DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the original FR characters. They belong to their respective owners/authors. I do own the OCs, however.

I've been re-reding Siege of Darkness and started wondering about the relationship between the weird Weapons Master of the Second House and his Matron. He was quite an interesting character (I mean a hardcore punk drow gladiator, yay!) and he is shown to have much more freedom of action than most Patrons and more self expression than anyone except Jarlaxle. How did he meet the Matron? How did their relationship develop?

Here's my take at it, hope you like it.

Will be multichapter and will contain violence and lemons. This is about drows, not pansies. I'd feel silly to write anything lower than T-rated about drow.

CHAPTER WARNING: violence, a bit of bloodplay and lemon.

Flame me all you want, I'm fireproof.

Enjoy!

P.S. To all who were reding Misplaced, please do not kill me, I'll get back to it as soon as the inspiration returns. Meanwhile, there will be enough action and sarcasm in this, I hope.

EDIT: formatting. It was awful, I apologize.

Jhaelas' ragtag band of gladiators and mercenaries was the only family, speaking in the loosest possible sense, Uthegental had even known.
His birth family, as far as he remembered, which was not much since he had left it probably before hitting fifteen, had been of rather poor artisans, not exactly bottom feeders, but not much higher up in the food chain.
They already had an older boy and two girls and they didn't really need an awkward boy who was already taller than his mother and ate more than his siblings combined. He didn't exactly know how much Jhaelas gave them for him, but surely the old half-drow businessman had recovered his expenses several tens of times over with him.
Jhaelas had a keen eye for business and bargains and had put his investment to work immediately.
As a kid, he had worked as a messenger and errand-boy, but as soon as Jhaelas thought he was old enough, which meant he was probably too young by any other standard, the old ringmaster put him to train with the rest of the troop.
He couldn't be too sure because he didn't really know how old he was, but he suspected he hit the battlefield before thirty, when other drow youths were still in school, but he didn't mind.
He was good at fighting, very good, and his freakish stature and build were an advantage in that, when usually they were cause for insults and despise.
Uthegental had lost the count of how many times people had whispered behind his back or told him to his face that one of his parents must have been a human or even an orc and of how many people he had killed or severely maimed for that, along the years.
As far as he remembered, both his parents had been full-blooded drow, but one can never be entirely sure of his ancestors.
Despite his humble origins and problematic lineage, he was now one of the most feared gladiators of the Underdark and surely the best fighter in Jhaelas troop.
He had accrued enough money in prizes and booty to buy his freedom back from the half-drow ringmaster, but he had no reason to do so.
He lived for fighting, couldn't do anything apart from that and travelling with Jhaelas' troop ensured that he didn't have to provide for himself and was never too far away from a good fight, be it in the arena or in some mercenary venture.
Jhaelas was wise enough not to get involved into power struggles between houses, but working for merchants was anything but boring.
Why should he change this life for an employment as a soldier in some Noble House or other?
The chances of getting a post as Weapons Master, being an ex-slave and not having trained in some posh Academy, were as slim as a gnome's ass.
Uthegental surely didn't want to serve under one of those posh noble swodrsboys or to bow and scrape to a matron, thank you very much.
He was happy enough as he was, free but in name, doing what he liked to do without a care in the world, almost.

Noble House Baenre, the First House of Menzoberranzan, was organizing a lavish festival for its matriarch's eight hundredth birthday, a massive affair with all sorts of splendid entertainment and was hiring the most renowned gladiatorial companies to have performances staged over the course of at least six months.
Jhaelas was never one to refuse a good contract and there wouldn't be another as good as this for centuries, probably, that's why the troop had moved to the City of Spiders.
The last time he had been in Menzoberranzan, Uthegental had been a green youth barely out of his thirties and remembered the city as something out of a dream, with soaring towers and stately mansions.
Returning there after almost seventy years, he had to admit that the city looked still splendid even to his now-jaded eyes, a thing of dark beauty and power, bustling with activity and schemes, a fascinating place.
The Baenre and their flunkies had spared no effort for the Old Prune's jubilee.
An amphitheatre-cum-barracks had been hastily constructed and the various gladiatorial troops had been housed there, in separate buildings to prevent unscheduled fights.
The schedule was already packed enough that nobody wanted to waste men and blood in petty rivalries when there was a contract to be fulfilled: there would be single combats, to death or otherwise, group fights, venationes against wild beasts from the Underdark and even the re-enactment of a couple of historical fights.
Uthegental couldn't wait for the game to be on.

Thanks to his exalted status as top fighter of the troop, he had been housed in a single, rather big room rather than in a dormitory.
On one side, he couldn't complain because the bed was much better than the pallets the others had got and at least he wouldn't have to put up with the snores and farts of his fellow gladiators, but a single room also meant that Jhaelas wanted or at least hoped for him to entertain wealthy ladies.
It would not be the first time, not at all, but Uthegental still dreaded it.
The jalils surely didn't want to bed him for his beauty or wit, of both of which he had a sparing amount.
Usually, his clients were the most frustrated females around, those who wanted to vent their anger at something or someone and who found it really empowering to tie him somewhere and beat him silly or otherwise humiliate him.
Jhaelas had obviously nothing against it, as long as they didn't do any lasting damage or paid extra if that was the case.
Even his outlandish appearance, with multiple ear piercings, a ring in his nose and short, spiked hair, did nothing to deter the ladies.
The taste of the exotic spiced up the experience, Jhaelas said.
During their last stay in Sschryndlyn, Uthegental had had a regular customer, a tiny priestess of a rather unimportant, low-ranking Noble House with a very short temper and a huge ego, who saw offenses where there were none and got her kicks out of tying him to the bed and slapping him on his face while she had his way with him, very selfishly leaving him unsatisfied every single time.
By the Goddess, he hated being slapped!
After her third visit in as many weeks, he couldn't stand it anymore and went to a tattoo shop in the lower district and got both his cheeks pierced.
It hurt like hell, but the next time she came he was already sporting steel spikes and she couldn't bloody well slap him anymore.
Small victory, because that obviously sent her into a fit of fury and the bastard whipped him within an inch of his life.
He had to remain in bed for a week, afterwards, but at least she didn't seek him out anymore.
He hoped to the Goddess he wouldn't get anything like that this time around, but the Goddess was notoriously cruel and would probably send him something worse.
He had heard that the Old Prune Baenre, despite her ancient age was still very keen on men.
The worst that could happen to him would be getting a summons from her.
He highly doubted he could concentrate and abstract enough, imagining to be somewhere else, anywhere else, to be able to perform in that case.
Uthegental shivered in disgust and shook his head.
It would do him much better to concentrate on training.
Whatever the Goddess willed would happen and there was no sense in trying to anticipate her will.
He was confident he would be able to survive whatever was sent to him, as usual.

Mez'Barris Armgo, second daughter of House Barrison Del'Armgo liked to fight and to watch people fight a bit too much than it was considered acceptable for a noble drow female.
She appeared to be unsubtle and rather dull, also because she was rather taller and more muscular than it was fashionable among the quality, but apart from her penchant for fighting, she had a great understanding of tactics and strategy and knew how to play with the cards that were dealt her, even if they were not wonderful.
At the moment, she was not engaged in any scheme, however and just wanted to enjoy herself.
The Baenre might be a bunch of stuck-up bastards, but, by the Goddess, they knew how to organize an event.
The arena, built mainly on their allies' expenses if one wanted to give credit to rumours, was big enough to house twenty-five thousand people and the fighters had been sourced throughout the Underdark to provide the best entertainment available and so far they had lived up, and sometimes died rather messily, to her expectations.
The main event of the day was supposed to be the next fight: a guy billed only as Streeaka Droc'uh, the Crazy Dragon, against a Quick Jhuldaer, the Red Striker, both champions of their respective gladiatorial troops, who would fight to the death.
The contenders entered the arena amid a roar of applause and encouragement.
Quick Jhuldaer looked like the average drow swordsman, albeit wearing an outrageous red suit with flashy boots and a swishing cape.
Mez'Barris had the impression that he would show nothing more exciting than any graduate from Melee Maghtere could.
The one called Streeaka Droc'uh, instead, was really remarkable.
He was the tallest and strongest drow Mez'Barris had ever seen, probably a bit over six feet tall and heavily muscled, and sported unusually short hair and quite a lot of piercings.
Clad only in a skin-tight pair of lizardskin pants and boots, his face and chest streaked with red and yellow body paint, he wielded a huge trident and a net and, according to Mez'Barris, looked positively exciting.
Both contenders bowed to the matrons in honour seats and to the rest of the public.
There was a hush among the crowd as the opponents stiffly bowed to each other and then Quick Jhuldaer darted fast as lightning and scored a hit on his opponent's chest.
The Crazy Dragon didn't even flinch, even if blood was running on his skin to the waist.
For a moment Mez'Barris thought that maybe she had been mistaken and the exotic stranger was just ornamental and was not really good in a fight, then Quick Jhuldaer darted again, smirking as if he had the victory in his hands, and his opponent evaded the cut easily, almost lazily.
"I've let you nick me on purpose, the first time, just for kicks. Now it is my turn." the Crazy Dragon said with a menacing smile.
To his credit, the Red Striker remained undaunted and launched a quick series of thrusts and slashes, which the bigger man either evaded or blocked with his trident and then, in a blink, Quick Jhuldaer was being held in the bigger man's grip, thrashing and screaming, his sword arm twisted at an odd angle, his own sword embedded quite painfully in his guts.
His opponent's trident and net were abandoned on the floor of the arena.
"How boring…" the Crazy Dragon commented and gutted his opponent to the throat like a fish.
The crowd exploded in a roar of appreciation as the winner let the corpse fall to the floor and bowed to the public again, smirking like a warp-beast who had just gotten a tubful of cream.
Mez'Barris had never seen anything half so sexy and savage in her entire life and had never felt so awfully turned on by a male.
Without a second thought, she abandoned her seat.
Even if there were more fights after that, she had already seen all she wanted to see.
She slinked out of the public area and into the backstage.
She had to find the Crazy Dragon's manager before someone else got the same idea.

Unfortunately, his fight on the opening day had been a big disappointment.
He had hoped for something close, he would have liked to have to work for it, to risk it, instead his opponent had been a showy brat in a ridiculous costume, fast as hell but with the same amount of creativity as a snail.
Really, what did the organizers think?
If that was the champion of his troop, the rest of it must be composed entirely of idiots.
Uthegental was still feeling quite frustrated. He had hoped for a good fight to vent his anger, of which he seemed to always have more than enough to spare, and got that travesty instead.
"What else could happen today?" he asked himself.
As if on cue, the door of his room opened. Uthegental turned, thinking it would be some servant bringing water for his bath, and met the green gaze of an unknown, richly-dressed jalil.
"Why did I ask?" he thought to himself, resigned.
The newcomer was tall enough that the top of her head almost reached his chin and strongly built, dressed in an embroidered, dark green mini-top-and-baggy-pants outfit that showed off nicely her muscled shoulders and arms and her toned midriff, her hair bound in cornrows woven with jade charms.
She was looking at him with hunger, almost, judging by the way her eyes racked up and down his body and by how she licked her lips with her pink tongue.
"Up close you're even better." the jalil said.
Her voice was pleasantly rough and low-pitched, he noticed, and then she closed the distance and, grabbing the short hair on the back of his head, pressed her lips to his in a passionate, hungry kiss.
Uthegental's head swam and his trousers apparently tightened.
Never before had any of his customers kissed him that way, as if they really lusted after him instead of wanting to use him as stress relief.
It felt quite good, hell, no, it felt really good, especially when her hands started to roam all over his chest and shoulders, exploring him.
He had to struggle with himself to be a good jaluk and not overstep his bounds, but he managed to keep his hands by his sides even if some part of him, or rather the most of him, wanted to tear that mini-top off her and do the same to her.
As if overhearing his thoughts, and it could be since he was thinking so hard about it, the jalil grabbed one of his hands into hers (her hands were calloused as a warrior's and he liked that) and guided it to her breast, sliding it underneath her top.
His mind clouded almost instantaneously with lust and his second hand moved to her other breast of its own accord and, judging from the way she was moaning into the kiss, the jalil was enjoying it.
Her breasts were firm and perky, the skin silken under his touch and the nipples already pebbled in excitement.
Suddenly, and without even having to concentrate on it, his pants felt even tighter than before.
The jalil apparently decided that it was the perfect moment to grind herself against him and, to his immense chagrin, he couldn't stifle a moan when their bodies got in contact.
The jalil broke the kiss and Uthegental knew he was going to be reprimanded, but the jalil only sneaked a hand down from his chest downwards and squeezed him not quite gently through his pants.
Uthegental ground his teeth to stifle another moan and managed to turn it into a hiss.
That jalil was going to drive him completely crazy, even crazier than he usually was.
"It seems like you are big everywhere… I like it." she said playfully and Uthegental felt almost embarrassed about her appreciation and then the damned jalil unfastened his trousers and her hand closed around his manhood and even the self-control he had developed along the years was not enough to keep him from moaning and bucking into her hand.
"By the Goddess, you're eager, aren't you?" she whispered, stroking him again, harder.
He whimpered hopelessly.
He knew that some sort of shit was bound to happen later, but, Goddess, he almost didn't care as long as she didn't stop.
"It is good. – she continued, her hand sliding slowly along his twitching cock – I am glad you want me, because I want you very much."
Oh, hell, Uthegental thought, her hands… And her voice...
He almost couldn't wait until she backed him into the bed and started fucking him.
He'd bet that she would ride him harder than she would a lizard-mount and maybe she would let him come.
Uthegental was not overly religious, but he felt himself praying fervently that it was the case and that his customer was not one of those jalil who got her kicks out of riling males up only to leave them hanging.
"I've never seen anything half so handsome as you…" she whispered, standing on tiptoes to give a brief lick to his earlobe.
Well, yes, the jalil was definitely crazy, or maybe just perverse, or only tasteless, perhaps, but he was not going to complain about it.
Most definitely not.
The jalil let go of his manhood, which was bad in the short term, but started backing him towards the bed, which was definitely good in the long term, because if she had kept stroking him any longer, he sure as hell wouldn't have lasted long enough to satisfy her.
She pushed him back until the back of his knees hit the bedstead and then shoved him onto the matrass.
He inwardly rejoiced.
Almost there, he told himself, resist just a bit more.
The jalil quickly stripped out of her clothes and he frantically tried to get rid of his boots and his trousers.
The wound on his chest troubled him a bit when he bent down to get his boots off, but it could wait.
Priorities are fundamental: get laid first, get healed later. It was not like it was anything too serious.
"Does it hurt you?" she asked.
She was completely naked now and she was absolutely gorgeous and her eyes sparkled mischievously.
It took him several tries to find his voice and it sounded rougher than usual.
"Do not worry, mistress. – he replied – It is just a fleshwound."
The jalil smiled and cocked her head slightly to the side, and then suddenly she was on her knees in front of him.
"What?" he thought, completely astonished.
Her pink tongue darted out and licked along the gash in his skin.
Uthegental gasped, he didn't even know if it was pleasure or pain, maybe a bit of both, but it was amazing.
Her arms sneaked around his waist and she nudged his legs apart and settled between them so that her front rubbed against his aching manhood and her tongue traced the wound gently, oh so gently.
He was beyond words, almost, but not beyond gasping and whimpering and trembling.
His hands balled into the bedclothes and he was almost to the point of begging her to fuck him, when she stopped and disentangled herself from him, licking her lips.
"You taste good…" she said and he felt almost dizzy with lust.
She finally climbed onto the bed and straddled him, dragging him into another breath-taking kiss.
He could taste his own blood onto her lips and for some reason this aroused him even more.
"Please, please, please…" he repeated in his head, urging her silently to do with him whatever she wanted, but the infuriatingly sexy jalil stopped again and rolled them over, ending up sprawling onto the bed on her back and dragging him on top of her.
Uthegental gritted his teeth as his wound gave a twinge and looked a question to her. What was all that about?
The jalil smiled seductively and wound her hands into his spiky hair.
"I want you on top of me. – she whispered in his ear – Inside me. - Her legs wrapped around his waist – I want you to shove that big cock of yours into me, hard, and make me scream." she said and Uthegental felt his head spinning madly from lack of blood.
It must have gone all south in an instant, he thought.
It was awfully erotic, but almost unheard of.
The place of a male was on the bottom, a tool to pleasure his mistress.
Even if he wanted nothing more than do exactly as she asked, he hesitated a moment.
The jalil sighed.
"I know you want to. And I want it too. – she grabbed one of his hands again and guided it between her legs – Feel how wet I am for you…" she breathed in his ear. Uthegental shuddered.
Yes, she was so wet and warm and her womanly folds were invitingly open for him. How could he resist?
Even if she was a messenger from Lolth, ready to punish him afterwards for doing something so daring and almost blasphemous, at this point there was no going back. He had to have her.
He positioned himself against her folds and gently pressed into her.
Oh, hell, she was not only hot and wet but also wonderfully tight, squeezing his cock like a vice grip.
It took every ounce of his self-control not to shove it all the way in, but to ease into her, especially with her moaning and trembling as she was. ~Once he was all the way in (and he felt like they fit together as pieces of a jigsaw) he stopped for a moment to regain his breath and allow her to adjust to the feeling.
"Go. Do it." she urged him after a handful of seconds, biting on his neck.
He had never been happier to oblige a jalil.
He withdrew almost all the way out and then slammed himself all the way back in and she cried out in pleasure, holding on to him ferociously.
Goddess, it felt so good to pound himself into her mercilessly, to hear her scream and whimper, to feel her shake and tremble, her heartbeat frantic, her nails scoring paths onto his back and arms.
He knew he had to control himself and stop before it was too late, but the jalil stopped screaming and arched her back almost painfully, all her body tensing and then she started to convulse, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Her womanhood constricted around him, clenching and unclenching rhythmically and his own climax caught him unawares, causing him to spill himself inside her with a savage roar.
It took him long moments to realize what he had done and, even then, part of him was scared shitless and felt guilty, while the rest of him was still floating around like mushroom stalks on water and just feeling too good to care.
It took him even longer to find his breath and collect his thoughts enough to stammer excuses to the still-unnamed jalil.
She just gave him a relaxed smile and stroked his hair. "I'd be happy to beget warriors as strong and handsome as you are." she said calmly and, not for the first time that day, Uthegental was struck completely speechless.
That jalil was completely unbelievable.
The jalil laughed, which was not entirely a good idea, because it made something in her body contract and squeeze his softening manhood still inside her.
He gasped breathlessly and laid his head on her shoulder.
"Roll us over, if you please. – she said – You're quite heavy."
Without even thinking about it, Uthegental obeyed and found himself where he should have been, stretched on the bed with the jalil on top of him.
"That's better." she said impishly, folding her arms on his chest and resting her head on top of them.
Her green eyes zeroed in on his face with such intensity that he felt like squirming away and hiding.
"Now, now, - she said, noticing his unease – there is no need to be shy. I like you. Do you have a name other than Streeaka Droc'uh?"
He nodded. "My name is Uthegental, mistress." he replied.
He was curious about her name as well, even just to treasure it when she went away, her curiosity and lust sated, but he was in no position to ask.
Jalils sometimes wished to have a little fun incognito.
The jalil nodded approvingly. "I like it. And how did you come by such interesting nickname?" she enquired, gently stroking his chin.
"Just a mercenary joke, mistress." he replied.
"Pray, tell me. It must be interesting." she insisted and Uthegental obliged, not only because it was an order, albeit indirect, but because it was the first time one of his customers was interested in him as a person and not just in his, well, equipment.
"I was way younger, it was my first mission and I was drinking with some other mercenaries in a tavern when one of the patrons started saying I was half-orc. – he narrated, detached - I was drinking some distilled fungus spirit for a dare, it was awful, but strong and I was a bit drunk, so I got a torch from the wall and took a mouthful of alcohol and somehow managed to set him on fire. This caused a bar fight, obviously enough, and I was so angry and drunk that I got to two of the guy's friends before anyone could stop me and get me out of there. Afterwards, my boss started calling me like that and somehow the name stuck. And to be rumoured to have dragon's blood is surely better than to be suspected to be half-orc."
"How old were you?" she asked, laughing silently.
"I do not really know, mistress. Young." Uthegental replied. "Possibly too young." he thought to himself.
"You know, - she said cheerfully, changing topic rather abruptly – this turned out to be even better than I had imagined. I guess you had never done this before, however."
Uthegental shook his head. "I am glad that I pleased you despite my ignorance, mistress." he replied, politely accepting the compliment.
The jalil laughed. "And did you enjoy it?" she whispered seductively, dipping her head to kiss him again.
"Yes…" he replied in a low, tight voice at the end of the kiss, feeling his manhood stiffen again, still inside her.
"Would you like to do it again?" asked the seductress, wriggling on his lap.
Uthegental closed his eyes and arched his back slightly at the friction.
"Yes, Goddess help me, yes…" he replied and she rolled them all over again.