Divergence
Chapter One
Author's Note: Yes, I read Gauntlgrym, and yes, I am firmly convinced that Barrabus the Gray is Artemis Entreri. And yes, I am saddened by that. After 86 years of life since Road of the Patriarch, he hasn't changed much it seems. And that bothers me. Especially since I saw such promise in him after his bit of introspection with Idalia's Flute. Read my fic trio Damage, Dawn, and Disaster for the full treatment. In fact, it's probably a good idea to give them a quick skim so you'll know where I'm coming from with this fic. Provided you can spare the time.
But I like my fanfiction to stay compatible with canon as much as possible and I do consider everything that comes from RAS to be canon. That doesn't mean I can't do what I want in between to make canon suit me in my fanfiction since (here comes the Disclaimer):
Disclaimer: I didn't invent most of these characters and make no profit off Wizards of the Coast's publications (though I do wish they'd let me write for them!).
So since I can do what I want to keep my own interpretation of Artemis Entreri and still make it jive with canon in Gauntlgrym, here is Divergence to explain just how Barrabus the Gray came to be as well as what happened next for Artemis and Dwahvel after Disaster.
I hope you'll read and enjoy.
Waterdeep; a little over eight years after Disaster/Pirate King. Just a bit before the start of Ghost King to place within RAS's timeline.
Dwahvel Tiggerwillies Entreri stood on the staircase of her home in Waterdeep, watching a young man named Cullon drill a small group of youths in basic swordsmanship in the large warehouse that made up the ground floor of their home.
Over and over he called out instructions to them, yelling at them to block, shouting orders to keep their guards up. At last they stood sweating and panting before him. One young man actually gasped for breath bent over with both hands on his knees, his sword dangling loosely in his grip.
Without warning Cullon pulled his own blade and drove the boy back up to a standing position with the tip of his sword at his throat for a guide. The boy's eyes grew wide, the whites showing in fear as the sharp blade brought a ruby pearl of blood to the skin of his neck.
"Always stay alert," Cullon instructed coolly. "A goblin will not let you rest, an orc will not give you quarter. Think like a predator, not like prey. If you are afraid, do not take up the blade. Go home. Become a merchant or a farmer. Do not think to become a swordsman."
Just as quickly, Cullon's swordtip dropped away and the blade found its sheath again in complete silence, but the young swordmaster never broke his direct gaze into the boy's eyes.
Dwahvel fancied she could see the pulse in the boy's throat as his heart surely pounded in fear. Then just as abruptly, the boy's sword dropped to the floor with a clatter and he practically ran from the building.
All the other boys straightened noticeably as Cullon turned to look at them, his blue eyes unyielding in their expectation. "Anyone else?" he asked quietly. "Now is the time."
Two or three of the boys looked at each other questioningly, but most stood their ground solidly. After a pause, Cullon dismissed the group.
They left quietly out the front door of the warehouse and Cullon walked over to the water jug.
Suddenly her husband appeared at the instructor's side. Even knowing his uncanny abilities to navigate shadow, she was still frequently startled by his sudden appearance in places she was certain he had not been before.
"Sir," Cullon began in surprise, practically choking on the water he'd just drank.
Artemis Entreri gave the young man as much of a smile as he ever had for anyone—far more smile in the past few years than in his entire previous life—and actually patted him once on the back. Dwahvel wasn't sure if it was in camaraderie or to keep Cullon from choking to death.
"You did well," Entreri stated. "That one was not cut out for this life. You'll lose a few more before you're done with them, but the majority will stay and become decent swordsmen. One might even become as good as you or Ballantin."
"Have you heard from Ballantin?" Cullon asked expectantly. "It's been over two weeks since he left for Amn."
"Melissandra got word today that the caravan made it safely. Not even a hint of trouble," Entreri answered. Then he strode over to the staircase where Dwahvel stood, his movements as light as a dancer and as economical as a thief.
"And have you had a good day, my dear wife?" he asked, only a light layer of self-mockery in his tone.
"Delightful, my dear husband," she responded just as lightly. Then she gave him a brief kiss on the lips before turning to head back up the stairs. "Cullon, would you like to join us for lunch?"
"No, thank you, ma'am," he responded politely. "I have to go visit the armorer's before a meeting with Captain Jarrol. Will you be there, sir?" he asked Entreri.
"I just came from Jarrol's," Entreri responded with a shake of his head. "You deal with the merchant men if you like, Cullon. Jarrol knows where I stand."
"Very well, sir," Cullon replied with a bow then took his leave.
Dwahvel studied her husband for a long moment. "So no trips back to Memnon for you, Artemis?" she asked softly.
Her Artemis looked away for a moment, as if he could see through the walls and out of Waterdeep and across the deserts back to his home city. Then he turned to her with a quiet answer. "No. But Cullon can go if he wishes."
Then he took a step up the stairs toward her, and with one hand lightly resting on the bare skin of her neck walked with her up to the main living area of the house. She could feel his fingers playing with the little curls of hair that had escaped their combs and pins, pulling a few more free as he went.
"And how were Elissa and the children?" she asked as they entered the kitchen for lunch.
He took down three dishes from the cabinet while she gave the soup another stir on the cookstove. "Lenora has her coming out in just a few weeks and you and I are of course invited," he began to her delight.
"I can't believe she is seventeen already," Dwahvel sighed. "She was just a little girl when we came here."
"I know," Artemis said with a sigh of his own. "Last week was Emory's birthday. He would have been twenty-one. It's been very hard on Manfred."
Dwahvel could only imagine how difficult it had been for Manfred and Elissa to lose their oldest in such a horrible way. She shivered as she thought how close she'd been to losing Artemis as well in the lacedon attack that had destroyed all of Waterdeep's relief flotilla to Luskan—all but one ship—the ship her husband had sailed on. But even his considerable skills had not managed to save them all from death as Captain Manfred Jarrol's twelve year old son Emory had been slaughtered by the undead ghouls driven by the lich of Luskan.
Artemis sat down at the table and stared out the window over the washing sink. "Tremaine asked again if I would take him on as a student," he said sadly, still staring out into the blue sky outside their home.
Then he turned to his wife with a sadness in his dark gray eyes that the assassin of old would have never shown. "He's only seven, Dwahvel. But he is so much like his brother," Artemis said.
Dwahvel remembered how hard it had been for her husband when his friend Manfred had announced that he and Elissa were expecting again—so soon after losing their son. And when the baby had been born a boy, Artemis had been distant, almost as if he was not willing to allow another child into their lives.
She could only guess his reasons why.
Then she too had become pregnant. Unfortunately, the pregnancy ended in a miscarriage at only a little over a month-her first of three miscarriages.
The first time, neither of them had been too bothered by the loss. It had taken them completely by surprise then had ended before they either really got used to the idea of becoming parents.
But the second and the third had become progressively more difficult—especially when the third had lasted nearly four months, enough time to think this child might go to term.
By then, little Tremaine was almost four and was the image of his lost older brother. While at the Jarrols' one afternoon, he'd fallen while playing and had skinned his knee. Blood pouring down his leg, he'd limped up to her husband and announced that he'd hurt himself. She'd watched as Artemis carefully wrapped a handkerchief around the wound, and all the while Tremaine kept his chin up and bit his lip to keep from crying.
"Was I brave, Mr. Enteri?" he'd asked once the bandaging was done.
"You were indeed," Artemis had replied. And out of nowhere, her husband extended his hand to the little boy, who took it solemnly in a firm shake.
That evening back at their home, Artemis had held her gently, one hand across her belly. Again she could only guess his thoughts.
But the next time she got pregnant, he was a nervous wreck. He forbade her to leave their sofa for the entire pregnancy. He waited on her hand and foot, enlisting help from Elissa and her three girls on the rare occasions that he was forced to be away on business.
He'd even drafted their erstwhile wizard Melissandra Deneviere in conducting various healings and nursemaiding activities, even as the wizard repeatedly complained that healings weren't necessary when mother and child were perfectly healthy.
And when their baby was born, the midwife had laid the little bundle carefully into his arms. Dwahvel watched, tears of joy and exhaustion streaming down her cheeks as her Artemis cradled the infant with an expression she could not interpret.
Her husband had a beautiful smile. A smile he'd only shown her on a very few rare occasions—a smile he never showed anyone outside their home.
But as their three and a half year old daughter Guendoline skipped into the kitchen for lunch-her brown curls bouncing—the room lit up with the sunshine of Artemis Entreri's smile.
