Part II: A Bad Day for Ballads
The Wackier Sequel

By Ariel

Description: Jarlaxle can't sing, shouldn't sing, and especially shouldn't attempt singing ballads to the wrong lady. Humor, Wackiness, and Insanity. Plotless.

Disclaimer: These two mercenaries belong to R.A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. It is not my intention to trample any copyrights. No profit is being made; I'm stuck with Ramen and rice.

A/N: More sugar-induced humor. Takes place a month after the events in "Of Music and Men." I reiterate: vaguely OOC and ultimately plotless. You have once again been warned. Written pre-POTWK (in June, actually) and therefore ignores all things established about the flute by that novel.

Trailsend, Damara
2nd of Eleint, 1368 D.R.

It was predictable. Unavoidable. Ultimately inevitable. Jarlaxle could not last a day—no, half a day—without getting in trouble. And trouble for Jarlaxle meant trouble for Entreri.

The assassin had a firm hold on Jarlaxle's hideous rainbow-colored cape. Exiting the elegant castle that towered over the city of Trailsend, Entreri dragged said drow behind him. "I told you not to do it," the human snapped.

Forced to follow, Jarlaxle grasped Entreri's arm and clung on as the assassin rushed across the wooden drawbridge and out into the cobblestone street. "Why not?" he asked, a picture of innocence. "She was a perfectly gorgeous lady, and I thought to immortalize her beauty with a lovely—"

"Bawdy," Entreri corrected, making his way down the wet and crowded street.

"Suggestive but still tasteful," Jarlaxle insisted, "ballad. What is the harm in that?"

"Other than the fact your singing voice sounds like a cat being stretched on the rack?"

Jarlaxle dodged a particularly large puddle of rainwater and then looked at Entreri with mock hurt. "I have a rather fine singing voice," he said. "At least I understand the concept of pitch, unlike an overly moody and charmless assassin I know. Every time you play your flute, the nearest songbirds faint, and all dogs within hearing range go mad. Not to mention that my eardrums bleed."

Entreri glanced over his shoulder with a wicked grin. "Yes. I know."

The elf sighed. "You dodged my question. Why was my musical poetry—"

"You mean steaming pile of horse manure?" Entreri interjected.

"—such an offense?" Jarlaxle continued.

Entreri stopped in his tracks, still not releasing his handful of hideous cape, and stared at the elf. "Why, I have no idea!" he said sarcastically, keeping his voice low despite the hum of the crowd. "If we aren't counting your heinous warbling and pathetic rhymes, then I'd say it would have to be the fact that you basically asked the baroness to lie with you."

Jarlaxle blinked. "So?"

The assassin felt his right eye twitch. "The baron was standing a mere five feet away! I can't get us out of Trailsend fast enough!" Entreri stalked off again, still dragging the drow behind him. "I swear, Jarlaxle, you charm our way into rich, powerful company only to get us chased away by an army."

The mercenary made a show of looking around at the carriages, pedestrians, and crowded storefronts. "No one is following us."

"Openly," Entreri replied. "Now stop playing the fool." Jarlaxle cackled, and the assassin had to restrain the urge to run him through. "You are going to have to start controlling your lecherous impulses, or we're going to be more than out of a job—we're going to be dead."

"Nonsense," the drow replied. "Besides, it is high time for us to return to Heliogabalus."

"I'd still like to choke the idiot who named that city," Entreri muttered. "For some reason, every time I hear the name spoken, I think of turkeys."

"What are turkeys?" Jarlaxle asked, then shook his head. "Never mind. Just think! We can soon visit a beautiful, copper-haired lady—"

"Monster." Entreri sighed. "Gads, Jarlaxle, can you not find yourself a lover who is not either married or a wyrm?"

The drow, however, seemed lost in a hazy daydream and did not answer.

"I'm being punished," the assassin mumbled to himself. "Punished, I say. Or perhaps I've already died and am in the nine hells but don't know it." He dragged Jarlaxle toward their inn, wanting to collect their possessions and leave Trailsend posthaste. Given Baron Donlevy the Young's reaction to having his wife be wooed by a drow, Entreri couldn't image that he and his friend would escape unscathed. They would have to stay off the roads, sleep either in the forest or in out-of-the-way inns. And a disguise! Entreri needed to get Jarlaxle, at the least, into a disguise.

The assassin glanced over his shoulder at the distinctly-dressed drow with his monstrous purple hat, oversized gold necklaces, and red eye patch.

Yes. A disguise was a must.

The mercenaries had fled Trailsend with the town guard on their heels, and even after a nicely executed escape, still found themselves pursued by a few ill-sporting paladins. Entreri's locating of a safe inn for the night had been a stroke of pure genius and a feat the assassin now planned to make Jarlaxle pay for dearly. A quick trip out the following morning allowed Entreri to find a disguise for the lecherous elf.

"A disguise!" Jarlaxle exclaimed at Entreri's declaration when the assassin returned to their room.

The man's evil grin could have frozen the blood of a white dragon. "Oh, yes. After our close encounter with the baron's goodly paladins last night, I think a disguise is definitely in order." Entreri deposited a box on Jarlaxle's bed and stood back.

"If I wanted to disguise myself," the drow said as he opened the box, "I have magical charms which can do that. The purchase of a disguise was a waste of—"

Entreri enjoyed the brief respite of babble as Jarlaxle was rendered perfectly speechless. The drow lifted the disguise from the box and held it before him. "A . . . dress?"

"Not just any dress," the assassin said. "A satin gown complete with petticoats and matching satin slippers. Do tell me that you can ride your horse sidesaddle?"

Jarlaxle stared at the canary yellow dress with its lacy hem and crimson bows. "If we are attacked, this dress will be completely impractical to fight in! Not to mention how difficult it will be to ride a horse wearing a dress—especially one with petticoats!"

Entreri smirked. "You should have considered that before singing to the baroness." He motioned at the box. "There's a black wig, too. It will hide both your bald head and your pointed ears; people should assume you're merely a dark-skinned human. After all, you are rather dainty for a male."

The drow merely turned a sugary smile upon Entreri, which gave the assassin a sinking feeling. "You purchased this out of revenge for my 'bad behavior,' did you not? You don't believe I'll actually wear it."

In truth, Entreri couldn't begin to imagine Jarlaxle in a dress, and he'd had a vague hope that Jarlaxle would be offended by the shiny color, if not the outfit itself. "Of course I do," he said, suddenly realizing the visual torture he'd set himself up for.

"No you don't." Jarlaxle's grin grew, and he laid the dress on the bed and fingered the wig. "This wig just won't do if I have to wear it longer than a few hours. I'll have to grow out my own hair."

Entreri's eyebrow tried to crawl off his forehead. "And how do you plan to accomplish such a feat in a matter of hours?"

Jarlaxle produced a vial from his belt pack. "With this, of course."

Entreri could smell the doom. "And what is that?"

Jarlaxle merely laughed and uncorked the vial, drinking the contents in one gulp. His little nose wrinkled in disgust. "Really, can they not make these things taste better?"

Entreri was massaging his temples. "Jarlaxle. If you grow out your real hair, it will be white. Everyone will know you're drow."

"I can fix that," the mercenary replied flippantly. He took off his hat and set it on the bed. "Now, to try on my new dress! I do hope you got my measurements right, Artemis."

Entreri vacated the room, muttering about bringing the horses around. Drow laughter chased him down the stairs. Unfortunately, the assassin saved himself nothing. The sight that greeted the waiting Entreri was worse than he imagined. When Jarlaxle levitated down from their room's window—hiding both his exit and his disguise from the innkeeper and guests—Entreri wondered that the horses didn't bolt. The yellow dress and black wig did, in fact, make Jarlaxle look reasonably feminine. But the oversized purple hat and mass of gold necklaces ruined the effect.

The drow touched down to the ground and held his arms out, inviting Entreri to take a closer look. The assassin, however, wanted anything but that. Entreri placed his left palm against his forehead and groaned. "Jarlaxle, my friend . . . I know you'll refuse to take off all those magical necklaces, but for the love of all creatures with eyes, take off your hat."

Jarlaxle sauntered up to Entreri and took the reins of his horse. When the beast remained calm, the assassin had to wonder if it had already been rendered blind by the visual atrocity that was the drow. "But I need the hat to ensure this silly wig remains in place! Well, at least until my own hair grows out."

Entreri began his now daily habit of counting to one million. It was going to be a long day.

By the time Entreri had secured an inn for Jarlaxle and himself that night, he'd discovered a whole new meaning for the word "torture." One had not suffered unless one had traveled down a muddy, manure-filled road with a singing drow who was wearing a luminous yellow dress and a purple hat. Every passerby had stopped to stare at the odd "couple." Most had been rendered mute. Entreri considered it likely that they had also been traumatized for life.

Jarlaxle applied himself to a rather large dinner before retiring for the night. Entreri's appetite was not so great, but he managed to swallow the most garlic-basted steak he could order. The drow didn't complain of the smell, however, and so the utterly defeated assassin went to bed. His very brain seemed to ache. Sleep. Yes, sleep. That would help.

What little of it he got. The assassin was awakened at the first light of dawn by a moan of pain. He shook himself awake and sat up. Across from him in the other bed sat a miserable-looking drow . . . a drow with shoulder-length white hair.

"I need steak," Jarlaxle said plaintively. "I crave meat! I absolutely must have steak! And eggs. And shrimp. Oh! And mutton." He seemed ready to eat his own arm.

The assassin looked between the shiny white tresses which now brushed Jarlaxle's shoulders and the elf's pained facial expression. What in the nine hells did meat have to do with hair? Maybe it was just an odd side effect of the potion's ingredients. "So go get some breakfast," the irritated human said.

"You come, too," the drow ordered, swaying as he stood. "I honestly don't think I'll be able to navigate the stairs if you don't. Besides, you're the one who put me in this situation."

"Me?"

"You insisted on a disguise!"

Reflexively, Entreri began counting to one million. He and Jarlaxle quickly dressed, and Entreri held the drow's elbow in order to assist him downstairs. What now? the assassin asked himself, trying not to think about the sight they made: a conservatively dressed man leading a "lady" in a hideous yellow and red dress and a purple hat down the staircase.

However, Entreri's irritation was soon eclipsed by his astonishment as the slender drow beside him consumed what seemed to be twice his weight in meat and eggs.

"Do you have two stomachs?" the assassin asked at last, his own appetite destroyed by the elf's frantic consumption of runny eggs and still-bloody steak. "If you continue to eat at such a pace, people will think you're pregnant."

Jarlaxle grinned as he reached for his next plate of food. "Am I carrying your child, then?"

Entreri narrowed his eyes and didn't deign to address the taunt. "My point is that even the most gluttonous halfling I've ever known never ate so much food in one sitting."

"Uim jumst bery unwy," the elf replied through a mouthful of nearly raw steak.

"Never mind," the assassin sighed. It was going to be a very long day. Especially if they were going to have to stop every hour or so and eat. Artemis Entreri had always despised teleportation, but just this once, he wished he and Jarlaxle could be teleported to their apartment in Heliogabalus.

The drow used his bloody knife to point at Entreri's eggs. "Are you going to eat that?"

"No," the assassin answered patiently.

"Does it have garlic on it?"

"Not this morning."

The elf nodded resolutely and stole the rest of Entreri's food. Down went the eggs, practically in one gulp. Jarlaxle then turned to the assassin with a grin. "So. I have hair. Do I now make a stunningly beautiful female?"

Entreri looked at the seven empty plates which were piled at Jarlaxle's elbow, then glanced back at the white hair sticking out from under the elf's overwhelming purple hat. "Frankly, no."

The elf snickered. "Oh, you know I do. I'm the most beautiful damsel in all Faerun!"

The assassin just smirked and resumed counting to one million. Maybe he could count the passersby as they rode to the next town. Or the birds that flew over head. Better yet, he could count the trees. Since they were traveling through a forest, that ought to keep him busy.

It was going to be a long day, indeed.

Warbling birds, roasting meat, warm sunlight, and a singing drow—Entreri opened his eyes to what Jarlaxle would no doubt call a beautiful day. Sitting up in his bedroll, he glanced across the forest clearing to find Jarlaxle cooking a rabbit over their carefully constructed campfire. Fortunately, given that they'd had to spend the night in the open, the elf wasn't wearing the dress.

"Lily May was a sweet, sweet maid," the elf sang, "her beckoning eyes the deepest of blues. And once I did as I was bade, she—"

"Shut up," Entreri said. He'd been conscious one minute, and he already wanted to choke the drow.

"Good morning, my friend!" Jarlaxle tipped his hat at the assassin and then took a deep breath, obviously meaning to continue the bawdy ballad.

"I told you to be silent," Entreri said, a sharp pain lancing his temple. "Given the grief your ballads have caused us, I forbid you to ever sing again."

Jarlaxle merely laughed. "How rude! Are you not supposed to compliment a lady first thing in the morning?" He pulled his now waist-length hair over his shoulder. "I would say I am utter perfection now. Would you not agree?"

"Perfection?" Entreri snickered. "Perfectly gluttonous, perhaps. An entire herd of cows had to die in order to feed you!"

Jarlaxle just grinned and flung his hair back over his shoulder. "I believe the side effect has waned."

"Thank the gods!" Entreri snapped. "Be glad we are within a half-day of Heliogabalus."

"I should think you would be the one who'd be glad, given that it was your fault I was so ravenous."

"Jarlaxle."

"Although I must admit that I am looking forward to the luxurious, loving embrace of—"

"Jarlaxle!"

"What?" the drow asked, trying to look innocent.

"I promise extreme pain and suffering should you continue," Entreri said in a low voice.

Jarlaxle watched him closely, and the assassin wasn't surprised, given that he was channeling his death glare. "Is that so?"

Entreri smiled wickedly and slowly drew The Evil Flute from his belt pack. "If you ever sing another ballad or mention again the attentions of a certain copper dragon, I will serenade you with every tune I've heard in my entire life."

Jarlaxle looked positively horror-stricken. "You wouldn't."

"I'll play out-of-tune on purpose. Loudly. Especially when you are trying to take Reverie."

The drow looked panicked, as though someone had cursed him to never drink wine or woo beautiful women ever again. "You are truly a cold-hearted man."

Entreri merely smirked.

And so it was that one very grumpy assassin had a nice warm breakfast of roasted rabbit with one very conspicuously silent drow.

All was well in the world.

A/N: A very big thanks to Darkhelmet, who graciously betaread three drafts of this puppy. Also, thank you to Euphorbic, who made an amusing suggestion.

Thank you to any and all who read and (especially) review.

UPDATE on "The Sacrifice for Salvation": I realize I haven't yet posted chapter one as I promised, but I've been felled by some arm strain. However, the story is currently at 14,500 words, and I hope to post chapter 1 within the next two weeks or so.