A/N: Chi convinced me to split the first chapter because it was just too long. I hope it's more readable like this. ;) So, this isn't really a new chapter, it's just the second half of what was the first chapter before.
Chapter Two
The room was lavish. It was not only a room, but a suite. The entrance room was a lounge complete with velvet and silk pillow covered sofas and a low set obsidian table.
Jarlaxle pointed. "To the right is the bath, to the left is the bedchamber."
Zaknafein's eyes widened again. He had seen some of the rooms of the masters and mistresses at the Academy, but either they had not been this lavish or he had been too busy to notice. He softly ran his fingers over one of the sofas, before he suddenly looked up again. He grinned at Jarlaxle and then turned left, going determinedly to the bedchamber. Jarlaxle chuckled and followed him.
The bed chamber was as large as the lounge. Purple and red carpets covered the floor. On one wall was an enormous mirror in a silver frame. The bed was large enough for an entire group of slaves to gather around their master. Airy drapes hung from its posts.
The look of amazement didn't leave Zaknafein's eyes, and for a short moment he gave in to the dream that one day he would have all those things himself. The huge mirror made him grin a bit - he could easily imagine Jarlaxle standing in front of it, admiring himself.
He slowly turned around to face the mercenary, but he didn't touch him. Jarlaxle was older than him and, if Zaknafein took up his offer, Jarlaxle would be his superior one day. Zaknafein had learnt that virtually all drow demanded submissiveness, and whether he liked it or not, Jarlaxle was more powerful than him. He silently took off his piwafwi, followed by his simple chain mail and his weapon belt.
Jarlaxle stood there, watching him in surprise. He cleared his throat after a moment. "Er ... I don't claim to be a master of the proper order of things, but I thought we could wash our hands first. Food and pleasure are linked, but food usually isn't conducive to pleasure. I wasn't planning on using clam grease as a lubricant."
He gestured to a finely wrought bowl on a small dresser and went over to it. He unwrapped a clean towel lying next to it and dropped two dried plant pods into the water that had been resting in the towel. Then he started washing his hands. The pods, once he rubbed them on his hands, began to lather and produce clean, white foam.
Zaknafein nodded and waited for Jarlaxle to finish before he went over to the dresser and washed his hands as well. Drying his hands with another towel he looked back at Jarlaxle, slowly raising a brow.
Jarlaxle took off his hat and hung it up on a coat stand in the corner nearest the mirror. He then unclasped his cape and hung it up as well.
When he turned back to Zaknafein and the young student was still quiet, Jarlaxle realised why he hadn't heard a peep out of the male since they had gotten into the room.
"It's all right. Talk," Jarlaxle said, gesturing vaguely at him. "I don't mind talkers." He bent down and took off his boots, and crossed the room to place a hand on Zaknafein's shoulder.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Zaknafein mirrored Jarlaxle's actions and took of his boots as well, and he didn't flinch in the least when the mercenary touched him. Still, he hardly looked convinced by Jarlaxle's words. He had yet to meet someone who did not hurt him if they were in control. The only way to avoid pain was, in his experience, to deal it out himself.
"I wouldn't know what to say," Zaknafein replied, and his voice was a bit harder and more strained than it had been before.
Jarlaxle wrapped his arms around Zak and stroked his hair, starting at the nape of the neck and coming to the top of his head. He briefly, irrationally, wondered if he would have ever got the chance to stroke his son's hair this way, if he had stayed under the control of the Matron who had used him to bear children. He had to get that thought out of his head before he got upset.
"You can say whatever you want to. I'm not going to tell you what to say."
Zaknafein was a bit surprised at the tender caresses, but as it wasn't unusual for drow to start with tenderness and move on to cruelty later, he still was not reassured. He put his arms around Jarlaxle, not daring to pull him closer. His fingers, strong and calloused, but still nimble, slid over Jarlaxle's back. He wasn't sure what the mercenary expected him to do, and Jarlaxle's confusing words didn't make it easier.
"I don't have anything to say, but if you insist, I will think of something," he replied hesitantly, suspecting that Jarlaxle might just like his voice.
Jarlaxle kissed him on the forehead. "If you must, but I suspect you have enough to say without thinking of things." He leaned back a bit so that he could look at Zaknafein in the eyes and smile.
"I do talk a lot, don't I? If you think it's unfair to impose a sentence of loquaciousness on you, all you have to do is say so."
"Yes, you do ... but I don't mind," Zaknafein said - as long as Jarlaxle talked, he wouldn't have to say anything. "If I have something to say, I will do so." Although he was still confused, he smiled a bit - whatever might happen afterwards, right now Jarlaxle was amazingly considerate.
Jarlaxle gave him a quick little kiss on the lips. "Good." His expression became sombre.
"I only have one rule." He raised an index finger in demonstration. "No taking off my eye patch." As if to prevent alarming him, he quickly smiled. "You can turn it around, or switch it to my other eye, but don't take it off. All right? You promise?"
Zaknafein sighed after that short kiss, a little disappointed that Jarlaxle's lips had left his so quickly again. The mercenary's 'rule' surprised him, especially as he apparently still had both his eyes. While Zaknafein might have asked why in another situation, he instinctively nodded now. "All right," he said, although it confused him that Jarlaxle wanted a confirmation to what Zaknafein still saw as a nicely formulated order.
"Good." Jarlaxle tightened his embrace, pulling them close together until their bodies were pressed against each other, and kissed him. This time, it lasted much longer.
Zaknafein returned the kiss deeply, but he let Jarlaxle dominate it. His hands resumed their caressing movements on the mercenary's back, always attentive for Jarlaxle's reactions.
Jarlaxle did dominate the kiss, but he noticed that Zaknafein wasn't trying to gain control and made sure to slow down and keep it gentle.
"You can take my vest off if you want," he said when their lips parted.
Zaknafein's finger quickly moved to the buttons of the vest, opening them carefully before he slid it off his shoulders. He allowed himself only a short gaze on Jarlaxle's chest before he pulled him closer again and kissed him gently on neck and shoulder.
Jarlaxle's eyelids flickered without his control, and he swallowed convulsively. He was glad that Zak had his arms around him, because he was reduced to blindly groping for Zak's arms through a warm haze of pleasure. His vision only cleared after a minute or two. He cupped the back of Zaknafein's head and smiled down at him.
"What would you like me to do? - It's not a trick," he added hastily, suddenly remembering stories of priestesses who would prey on the young Melee Magthere students. "I mean it. What would you like?"
Zaknafein continued to kiss the soft skin, relieved that Jarlaxle enjoyed it and didn't push him away. When he looked up, he seemed once again confused. Still, he knew that he had to answer, so he just said with an insecure smile, "I like touching you ..." He hesitated, then he added, "I liked how you kissed me."
Jarlaxle snorted. "Well, you can't kiss my neck and have me kiss you the way I was before at the same time." He grinned. "Decide." He impudently tapped the tip of Zaknafein's nose. "Just to prove you can't be a slave all your life, I'm going to teach you how to make decisions for yourself." He smiled serenely. "I'll wait. You take all the time you need to decide."
"I know how to make decisions for myself," Zaknafein grumbled, and as if he needed indeed to prove this he put a hand on Jarlaxle's cheek and kissed him, more passionately than before, but still not claiming any control. He remained tense, though, still waiting for Jarlaxle to slap him and tell him what to do.
Jarlaxle's eyelids fluttered again, and this time, he played an entirely passive role, only reacting to what Zaknafein did. He was breathing a little more heavily than before when the kiss ended.
"Ooh. So you do." Jarlaxle gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "I'll say you're going to need that fire if you're to survive much longer. The priestesses don't like fire, but we both know they can go vith themselves when they get tired of us, now don't we?"
Jarlaxle giggled - it was much more a giddy sound than his previous chuckle. "Do you want to lie down? You've made me lightheaded."
Jarlaxle's words made him smile, but it was a sad smile. Most males didn't survive it if a priestess - at least if she was their Matron - got tired of them. Yet he didn't want to think about that now. He disengaged from Jarlaxle and moved towards the bed, but then he hesitated and gave Jarlaxle a questioning look. "Do you want me to take off my clothes now?" he asked in an almost neutral voice.
Jarlaxle poked him on the nose again. "Do you want to take off your clothes?"
Zaknafein winced and wrinkled his nose a bit, looking annoyed for a moment. Realising that Jarlaxle intended to continue this strange game a bit longer Zaknafein sighed and took off his shirt. He was fairly muscular for a drow, but still perfectly slender. There were quite a few scars on the black skin, from whip lashes as much as from other wounds.
He lay down on the enormous bed, lying on his back and propping himself up on his elbows, and waited for Jarlaxle to join him.
Jarlaxle finally took off his belt. He dropped it on the floor and shucked out of his breeches, discarding them carelessly. Then he smiled childishly and jumped into bed. With a loud 'puff' upon impact, he sank almost six inches into the decadent mattress, arms and legs spread. "I love this bed. I couldn't resist. I can't sleep in it all the time, but alone it's worth the price of the suite to me."
He rolled onto his stomach and crawled up to Zaknafein, nuzzling his abdomen and then using his stomach for a pillow. His antics had shown an enormous collection of striped scars across his backside. In the places they overlapped, it combined into one deep, puckered remnant of an unimaginably lengthy beating.
And Zaknafein seemed much more interested in Jarlaxle's body than in his antics. He ran a hand over Jarlaxle's shoulder and to his back, softly retracing some of the scars. Even with the scars the mercenary was beautiful, Zaknafein thought, knowing that his own body looked probably only better because many priestesses healed their toys to prevent scarring.
After about a minute he softly pulled Jarlaxle into his arms again, pressing him to his chest. He kissed him softly on the lips, but he let Jarlaxle decide if he wanted to continue the kiss or not.
Jarlaxle had too much to say. "Would you believe I forgot about those?" He snorted softly. "Shows how much I care about priestesses' tactics. Confounds the point of shaming me." He kissed Zak briefly, gently sucking on his lower lip, and said, "My wean mother was always on narcotics and steroids." His ensuing giggle made the veracity of that statement doubtful.
Zaknafein grinned joylessly and shrugged. "In most cases their tactics are quite efficient. I always take more beatings than I would have to if I just obeyed them, but in the end we always give in," he sighed, and there was still some hurt pride in his eyes, a feeling that most drow males seemed to forget quite early in their lives.
Jarlaxle stroked his cheek. "Take sanity from holding out. Learn how to make a separate life from the life a priestess wants you to have. Don't give up in the end."
He was beset by the crazy feeling that he had to save this male, even if he had to sacrifice a lot - that saving this one would somehow make up for the fact that his own family had practically sold him into slavery. Zaknafein was so young. He had to be salvageable.
Jarlaxle kissed him deeply and then showered his face with little kisses. He worked his way downward to Zaknafein's neck, licking and sucking tenderly, and reached up with one hand to stroke Zak's ear.
Zaknafein just shook his head, obviously not sharing Jarlaxle's optimism. He was afraid that some day, the priestesses might just break him completely. But his bleak thoughts disappeared immediately when Jarlaxle started to kiss him. A shiver ran through his body, accompanied by a deep moan. He started to caress Jarlaxle's sides and chest, rough fingertips tracing lines on the warm skin.
Jarlaxle worked lower, kissing Zaknafein's chest, nuzzling him and licking. He found Zaknafein's nipple and ran his tongue over it, teasing. His hand found the other one. For a while, he kissed and ran his thumb over those two little nubs, aroused by them and wanting Zaknafein to be aroused.
Zaknafein closed his eyes, and he even forgot that he was, in his own opinion, supposed to pleasure Jarlaxle, not the other way around. He dug the fingers of his right hand into Jarlaxle's shoulder, hoping that the mercenary wouldn't stop touching him ... And yet he remained silent except for a few hardly restrained moans, but he felt his control slip away quickly.
Jarlaxle kept his hands on his nipples, kneading them, but he nudged lower still, licking over hardened stomach muscles. Finally, he had to retract one hand to make his position more comfortable, resting his left hand on Zaknafein's hip. He kissed and nibbled, traced lines around Zaknafein's navel with his tongue, and lightly nipped the younger drow's sides, trying to avoid any real pain.
Zaknafein bit on his bottom lip to keep himself from pleading. If he had been able to think clearly he would have been surprised that Jarlaxle was doing this although he didn't have to. The muscles in his stomach and legs clenched and unclenched, as if he was somehow trying to regain some control over his body ... and failing miserably, of course.
Jarlaxle slid his other hand down, leaving Zaknafein's nipples, and gently curled his fingers around the young student's erection.
"Have you ever been kissed here?" His voice was husky and mellow.
Zaknafein moaned again and thrusted involuntarily in Jarlaxle's hand, desperate for more friction. "Yes, but ... not like this," he whispered, unable to give a clearer answer. He felt as if his brain had stopped functioning, as if his whole body was only focused on the feeling of Jarlaxle's hands and lips on his skin.
Jarlaxle took his time, and then gently lowered his mouth over Zaknafein's erection. He closed his eyes and ran his tongue over its sensitive tip. He didn't know how Zaknafein would react. He kept his hand curled around his erection just in case.
Zaknafein rested one hand on the back of Jarlaxle's head, but he didn't pull him closer ... Even in his current state he didn't want to hurt someone who had been so gentle, so considerate. But his moans and shivering showed without doubt that he enjoyed every second of this, every little touch of Jarlaxle's lips and tongue.
Jarlaxle eventually drew back, sitting up. He licked his lips and swallowed, both attempts to get rid of the taste and the thick feeling of Zaknafein's arousal. He didn't mind it. He just didn't want to try to talk at the same time as having extra tastes and textures in his mouth.
"How about the act of vith? Have you ever been the dominant one in the pairings?" he asked.
He rolled over to the side of the bed quickly and pulled a small vial free of one of his belt pockets. It was a golden oil obtained from a certain species of harmless mushroom.
For a few moments Zaknafein didn't react at all, and then he just blinked in surprise. Jarlaxle had to be mocking him now ... he couldn't possibly suggest that ...? Zaknafein answered in a rough voice, "Yes, but I doubt that anyone but me ever enjoyed that experience." He didn't know what to do if Jarlaxle asked this from him. Zaknafein had never minded hurting some of his fellow students, but he didn't want to hurt Jarlaxle.
"It doesn't have to be that way," Jarlaxle said softly. "If you want to, I can show you - I am not trying to scare you, so please don't be frightened. I can show you how to avoid hurting me by demonstration, or I could explain while you go through it."
He ran his hand up and down Zaknafein's erection, trying to be reassuring.
Zaknafein hesitated ... he couldn't say that he wasn't tempted, but he doubted that he would be patient enough to do it slowly now. Not to mention that he still did not trust Jarlaxle's intentions. Jarlaxle's hand was driving him crazy, and the mercenary expected him to make halfway sensible decisions.
"Show me," Zaknafein whispered, his voice almost pleading.
Jarlaxle drew close and kissed him on the ear. "Okay. Everything will be all right. You know how to lie on your stomach in such a way to let someone do this, don't you? I need you to do that now. I need you to trust me enough not to struggle - that's a part of why it hurts so much. People move too quickly."
Zaknafein nodded and turned around, his movements a bit awkward. He was too aroused to think clearly, and at the same time his body was tensing up against his will. He had gone through this so many times that he had almost grown used to the pain, but he had never expected anything else than pain. But now he feared that Jarlaxle might be playing with him, or that the mercenary was simply wrong and that he would hurt him just as much, despite his soft words.
Jarlaxle laid hands on his back and started rubbing in circles, fingertips sensitive to the scars and the muscles underneath. "You remember times when it was done poorly. I know. Try to keep it out of your mind. Use that meditation you learnt in school. I'll keep you safe to the best of my ability, but I can't have you moving around. I might hurt you that way."
Zaknafein forced himself to stop moving, but he didn't manage to relax completely. "Don't keep me waiting ... too long," he whispered in a pleading tone. As much as he appreciated Jarlaxle's consideration, he was still growing so impatient.
Jarlaxle uncorked the vial and splashed some of the oil onto his hand. A few spatters hit the bedding, but it was always that way. The oil was too thin to pour well. He coated his own erection, and then slowly reached out and rubbed oil on Zaknafein's entrance. He cringed at this, because it seemed to him more of an intrusion than the act of vith, somehow.
"I'm going to do it slowly." He swallowed hard, studied what he was doing carefully, and finally took his erection in hand, guiding it. At a certain point, he closed his eyes, knowing that looking at what he was doing wouldn't be a help much longer. He let out a gasp. "I've found it." As painstakingly as possible, he slid forward and in.
Zaknafein closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, knowing that this was Jarlaxle, not one of his masters at the Academy. He winced nonetheless and bit in his own forearm to keep from whimpering. Jarlaxle didn't need to know that he was in pain; the pain would go away sooner or later.
But Jarlaxle had no intention of moving so quickly. "Don't bite yourself ... It's okay. It hurts a little bit at first because I can't control what happens all the way." He rubbed Zaknafein's back with one hand and kept the other on Zaknafein's hip to steady himself. "Don't fret. I'll wait. Just think nice thoughts. You can tell me when the pain stops. I won't do anything but what you tell me."
Zaknafein just sighed and tried to adjust, and he was grateful for Jarlaxle's caresses. It didn't take long until he whispered, "It's all right ... just continue, please."
Jarlaxle patted him on the back gently to show he understood. He immediately had to grit his teeth and hold on to his self control when he started moving. He sucked in his breath through his teeth, hissing. Just that little movement almost made him climax. Sweat beaded on his face and his back. He trembled, and then relaxed, successfully fending it off. He let out a huge breath. "All right. You tell me what to do."
"It's fine," Zaknafein said, his voice trembling. He didn't want to think and to talk anymore, he just wanted to feel this. "You wanted to show me."
Jarlaxle leant over with difficulty and kissed his neck. "All right."
He closed his eyes and did it the slowest, gentlest way he knew how. Strength sapped out of him, and his failing thoughts were that if Zaknafein wanted to shut him up forever, the drow he was trying to save could kill him. He had to ward off climaxing several more times, trying to lengthen their vith because he knew that the farther along it went, the better it felt for the person on the bottom.
He wanted Zaknafein to know what it felt like to have good things done to him. So he kept on, even when he was panting, unable to get his breath back.
And Zaknafein was enjoying it, now that the pleasure was outweighing the pain. As aroused and impatient as he had already been he climaxed rather soon, a deep, satisfied moan on his lips. He went limp under Jarlaxle, still enjoying the other drow's closeness.
Jarlaxle bit his lips and tried to keep from making any noise. He couldn't hold on much longer than Zaknafein. Afraid to climax inside of him, he pulled out and directed his orgasm away from the young student. Most of it hit a pillow. He tossed it on the floor with the rest of his strength and collapsed on top of Zaknafein, his energy gone.
"I tried ... not to hit you. It's not pleasant to have something ... sticky ..." Jarlaxle's voice was wavering badly from exhaustion and just trailed off altogether.
He wished he could move. He couldn't help but think Zaknafein didn't appreciate being collapsed on top of. Especially a stranger.
However, Zaknafein himself was much too exhausted to complain, and he even liked it that Jarlaxle stayed so close. It was definitely better than getting slapped or insulted afterwards.
"You wouldn't have needed to draw back," Zaknafein mumbled, his words half stifled by the pillow he rested his head on.
Jarlaxle didn't have a response to that, because even though his eyes were open, it didn't mean a thing. He'd slipped into a reverie.
Zaknafein just enjoyed Jarlaxle's closeness for a while, but he stayed awake. But then he tried to get the mercenary off him as carefully as possible, as he didn't want to wake him up. He had been taught to leave if he wasn't needed anymore, so he slowly got out of bed and started to dress.
"I was only out for a moment." Jarlaxle sat up, dazed. He'd woken up as suddenly and delicately as he'd fallen into reverie. Zaknafein tensed up and gave Jarlaxle a wary look, as if he expected the older drow to be angry.
Jarlaxle felt a confused sense of danger. He'd fallen asleep, and yet this student, being trained to kill at the slightest weakness, had only started getting out of bed.
"You don't want to go back to your barracks like that," Jarlaxle said. "It tells too much. Why don't you share a bath with me?"
The suggestion made Zaknafein grin, but his eyes seemed rather bitter.
"It wouldn't tell more than in any other night," he said harshly, but to his own surprise he felt almost bad for his words. He didn't want Jarlaxle to think that this hadn't been different for him from other nights, because it had been special. "But I would like to stay ... if that's what you want."
Jarlaxle rubbed his head, regaining his wits. He looked at Zaknafein shrewdly. "It bothers you, the way they treat you. You feel as though you've been sent to be a toy for the masters, not to learn anything. So you don't want to get any feeling that I will treat you better. You don't want to believe anything is different between you and me than it is between you and an impersonal, cruel teacher, because then you would have to accept that you and they do something wrong. You don't want to do that, because it would make you feel guilty. Guilt makes you angry, and that makes you reckless, which in turn earns you more unwanted attention."
He scooted to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over, resting his chin in his hands calmly, arms propped up on his elbows, against his legs.
"I couldn't get any more unwanted attention," Zaknafein snorted. "I have no reason to feel guilty. I do what I need to do, that is all. Being a toy is better than being dead. And I do not want to believe that you are any better than my masters because I can't trust you. You're not the first one who starts being nice just because he enjoys to surprise with his cruelty afterwards."
Zaknafein didn't really believe his last words - Jarlaxle wouldn't do that to him, although the young fighter didn't know why he was so sure about that. But he knew that Jarlaxle wasn't just nice for selfless reasons; he was simply manipulating him one way or another.
"I'm not one of those people at all," Jarlaxle objected. "Cruelty is pointless. I don't want you to hate me."
"Cruelty is entertaining, arousing, useful. I don't know any drow, not one, who doesn't see it that way," Zaknafein replied now almost angrily. "Why should you be so different from everyone else?"
Jarlaxle crossed his arms over his chest uneasily. "You." He looked away, angry and knowing he didn't have any mask to keep if from his face. "You know you don't. You know yourself, don't you? You know that you don't find cruelty useful, or entertaining, or arousing. You know it's not arousing, and it's not being the victim that makes it that way! It's not weakness to see cruelty as something punishable, something unnecessary and unsavoury to the taste. It's wrong, and you know it. Don't try to tell me you don't. You were just in bed with me."
"And because I was in bed with you I have to share you insane opinions?" Zaknafein replied, but he sounded much less convinced now.
It's wrong. He didn't know if he had ever heard these words spoken so honestly, and they reminded him of something he had known for so long and always tried to forget. There was something wrong with the world he lived in, something he shouldn't just accept for his personal gain. And yet, he knew that he was already turning into what this world wanted him to be.
"Cruelty is often the only way to get rid of your anger before it consumes you. And as painful it is to be on the receiving end, you can't tell me that being cruel is not arousing. It is. I know it is," he said, but his voice was strangely soft despite his words.
Jarlaxle laughed, but it was painful and bitter. His eyes glittered so strongly it looked as if he might have tears in them.
"It's not the cruelty that gets people off, Zaknafein. It's the power. Do you see it? You want to be the one in power, because having power makes your old wounds seem to heal. It's a lie. Power is a balm that wears off the moment someone does something to you that you didn't foresee. Making you realise that you were fooling yourself into thinking, 'I am better now. I have control. I have everyone's support. Now that I am stronger, everyone wants to be my friend.' No one is ever going to be so afraid of you that they don't lash out. You always want to lash out at everyone around you because you're afraid. Fear makes hostility. You want to be cruel to people because it will make you think that the things that made your scars will never happen again."
Jarlaxle looked directly at him, his eyes cold despite their tears. "You think that cruelty hurts. You think that you'd want to hurt anyone who ever hurt you if you ever got the power to do so - because it's wrong and you can't think of a worse punishment than to make someone feel the way you felt when they were being cruel. You see it as the ultimate punishment - nothing worse can possibly happen than to be treated cruelly."
He stood up.
"I think you don't think my opinions are insane. You try not to listen to what they are, because thinking about them frightens you. Sometimes you have to avoid being frightened of things that hurt you, Zaknafein. It's the only way to stop being who people want you to be."
Jarlaxle started looking around for his things. He picked up his hat, dusted it off with a few affectionate pats, and placed it on his head. Then he slipped on his vest. He looked piercingly at Zaknafein.
"I think, for instance, that someone biting my tongue hurts. I think that someone tying my hands above my head and ripping the clothes from my body makes me afraid and violated. I think that someone putting their hand around my penis and squeezing as hard as they can is closer to torture, not foreplay."
He pointed directly at the student. "I know you don't like being jerked around by an invisible collar, because no one likes that. I think these things are wrong, because no one hurts another person in the bedroom if they like that person. No one. And you agree with me."
Zaknafein calmly listened to Jarlaxle's words, and the fact that he didn't interrupt him was already a sign that he thought at least about them. And still, he didn't look even remotely convinced, but only ... sad.
"Maybe. But people don't like each other. I'm not stupid, Jarlaxle, I don't think that I can ever gain control over my life, like you seem to think. I don't think that my masters won't rape me just because I can rape a first-year-student. But I know that having power, being in control sometimes is the only thing that keeps me going whenever I am not in control. I need those moments. I can't afford doing what seems 'right' to me. Being what people want me to be is the only alternative to being a corpse. That's maybe not how things should be, but it is how they are."
He sighed and went over to Jarlaxle, and after a short moment of hesitation he ran his fingers over the mercenary's cheek. "You can't make things go away just because they are wrong."
Jarlaxle threw his arms around the young student and held him as close as he could. "I'm not trying to make the old things go away, I'm trying to make something new. If you can't make something new, no matter what you do, you're bowing to the decisions people made before you. Raping and hurting people is what your masters want you to do. Don't you see that? Being what people want you to be is being a corpse."
He held Zaknafein at arm's length suddenly, examining him, and brushed a lock of hair out of the student's eyes.
"In your case it is. What you want to be and who they want you to be aren't even remotely the same thing. I am not exaggerating, and don't think you will think I am, by saying that if you can't stand up for who you really are, you may as well commit suicide now before the graduation ceremony. From all that I've heard, they plan to break you, and if you can't keep your identity separate, they will."
Zaknafein didn't move, but it felt strangely comforting to be so close to Jarlaxle. To know that, for some reason, this strange mercenary wasn't going to hurt him.
"I don't know what I want to be, or who I am. But even if you won't like to hear it - I enjoy hurting people. I don't just do it because I have to, but I like it. I'm not better than they are. And they can't possibly do more to me than what they have already done," he said and chuckled joylessly.
"You're right," Jarlaxle said. "I don't like to hear it. But it's the drow instinct," he added cautiously. "I am subject to the same urges you are. It is not just the cruel people. We are a warring people. Our blood has things in it that urge us to do wrong. But you can't give in to them, Zaknafein. They will only get louder and more restless if you stir them up, these things in your blood. They like the taste of other's pain, but they are always greedy. They are not satisfied when you rape another student, or hurt a slave. You would drown in the blood of hundreds of other drow and not feel satisfied."
Jarlaxle shook his head. "As a race of people, I feel we are doomed to be hopelessly insane. It is not our fault, but it is our responsibility to keep ourselves in check." He looked at Zaknafein firmly.
"I didn't hurt you, did I? I could control myself. I can prove it can be done. You can stop hurting people if you choose to."
He shook his head. "But enough of that. The graduation ceremony. They guard it so closely I know not what they plan to do." His face became solemn, and drained of a little heat. "I know that they plan to break your sanity. Your classmates' sanity. Your will to live. They are going to summon you together and perform some sort of holy ceremony there."
Jarlaxle swallowed convulsively. "They plan to ... to make you like the things you don't yet. To make you pliable."
"Yes, you held yourself back. You didn't hurt me because for some unfathomable reason you trusted me to some extent. But I can't trust others. I can't show them any weakness by being kind and tender. Nor do I want to abstain from the few pleasures I have. They allow me to keep my sanity."
He sighed and looked away, as if he couldn't bear Jarlaxle's gaze. He too had heard enough rumours about the graduation ceremony, and he couldn't deny that they scared him. And still ... it was necessary. Without graduating he would be nothing.
"I will survive. I always do," he said firmly.
Jarlaxle smiled and snorted. "'Always' is such a delightfully short time for someone who hasn't seen their first century of life." He patted Zaknafein on the cheek. "Keep up that optimism and come back to me after you've graduated. If your brains haven't been scrambled and dragged out your nose with a meat hook."
He walked away, slipped on his breeches, and went over to the coat rack for his cape.
Zaknafein snorted angrily at that condescending gesture, but he didn't really look annoyed. Instead he just finished to dress as well, without saying another word. Jarlaxle was the optimist here, not Zaknafein. And he certainly wasn't going to worry for the next months about the mercenary's unsettling words - or at least he'd try to.
"Keep in mind, young one, that because you acquire a name won't save you from people saying you acquired it unfairly." Jarlaxle slipped on his boots and settled his cape about his shoulders. "The people that value you now will be the only people who care if you get a name or not. Everyone else will hate you exactly the same." He gave Zaknafein and bitter smile and walked out.
Zaknafein just scowled, but again, he didn't answer. He knew that Jarlaxle's words were true, he had always known it, but it still hurt him to hear them so clearly. He stayed for a few minutes alone in the room, staring at the door the mercenary had walked through, before he finally pulled himself together and left as well.
Jarlaxle was one step ahead of him, almost out the door of the suite. He stopped, brusquely, at the sound of Zaknafein's following steps, and said, "I enjoyed this, whether you believe me or not."
Instead of walking down the hall, he dropped a small, brightly coloured ball from his belt and vanished in a billow of orange smoke.
Zaknafein blinked in confusion - he had thought that Jarlaxle had already left. He was too surprised to answer before the mercenary disappeared so suddenly. And although he wanted to dismiss Jarlaxle's words as either stupid sentimentality or clever manipulation, they made him smile for a second. He quickly suppressed the smile before he finally left the suite.