mage by the time his younger brother just learned how to hold a sword. The fighter was not stupid or arrogant enough to go against Gromph. This complete lack of rivalry - rare in a race as ambitious as the drow - had allowed the brothers to get closer than usual, to trust, even love each other.
"What is it?" Gromph asked. He knew his brother well enough to recognise that this was not one of Dantrag´s almost daily outbursts for some bagatelle, but something serious.
"Zaknafein Do´Urden." The fighter spat the name more than he said it. He began to pace through the study - something he would normally never do, knowing how dangerous a wizard´s rooms could be for anyone but the wizard himself, but his agitation made him forget all caution.
The Archmage vaguely remembered the name of Zaknafein, patron of House Do´Urden - Tenth House of Menzoberranzan - and a master of Melee-Magthere, even though it was rumoured that he would soon give up this position to concentrate on his duties at House Do´Urden. He was counted among Menzoberranzan´s finest warriors, but Dantrag had never shown any interest in him.
"He just returned from the Underdark with his patrol when I came here. They had met an unusually big group of hook-horrors, too many for one patrol to fight. But Zaknafein killed half a dozen of the beasts single-handedly, and now some fools call him the greatest Weapon Master! 'The one who could best Dantrag Baenre!' " the fighter exclaimed, his deep voice trembling with anger and indignation. Gromph leaned against his dwarven-bone desk and just listened.
"Best me? Who does he think he is? This upstart isn´t even a noble, only a commoner, a pretty whore who pleased Matron Do´Urden so that she allowed him to bear her name! And they expect him to beat me, Weapon Master of House Baenre?! I should kill every fool who dares to insult me so!" Dantrag snorted and stopped his pacing, staring at his brother as if he expected an answer to his tirade.
"Half a dozen hook-horrors? You have to admit that it is impressive..." Gromph interjected.
"It is nothing I have not achieved before - and more than once! He is nothing!" the fighter replied.
"Then kill him. It will silence those who doubt your superiority."
"To attack him now would make me look weak, frightened, like a shivering rothé that has been cornered and lashes out in fear. Let him come to me - if he is indeed the best, he´ll claim this title and challenge me. And I will gladly accept, to show this upstart where he belongs! But I can´t bear to hear this insolent nonsense," Dantrag said, his voice not as loud as before. He knew he had to wait, and despite their chaotic nature, the long-living drow were rather good at waiting.
Gromph nodded - Dantrag was right. The Weapon Master and secondboy of the First House was Menzoberranzan´s finest warrior and among the most powerful males of the city - a man in his position and with his reputation would not simply attack an upcoming rival, it was undignified. He might arrange the Do´Urden´s assassination, but that would not silence those who thought Zaknafein the better fighter.
The Archmage took another minute to contemplate his still fuming brother. His eyes roamed over the tall, strong and yet amazingly nimble body, hidden by the dark chain mail - but Gromph knew every muscle under the black skin. He looked at the long swords on Dantrag´s hips - a slender drow blade and the sentient sword from the surface, Khazid´hea -, and knowing how easily and expertly the Weapon Master wielded them, Gromph was unable to believe that any fighter might even come close to defeating Dantrag.
"Distract me," the Weapon Master ordered suddenly, and his commanding voice made Gromph chuckle, but he was more than ready to comply. He stepped closer to his brother and kissed him eagerly, smiling at the familiar taste. Dantrag wrapped his muscular arms around the lithe body, so hard that Gromph gasped for breath. He knew that the Weapon Master would be rather violent tonight, for Dantrag was always violent when he was angry. But it hardly unsettled Gromph - he had enjoyed every single night spent with Dantrag; and he was himself sometimes very rude. Yet they were comfortable around each other, despite - or maybe even due to - their respective violent tempers.
Thus, Gromph accepted Dantrag´s rough kisses willingly. He quickly removed his robes and boots, enjoying the feeling of the cold chain mail against his bare chest. The Archmage did not see his brother´s hands moving - their speed heightened by his magical bracers -, he just felt that his feet left the ground when Dantrag lifted him and carried him to the bedroom. Gromph relaxed on the soft sheets and looked up to the Weapon Master, who sank onto the bed beside him. Dantrag had decided to enjoy at least the end of this miserable day - and what better way to end it than in Gromph´s arms? He would take care of Zaknafein later ...
But Dantrag hoped in vain that Zaknafein´s pride would lead them together one day, or that their paths would cross coincidentally. For years he desired to fight Zaknafein, and the rivalry between the two Weapon Masters was no secret in Menzoberranzan, but Matron Baenre had made it clear that she would not allow him to seek out the upstart. Dantrag believed - or wanted to believe - that Zaknafein did not come to him out of fear.
Zaknafein´s son, Drizzt Do´Urden, born years after the beginning of the Weapon Masters´ rivalry, made things even worse. From his first year at the Academy on, he was rumoured to be the greatest talent Menzoberranzan had seen in centuries. Whether this was true or not, Drizzt was clearly better than Berg´inyon, the youngest Baenre son who entered Melee-Magthere at the same time as Drizzt. Drizzt, trained by Zaknafein, bested Berg´inyon, trained by Dantrag.
Dantrag´s mood worsened even more - something the Baenre soldiers under his command noticed in a rather painful way - his arrogance became nearly unbearable, and the only moments he thoroughly enjoyed were those spent with Gromph.
The Baenre lost even the possibility to fight Zaknafein in the year Drizzt graduated from the Academy. The Weapon Master died, and not by Dantrag´s hands, but by Matron Do´Urden´s. She sacrificed him to Lolth, and Drizzt - at this time a patrol leader - fled from Menzoberranzan. Many rumours existed about the events at House Do´Urden, about Drizzt who had forsaken his people and cursed the Spider Queen, about Zaknafein who had given his life to save Drizzt.
Dantrag did not care why Zaknafein had been killed or why Drizzt had left. But it was a fact that Zaknafein was dead, and even though some voices still uttered doubt about who would have won had Dantrag and Zaknafein ever met each other in battle, Dantrag was again Menzoberranzan´s finest living Weapon Master.
But the one who doubted most was Dantrag himself. He had wanted to prove that he was the better, he had wanted to look into Zaknafein´s dying eyes, to spit in his face. Or in Drizzt´s, because House Do´Urden's failure in killing the renegade showed how formidable the young fighter had become. Killing Drizzt would be just as good as killing Zaknafein. But again, there was no opportunity to kill someone who had disappeared into the Underdark, maybe even left it.
Dantrag slowly accepted that there would be no way to prove his superiority over House Do´Urden´s fighters. Even more as House Do´Urden was soon extinguished, and with it, the memory of Zaknafein began to vanish.
But years later, Drizzt Do´Urden returned to Menzoberranzan, and when Bregan D´aerthe captured him and delivered him to Matron Baenre, Dantrag got the permission to fight the renegade before he was to be sacrificed.
And he got his fight, even if under different circumstances than planned, in the lightless corridors of the Underdark, during Drizzt´s attempt to escape from Menzoberranzan.
