Author's Note: I decided to redo this story; since it has been so long since I worked on it, I got a sudden desire to rewrite it and hopefully fix some of the issues that I had previously. Not to mention fixing the grammatical errors and such that I have become quite a bit more aware of, now being a college student and all. This story is inspired by Phil Collins' song from the Tarzan soundtrack "You'll Be In My Heart". So if anyone wants to blame anyone for this drivel that would be the one to write irate emails to.

Drizzt and co. belong to the lovely and talented Mr. Salvatore. I don't own them, and if I did, Drizzt would probably not go adventuring very often... -blushes and clears throat- But I digress. Forgotten Realms, spells and other such info are owned by Wizards of the Coast and I'm not making a bloody penny off of this. Chances are if you don't recognize the character, I own them. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: When You Aren't Looking

Sometimes, it seems that destiny enjoys paradoxes. Things that have absolutely no business happening happen just the same and bring a whole mess of complications, both enjoyable and not, into someone's life. When things never work out the way that one hopes they will, that is when destiny finds it the easiest to work. And it rarely ever ends up being what one hoped for or expected. Sometimes destiny was kind, bringing people and events into one's life that were unexpected and joyful. Other times, it brought sorrow and heartbreak. But always, destiny was inevitable. There was a saying, a very accurate one, given the experiences that he had endured; close a door and fate will find a window you didn't lock. Those that destiny choose lead interesting lives, and live in eventful times. For better or worse, their lives are anything but ordinary.

And Drizzt Do'Urden was very much a creature of destiny.

From birth he was different from those around him; something unusual drove him from his family and his birthplace. Though he could have taken his place among his people and followed in his father's footsteps, becoming an honored part of a powerful household, the Weapons Master of House Do'Urden, he chose a different path. Or some would say, the path to the light chose him. Something deep within him had called for something more. And he, being a creature of principle and honor, answered that call. In doing so, he forsake everything he ever knew and went to join a world that hated and feared him for nothing more than reputation of his people and the color of his skin. And yet he had found friends; compatriots who loved him as his family never had been capable, so caught up in their schemes of power and treachery. Bruenor, Wulfgar, Regis and Cattie-Brie had been closer than family to him, sharing things that bound them to one another. And he missed them deeply. If he could have, he would have spent all the long years of his life in their company but, as an elf, and a drow at that, his years would span far beyond those of his dearest friends.

It was simply a fact of existence for Drizzt to outlive his friends by hundreds of years and his fate was to carry the memories of his odd little family for the rest of his many days. And so he would. How odd...of them all he, the most despised and hunted of the little troupe, had ended up outliving them all. How strange indeed. They had all lived to venerable age and had died happy and fulfilled. They had lived well, and they would never be forgotten. The good that they had done would live on after them, and none could soil their memory, immortalized in the ageless heart of an elf. Drizzt's only regret for their lives was that he could not join them in death. Not yet. There were battles to fight still, and much work left to do. Darkness still stalked the lands, and his swords and heart was devoted to the destruction of that darkness. As long as he had breath in his body, he would fight on. His friends would have it no other way. And he did not wish to disappoint them when next they met in the sunlit fields of the afterlife.

The dark elf mused on these things as he made his way through the forest. He had taken to wandering again now that he was alone, and he found that it suited him. Solitude comforted him actually, for even in his most companionable there was still some part of him that was eternally alone, that would always crave the silence of separation. And now, after a lifetime with his friends, he was taking his time alone to reflect on them and what they had meant to him. It was a mourning process of a sort, but not the wailing and lamentation of the shorter lived races. For an elf, death was merely a passage into another life, and he contemplated his friends' former lives with him. He had no regrets and looked forward to seeing them in the afterworld when his time was over. When his time on this world was finished, he was confident that they would be waiting to welcome him home. And he would return to the fellowship and friendship that he missed so, the memory of which warmed his heart in the coldest days of loneliness and despair. One day…one day he would be with them once more.

But for now...Drizzt Do'Urden would live.

Far to the north in the eastern most tip of the High Forest, Drizzt Do'Urden had made his home. It felt right, to be back again in the cool, green glades of the forest, to make his home among the trees, to taste the fresh, sweet air of the wild places of this world, not the smoke and stench of a city. Too often it reminded him of his homeland, the cramped, crowded spaces of the cities more akin to the pressing darkness of the Underdark than he wished to think of. He had learned to love the sunlight as his kin feared it, and the wide open spaces still filled him with a thrill of discovery and pure, childlike joy to see and stand within them. The forest made the perfect home for him; he was respected by the druids that made their home there, and he was close enough to civilization to receive news of the world if he chose to. It was a fine place for him to settle, to enjoy his peace and quiet, and to heal the wounds that his friends' passing had brought him.

However, just a month ago had been the five year anniversary of the death of Regis, last of the group to pass on and Drizzt had made his way to Icewind Dale to pay his respects to his last living friend in his final resting place, there beside the bodies of his other companions who had passed on before him. The journey had been a bittersweet one for Drizzt; Icewind Dale had not changed, simply the people had. And yes, though they had heard the tales of the renegade Drow who had become protector of the very things his brethren sought to destroy and enslave, there was still that eerie silence, that heavy watchfulness that followed him through his journey. However, now he was heading home once more. Just a few weeks out now, not far at all. Soon he'd be back in his home, the modest little cabin he had built for himself. After all, what need had he for flashy houses and such things? He was a simple ranger; and for now, that was all he was. Surprisingly enough, or perhaps not so surprising, given his history, that was a very comforting thought.

He had been traveling for days when the scent of smoke caught his nose. It was not the sort of smoke from a cookfire or from a hearth; it was something fouler, something that was uncomfortably familiar to him. Instantly he felt his skin prickle. Something wasn't right. Silent as a thought he slid through the forest, following the smell of smoke and, as he got closer, fresh blood. A break in the tree line ahead showed a small settlement...or what was left of it. He crept closer to the burning structures; rather simple buildings of thatch and stone, seeming to just be a small farming village. He hadn't gone more than a few feet when he stumbled across the first body. It was a boy of about sixteen winters. Beside his body lay an axe, and near him was the mangled body of a goblin. Drizzt frowned. Goblins. He had no love for goblins. They were filthy, stupid beasts with no regard for anything except eating, drinking and their next raid on innocent people. Odd though…they weren't usually so bold as to attack a settlement outright. And from the looks of things that was precisely what happened. He took a quick survey of the scene and shook his head. It must have been a large force...it seemed the entire village had been decimated, a good sixty people. He made his rounds carefully, checking for any survivors. Unfortunately, he found none.

With a heavy heart the dark elf began to pile the bodies for a funeral pyre, thinking it the only thing he could do for the poor people now when a faint cry caught his attention. Pausing, he stopped to listen. Again, the thin, wailing cry of...a child? He frowned, looking around. Where would a child have hidden in all of this that the goblins wouldn't have been able to scent it out and kill it? He began to follow the cry, leading him around the perimeter of the village. There he stumbled upon the body of a woman of middle years slumped on the ground. The cry...it was muffled and seemed to be coming from under the woman. Gently Drizzt rolled the woman's body over and stared in disbelief. A baby! He leaned down and scooped the little bundle up into his arms, staring down at the red faced sobbing infant. The child couldn't be more than a few months old. Drizzt looked down at the body once more. Apparently the woman had been shot from behind, probably while trying to take the baby to a safe place and when she fell, she covered the baby with her body so the goblins wouldn't find it.

Drizzt was at a loss. What could he do? He certainly couldn't take care of a baby...but he couldn't leave the little one here to die. He paused a moment. There was a temple to Ilmater in the town he had just passed, northeast of this village. Perhaps he could take the child there and the priests there would take care of it. The thought struck him. Was the little one a boy or a girl? Gingerly he unwrapped her blanket. A girl apparently, and surprisingly enough, the little one wasn't crying anymore. She simply lay in Drizzt's arms, staring up at him with huge, inquisitive gray eyes. He smiled a bit as he looked down at her. She had a head full of soft brown hair and the sweetest face he had ever seen. Not that he had previously had much contact with babies, but this one seemed rather calm and sweet for a child who had been through so much so recently. As gentle as a little dove. Odd...that seemed to suit her. "Well then little one, since I need something to call you, I suppose Dove will work for now. Do you like that name?" He laughed a bit, cradling the little one close to his chest. To his surprise, she gurgled and cooed her assent. Quietly he made his way back into the forest and headed southwest, towards Fallenkirk and the Temple of the God of Mercy.

A sharp cry from the makeshift carrier on his shoulders made Drizzt pause in fright. What was wrong? Was she hurt? Did she have to be...changed again? By all that was holy he hoped not. That was one experience the Drow would never forget, no matter how many centuries he would live. No, this seemed to be a different cry. He held her in his arms, inspecting her carefully; half afraid of what he would have to do now. Of all of his exploits, he wasn't sure what was worse; the re-taking of Mithril Hall, the battles with Artemis Entreri...or learning how to change an infant who seemed to find his horribly inept efforts amusing. He, Drizzt Do'Urden, one of the most skilled, nimble, swift warriors in the land, defeated by a messy diaper. Who knew that such a foul mess could come from so sweet looking a baby? It made him wonder how anyone could put up with raising a child. Two weeks of doing this seemed almost more than the stalwart ranger could bear. He didn't think he had the fortitude to do it longer.

But he had more pressing matters now. Little Dove was crying and Drizzt couldn't for the life of him figure out what was wrong. She was clean, she didn't seem to be hurt... Then realization dawned on him. Food. She was probably hungry. He had no idea how long she had been lying under her mother's body, but after a few hours of traveling, he assumed she was probably ready for a meal. The only question was...what could a baby eat? He winced as Dove let loose a particularly ear piercing shriek of displeasure. The baby's cries were getting more and more demanding and Drizzt knew that she would make herself sick if she kept crying. Hmm...all he had was his water skin. Well, that and his food rations. A baby had no teeth...maybe Dove was old enough that she could eat very soft food...like mashed up berries and the like. He thought a moment. He had oats that he used to make a thick porridge out of...maybe if he thinned it out and ground it up a bit better it would suffice until he could get something proper for her to eat.

"Shh...shhh little one...quiet...it will be all right...tlu suust lotha dalhar..." He tried to soothe the squalling child, looking around desperately. Berries...roots...things with juice: SOMETHING to put on her stomach until he could get the porridge ready. Some hard ration bread was all he could find in the immediate area and so he gave her that to chew on. Settling her down on the ground with the bread to chew on, he began working quickly to build a fire, placing a small cooking pot over it and pouring the contents of his water skin into the pot. Hopefully this would work. Otherwise he would have a very cranky baby on his hands until he could find a village to get some help in. If they would even help a Drow. Old prejudices die hard, even in the light of Drizzt's fame as a hero and protector of the lands. Some people didn't care what good he may have done, his skin and the reputation of his people were enough to make them desire to take up arms against him.

A little while later, after he had ground the oats into a fine meal, he added it to the now cooling water and mixed it into a thin paste. Placing Dove on his lap he began to gently spoon the soupy porridge into her mouth. She made a face at first from the taste, but her stomach was empty and she was not about to argue with any food being introduced to her. After a good portion of the porridge was gone, she snuffled and began to whine a bit. At first, Drizzt was terrified. Did the porridge make her sick? He picked her up, careful not to jar her too badly; he certainly didn't want her throwing up the soup-like concoction he had just gotten her to eat. He vaguely remembered seeing women pick up a just fed child and putting it on their shoulders and patting its back. Maybe it soothed the child and helped digestion. Well, anything was better than the little whimpering sobs that Dove was crying now. Gingerly he lifted her up and leaned her against his shoulder and began to pat and stroke her back gently. A few minutes later he was rewarded with a resounding belch and the immediate quietening of Dove's cries. He was feeling rather proud of himself when he felt something warm beginning to soak through the shoulder of the tunic he was wearing. His face went blank as he laid the now cooing and gurgling baby down on the ground and turned to see what was on his shoulder. A pale colored coating of what seemed to be part of Dove's meal now adorned the dark green of the Drow's clothing. Drizzt just looked down at the baby, looking impossibly cute and innocent as he wiped off his tunic. "You know, lotha uss, you are an awful lot of trouble for such a small creature."

The day progressed on rather uneventfully from that. After Drizzt cleaned his tunic as best he could (why oh why did baby expectoration smell worse to him than even goblins?) he had settled her back on his back and began to head out again. He was rewarded with the happy squeals and giggles of the baby as she bounced in her carrier. He smiled a bit to himself. Now, if one could get past the whole diaper and feeding and spitting up work, a child was actually quite nice. He had never thought of having children of his own; he had always assumed that he would be alone once Bruenor, Cattie, Regis and Wulfgar passed on and thus far he had been. Elves, and particularly Drow, had very long lives, lives lasting centuries, which gave them a long time to get to know a friend with a similarly long lifespan. It was one of the reasons perhaps that so often, elves did not become close to those races with a shorter lifespan. When a person has a lifespan of nearly a millennium, they tend to take things slower, such as friendship and even eventually love. After all, they had many, many years to let the relationship develop slowly and let feelings and trust grow deep and take root. However, friends of a different race would be nothing but a memory in just a blink of one's eye. And so Drizzt found it difficult to befriend others that he met, knowing that in a mere few centuries at best they would be gone and once more he would be alone.

Drizzt thought about Dove for a moment, how young she was, and his mind drifted back to another young woman. Cattie had been just a child when they met. Drizzt had watched her grow into a beautiful young woman, fall in love and marry Wulfgar. He had remained unchanged by time as she had gone from young woman to a matronly age until finally, age had turned her brilliant hair silver and had lined her face. But her eyes never changed. Even as he held her hand and watched her life slip away her eyes were still as fierce and beautiful as ever. To Drizzt she would always be that gangly girl with the fiery hair and the brightest smile he had ever seen. He missed her... though he would never admit it, he loved her. But he wouldn't let her know. He would complicate her life like that. Wulfgar had grown older beside her; if he and Cattie had been together he would have been forced to watch as she grew older and older and he stayed eternally the same. Elves didn't age as mortals did. Elves were either killed or they simply faded away. Their souls were not held as fast in this world as other races; it was what gave them their otherworldly quality. Their bodies were less substantial, less real than other races. They moved so quietly and gracefully because compared to other races their bodies were like spun air and water and spirit. As the body aged, it became more insubstantial until finally when the spirit departed of its own free will, nothing was there to hold the rest together and it just dissipated like mist in the sunlight.

Drizzt shook himself out of his melancholic ruminations. Dove was quiet; he assumed she had dozed off. He figured he ought to sleep while he could; a baby's sleeping patterns seemed a bit erratic to him. Gently he disentangled the straps of the carrier from his shoulders and laid Dove down gently on the ground beside him as he stretched out. Drizzt smiled, seeing her little face so peaceful in sleep. Trailing his finger along the round, pink cheeks he marveled at how soft and smooth her skin was. He just admired her for a moment, her tiny little mouth, pursed in sleep, her curly lashes and the little brown ringlets that were just beginning to darken to a brown. Her hands and feet had struck him with the sheer smallness of her. He was an elf, and beyond that a Drow; the smallest of the elven races. And yet this creature was so tiny, so fragile. Why, she couldn't even wrap her little hands all the way around one of his fingers! She was amazing to Drizzt, who had never been around such a tiny, helpless little thing. Never had he been the caretaker of something so utterly defenseless, something that relied on him for the very food she ate and the water she drank, something that couldn't even run from danger, much less defend herself from it. He couldn't quite feel it just yet, but the renegade Drow was slowly losing his heart to the baby that Fate had entrusted to his care.

A/N: By the way, if any of you readers play D&D and would like me to drop you into the story, let me know. I love inserting my friends' characters!

Drow Language Notes:

tlu suust lotha dalhar – Be quiet little child

lotha uss – little one