And it's up! I hope you guys have as much fun reading this as I did writing it...because believe me, I had a *lot* of fun writing it!
Chapter Eleven: A Night to Remember...Badly
Ravenlight sat on the mile marker, rubbing her head and praying that the healing potions she'd taken would kick in soon. They worked beautifully on mortal wounds and poisoned bites; surely a drink-induced headache wouldn't be a problem for it. Surely.
Of course, she reflected, the potion could have been working on whatever had induced her to travel all the way across Skyrim. She knew she'd been in Ivarstead the night before. She knew it. Which made waking up in the Temple of Djibella a little...odd. How on earth did I make it all the way to Markearth in one night?
It was also beyond embarrassing that she had ended up in the Temple of Djibella. None of the Aedra were evil, but...there were some she preferred to others. And the capricious, fickle goddess of (ahem) beauty was definitely at the bottom of her list. Maybe that's why I trashed the place? It was a terrible reason, but...well, she knew enough about drunken blackouts to know that reason rarely had anything to do with what happened during them. Which, come to think of it, probably meant that her escapades in the temple weren't all she'd done, and the thought made her groan with dismay. Why couldn't I have just passed out at the inn?
She heard a sound like light, fast hoofbeats, and looked up, silently praying that trouble wasn't about to intrude. She was in no condition for a fight…
Only it wasn't trouble. I hope not, anyway. It was Drizzt, riding Andahar, Guenhwyvar leading him. She had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, finding a friendly face out here in the middle of nowhere was certainly a good thing. On the other…she felt exactly as if she were ten years old again, one of her brothers coming to save her from a situation she'd got into through her own foolishness.
Thankfully, his reaction wasn't scathing. "There you are!" he cried, his face alight with relief. He pulled Andahar up and swung down. "By the gods, I was worried. What happened last night?"
"I have absolutely no idea," Ravenlight said, massaging her left temple. "I don't remember anythingabout last night, not after the third drink."
"Are you all right?" He looked her over as if checking for wounds. "You look terrible."
"I feel terrible. And that's after two healing potions." Something soft butted up against her hand, and she absently stroked it. Guenhwyvar purred comfortingly, curling closer to her side. "I haven't been drunk in years—and I've never been that drunk before."
Drizzt held out his hand to her. "There was something strange about Sam Guevenne, and I wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with this. I must admit, though, I'm most surprised about how you made it all the way out here to the Reach in a single night. What happened?"
"I have no idea." She took his hand and rose to her feet, sighing with relief as they obeyed her. "But I do know where I woke up this morning."
"Where was that?" Drizzt noticed that she was swaying a little and put his hand on her shoulder to steady her.
"The Temple of Djibella, awful as that sounds," she answered, grimacing in embarrassment. "And to make matters worse, I apparently trashed the place before I collapsed."
He stared at her as if she'd said she was in the habit of… her throbbing head couldn't come up with anything clever that might be equally out of character. She threw down a third healing potion, sighing with relief as the pounding drumbeat at the front of her head retreated to the back of her memory, and the sunlight stopped feeling like daggers stabbed into her eyes.
"You trashed the Temple of Djibella? Are…are you sure?"
Ravenlight sighed. "Well, there were bizarre items scattered all over the place, and the priestesses were all pretty annoyed with me until I got the mess cleaned up, so yes. I'd have to say that was me." She grimaced. "Gods only know what else I did."
He tried valiantly not to laugh. "It sounds as if I'll need to keep you away from Black-Briar mead after this, if running halfway across Skyrim and trashing random temples is common behavior for you when you're drunk."
She scowled at him. "If I didn't know how bad my balance was right now," she said irritably, "I'd welt you one. But I don't particularly feel like ending up on my face, so you're safe until I'm steadier. Laugh at me later, when the hangover's cleared up."
He nodded. "All right. Truce." He signaled Andahar to kneel and helped his shaky companion onto his back, before swinging on himself. "Where should I take you?"
"Whiterun," Ravenlight answered. "I want to be in bed before this thing really hits."
He looked back at her. "It hasn't already?"
"This is postponement." She leaned against him, silently praying that if the worst happened, she would have enough warning to turn aside and not vomit down his back. "It's going to be much worse later."
Mindful of his companion's condition, Drizzt kept Andahar's pace down to a light, even canter. It wasn't as fast as a run, but it was smoother—and much smoother than a trot. Ravenlight mostly kept her eyes closed, concentrating on keeping the headache at bay. It wasn't until they reached Rorikstead that they discovered what else she had been up to in the hours she couldn't remember.
"Hey!" A glowering farmer stormed out onto the road, chasing after them. "You! Wood-Elf!"
Drizzt halted Andahar and looked down in surprise. "Is something wrong?"
"Not with you." The Redguard jabbed an accusing finger at Ravenlight, who lifted her head from Drizzt's shoulder and looked down in confusion. "But she stole my goat last night! My best nanny, Gleda!"
The Bosmer stared at him in disbelief. "I stole a goat?" She shook her head, muttering something that sounded like, "Gods, what else?" Then she looked back at him. "I…I'm sorry. I don't remember anything about last night. What did I do with her?"
"You sold her to a giant!"
There was a moment of stunned silence.
"I did what?" Ravenlight blinked. "I...I hadn't been expecting that. Well." She rubbed the spot between her eyes, grimacing. "Gods, I wish my head was clearer. Um...what should I do to...make amends?"
"I want my goat back!" He hesitated, looking at her and realizing the condition she was in. "Although...if you're not up to dealing with a giant, I will accept gold for her."
"Not up to dealing with a giant." Ravenlight let out a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh, and instantly flinched. "Ow. That's an understatement." She had just reached for her pouch when Drizzt, looking out across the plains, touched her arm.
"Look out there."
She followed his hand and saw it: a giant, rolling across the grassy rills with the typical long-jointed stride—and followed by a small brown dot. "I don't believe it."
"You think that's it, then?" Drizzt turned to look at her.
"I don't know how many other giants would have a goat following them." Ravenlight sighed, rubbing her head. "I don't feel right leaving her when it's there in sight, but..."
He grinned suddenly. "I have an idea."
The plan he quickly detailed was simple—simple enough to work. She, riding Andahar, would use her Bosmer animal-magic to call the goat to follow her, while he would distract the giant. The moment they reached the edge of the village, he swung off and she leaned forward, gripping Andahar around the body with her legs, both moving in different directions.
Naturally, it didn't go off without a hitch: the giant saw when Ravenlight swooped in to capture Gleda, and bellowed in outrage, taking a few steps toward her. But before things could go off the tracks entirely, a well-aimed shot blew a chunk of turf out right in front of his feet. He turned to see Drizzt, running backward and brandishing his deadly bow—obviously the greater threat. The giant wheeled and went after him, swinging his tree-trunk club hard enough to flatten anything unlucky enough to be struck.
But Drizzt was light on his feet, and his anklets made him far too swift to be in danger. He literally ran rings around the giant until he was so dizzy he almost couldn't stand upright, then dashed away to safety. Frustrated, and doubtless a little sick from spinning in circles, the giant stormed back toward its camp, stomping hard enough to leave prints like craters.
Ravenlight never knew if the giant ever found the coin purse she'd left to make up for running off with the goat she'd sold it the previous night.
"Gleda!" The farmer's face lit up as the goat trotted into his yard, placidly following the Bosmer sprawled across the unicorn's neck. "Back, and not a scratch on her!" He beamed up at her. "My thanks!"
Ravenlight smiled back weakly. "Don't mention it." She hadn't been sure the short-legged goat could follow Andahar at anything faster than a trot, but she was wishing she'd tried for a canter. The motion had been...unsettling was probably the best word—and certainly described the current state of her midsection. "But if you would...did I leave anything to explain why I stole your goat and sold her?" She wanted there to be a reason, even a stupid one; it would be better than finding out her little antics were nothing but drink-fueled nastiness.
The farmer looked to the side as Drizzt came jogging up, panting lightly. "Actually, I think you did," he said slowly. "I found a note in the goat pen after you ran off with her. Problem was, half of it was gibberish, and the other half had mead spilled all over it."
"That doesn't really help me any." Ravenlight took several deep breaths, trying to convince her churning stomach to settle down. "Was there anything clear on it?"
"Just one word: Ysolda." He shrugged helplessly. "Nothing else."
"Ysolda?" Ravenlight grimaced. "Well, at least I knew where to go now; same place we were heading before." She slid back to let Drizzt jump up ahead of her, still looking at the farmer. "Believe me, I am very sorry about what I did."
The farmer looked her over. "Well...I don't think you were exactly yourself last night; and you did bring her back. So. All is forgiven."
"Quit laughing!" Ravenlight jabbed her snickering companion in the ribs. He jerked and yelped, but didn't stop chortling.
"A goat," he gasped, fending off her hand as she came in for a second jab. "You stole a goat and sold it to a giant!"
"Jerk," she growled. "Like you'd have been any better if it had been you drunk off your face."
"I've never been that drunk," he answered.
"Neither have I!" she barked. "And that pest of a bar rat is probably more to blame. How much did I drink last night, anyway?"
"Wilhelm's entire stock of Black-Briar mead, according to Lynly Star-sung," Drizzt admitted.
"Black-Briar mead?!" Ravenlight shook her head. "That little—I don't even like Black-Briar mead! No wonder I'm feeling so—"
She broke off, her face going white. The next second, Drizzt wheeled, eyes wide with panic, and snatched just too late as she hurled herself off Andahar's back. She hit the ground with a crash and rolled, eventually falling behind a small ridge off the side of the road.
"Ravenlight!?" He pulled his mount to a halt and sprang down, running toward the ridge. "What in Nine Hells got into you? " Then he halted as he heard what she was doing, and moved back a few steps to give her some privacy. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Ravenlight said bitingly as she paused between heaves. "I'm doing this for the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of it!"
That stung. His eyes flashed as he responded stiffly. "I apologize for being concerned." Smarting, he remounted Andahar, staring dead ahead as he waited for her to be finished.
It took several minutes before she re-emerged, shaky-legged and still pale. "Uggh," she muttered, "healing potions taste worse coming up than they do going down."
Unusually, Drizzt didn't respond. Nor did he offer to help her up behind him. Ravenlight sighed, knowing the exact reason he was so upset. She mounted behind him, trying to guess the best way to make amends.
Finally, she decided to be direct. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "That was wrong of me. I shouldn't have said that."
Drizzt didn't say anything, but his stiff posture relaxed a little. Ravenlight wondered if this was the first time someone he considered a friend had snapped at him. Even during her fights with Hawkmane, there was some response to an apology; more often a scowl over her shoulder and a pooched-out lip instead of acceptance, true, but there was a reaction. This wasn't really a reaction. She put her hand on his shoulder.
"You have reason to be angry with me," she said simply. "You've been very kind, just coming after me. There's no excuse for me snarling at you like that. I'm sorry."
He sighed. "In hindsight, it was an...asinine question," he admitted. "I just..."
"That's the first time a friend lashed out at you, isn't it?" Ravenlight leaned back and sighed herself. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. But I..." She huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Mother once told my brothers there were two times they should never ask a woman if she was all right. The first is when she's throwing up. The second is when she's in labor."
The second part was so unexpected that Drizzt burst into laughter in spite of himself. "And what," he was finally able to ask, "prompted that?"
"The boys asked her for relationship advice," she answered dryly. "She started with some obvious points—namely, that Sparrowwing might have to find a girl who didn't know about his pranks—then went from there."
Drizzt considered for a moment. "How many girls in the area knew about him?"
"Are you kidding?" Ravenlight rolled her eyes. "I think every girl in Valenwood knew he was a bad bargain. Most of the ones who lived near us wouldn't give him so much as the time of day, and they certainly knew better than to let him close to them or anything they liked." She paused. "Let me clarify, it was my father who told them that, not my mother. They were asking her for advice and he added to it. She just agreed."
"Dare I ask how he knew that?" He glanced back at her warily.
"Personal experience. He also said that if my mother hadn't been far enough along in the birth that she wasn't able to move, she'd have clawed his face off for asking. She certainly cussed him out."
"And who..."
"She was having Wolfgold, he's the oldest." She laughed. "He said he knew better after that."
There was silence for a moment, then Drizzt turned to look at her over his shoulder. "That was very clever," he said dryly. "I actually forgot that I was irritated with you."
"You think I never fought with my brothers or Hawkmane?" Ravenlight rejoined mildly. "And she was particularly bad about refusing to accept apologies while she was a teenager. Yes, I know how to distract people from annoyance. It was a skill used on me as well as by me, because that made it possible to live in peace in a houseful of opinionated, sometimes fractious people." She flinched and grabbed her head. "Owww...okay, no more talking. Sorry, headache just hit again."
Almost suspecting another trick, Drizzt eyed her. Then he felt guilty for his suspicions: Ravenlight had gone pale, slumping back and pressing her hands to her forehead. "Think you should take another healing potion?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
"No thanks," she answered, breathing shallowly. "They didn't really help that much, and I don't want to throw up again."
"Maybe a disease curative?" He looked up. The sun was just started to peak, and there were no clouds in sight. If she couldn't find some way to deal with the pain, riding back to Whiterun would be agony for her.
"Maybe." She fished in her pouch, then withdrew a small bottle and swallowed it. The usual mutter of "Gak," was almost instantly overlaid by a long sigh of relief. "Oh, thank the Divines."
"Did that take care of it?" He looked back at her.
"It's still waiting for its next opportunity, but I can function again—and my head isn't throbbing like someone's using it as a drum." She rubbed her hair. "Maybe it was only a few minutes this time, but having that stop is never too soon. Thanks."
He pondered. "Why are you thanking me?"
"Because I wouldn't have thought of a disease curative." Ravenlight looked at the road ahead of them bleakly. "I'm trying not to think about what's waiting for me in Whiterun."
Ravenlight approached Whiterun's gates with considerable trepidation. After trashing the temple in Markearth and stealing the goat in Rorikstead, she wouldn't have been surprised to find the guards on the lookout for her. But aside from one or two sniffing a little as she passed—checking for alcohol fumes, she realized sourly—there was no reaction.
"Are you going to Breezehome or to the market?" Drizzt asked, after exchanging glares with one less than discreet guard.
"Market." Ravenlight sighed. "If I go home, I'll go to bed and probably won't get out for a few days. I need to find out what I've done now." She turned a beady glare on him. "But I'm going to the market alone."
He clasped a hand to his breast, eyes wide and wounded. "It's almost like you don't trust me."
"It's almost like you've given me reason. Go pester Elrindir or something and leave me alone to find out what I've done in peace. I'll grab you once I learn where to head for damage control next."
Chuckling, Drizzt obligingly moved off. Ravenlight watched to make sure he wouldn't secretly follow her—something her brothers would have done in an instant—then walked down the cobbles toward the market, silently praying that she would not find Ysolda indignant or in tears.
However, the girl appeared to be in high spirits, chatting with Carlotta Valentina. Probably about Mikhail's recent pounding, if the laughter and impish glances exchanged meant anything. She didn't notice the newcomer until she finally turned away from the produce stall.
"Oh—there you are!" Ysolda waved, then hurried up, looking at Ravenlight eagerly. "How is it going?"
"Uh?" Ravenlight blanked out. "How is…what going?"
"Ooh, that bad?" The girl's face twisted with sympathy. "In that case, I shouldn't press for coin…but if the wedding's been called off, I would like to have the ring back. It was one of my best pieces of work."
"The what?" Ravenlight's eyes widened. "Ring—w-wedding?!"
"Yes." Ysolda placed her hands on her hips, trying to appear stern. "You told me the most wonderful story of how you met your love. Don't tell me you've forgotten already!"
The Bosmer tried to keep her expression under control. "Could you humor me and repeat what I told you? Last night is...fuzzy, to say the least."
Ysolda had clearly been enthralled by the story she'd been told, and recounted it in glowing detail. Ravenlight listened with growing dismay. I apparently get eloquent when I'm soused, she thought, forcing herself not to say that the tale sounded like something out of a story because she'd probably borrowed it from one. But...Mara defend us. At the very least, I'm going to severely disappoint someone. At the worst, I'll have someone after my blood for jilting their kid.
Though there was something about the story that sounded...odd. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something jarred. It might have just been the unlikeliness of someone deciding that a Bosmer wandering the woods late at night—no doubt smelling like a meadery—was their ideal mate. So much so that she apparently gave them a ring!
"And where did I meet this love of mine?"
"Witchmist Grove, under a full moon." Ysolda sighed dreamily. "It was such a romantic story! But I guess..." She glanced at Ravenlight, then quickly looked away.
"Romantic stories generally don't make the best foundations for a lasting relationship," Ravenlight said simply. "It's best to go with something more substantial. I'll get that ring back—and I'm sorry for bothering you in the middle of the night."
"So what are we looking for?" Drizzt glanced over at Ravenlight, riding next to him on Fearless. The big horse had arrived at Whiterun Stable by himself a few days ago, and had nearly knocked her over in excitement when the pair passed the stable on their way out of town.
"I'm not entirely sure," Ravenlight admitted. "Ysolda just knows I purchased something from her and paid her half the price, promising to bring the rest of the coin later. I'm going to try to find the item so I can return it; it's something I don't need."
Drizzt exhaled. "Does the term 'needle in a haystack' come to mind? What are you looking for?"
"I bought a piece of jewelry," she responded, not meeting his eye. "I may have given it to someone near Kynesgrove; and I have a heading. It's not as hopeless a task as it sounds."
"A piece of jewelry?" He eyed her suspiciously. "What kind of jewelry?"
"Does it matter?" She looked away, trying to hide her warming cheeks, and wishing she'd slipped off to deal with this by herself.
"Only when you're being this sneaky about it. My curiosity is piqued." He chuckled as she flushed hard enough to turn the tips of her ears red.
"I knew I should have gone off alone," she grumbled.
"I would not have let you," he answered immediately, "for reasons that have nothing to do with whatever is waiting for you in Kynesgrove, and everything to do with how hard you were weaving while we were heading down to the stables. Why couldn't you have stayed in Whiterun until you recovered from that hangover?"
"Because I want to find out what all I did now, instead of waiting." She grimaced. "Yes, my head hurts and I'm nauseous; but lying in bed fretting over what I would find when I was finally back on my feet would be infinitely worse."
"I can see that," Drizzt agreed. Andahar flicked his ears and pranced, snorting. He stroked the unicorn's neck. "All right; let's get this business in Kynesgrove finished so I can get you safely to bed."
Fearless half-reared and whinnied shrilly, dancing in place. Ravenlight whipped Wraithcaptor off her back and wheeled, an arrow already on the string.
"There!" she shouted, firing into the trees. "Black robes—black mages!"
Not just any black mages, as it turned out. Four bandits, all pale-faced and blank-eyed, came charging up out of the hollow in front of the three black-clad figures. Many travelers, faced with the dual threat of reanimated bandits and the necromancers controlling them, would have fled for their lives—or been hard-pressed to fight them off.
For Ravenlight, it was a much-needed chance to burn off some aggression. She'd been snarling internally about what she'd done for several hours now—from trashing the temple to snapping at Drizzt. The edge of her headache didn't bother her at all as Wraithcaptor sang, the arrows slamming into the zombies with deadly force.
Drizzt hit the necromancers themselves, his scimitars flashing. And he wasn't the only threat. While Guenhwyvar had more than earned a rest tracking Ravenlight across Skyrim, Andahar was still fresh, and willing to aid. Between the unicorn's well-aimed horn and Drizzt's lightning-fast sword strokes, the battle was over in less than three minutes.
Ravenlight dismounted, sifting through the ash piles to find her arrows. Glass arrows were expensive, and she didn't want to lose any if she could help it. The headache was still mostly held at bay by the disease curative; but she had the sinking feeling that this was only a temporary reprieve. She was going to be punished for her wild night, though she wasn't sure whether it was her body alone doing the punishing, or a disapproving Stendaar.
Probably both, she thought ruefully, picking out another arrow and brushing greasy ash off it. Swiftdeer had a theory that a bad hangover was Stendarr's way of pointing out why you didn't get drunk off your face, and giving you something to think about the next time you were tempted. She'd listened to him lecture Sparrowwing on this a number of times, always after a night of enthusiastic drinking, and always to the point that Sparrowwing threatened his brother with grave physical harm if he didn't get lost, or failing that, just shut up!
Those mornings usually provided both girls a great deal of entertainment as they hid behind the door, stifling giggles as Swiftdeer lectured and Sparrowwing growled. Their memory was less amusing now that she was in Sparrowwing's position. If Swift came up to me and started lecturing this morning, I'd have strangled him with the first thing I got my hands on. Or just beaten the daylights out of him with a rock. She paused and considered how often Sparrowwing had obliquely threatened to do just that—in an undertone so that their mother couldn't hear him. Not having Mom in the next room over would really put a strain on the family relations, wouldn't it? I don't know how many of us are still alive only because no one wanted to get in trouble.
She opened her mouth to make the joke, then reconsidered. Drizzt didn't come from a wild, boisterous, close family like she had; from what she'd gathered, his childhood had been hellish. What sort of mother, she wondered as she remounted, wouldn't comfort her child when he woke screaming from a nightmare? What sort of mother wouldn't protect him from the evil around him? Then she shuddered as another thought occurred to her. What kind of mother would contribute to what he suffered?
"Are you all right?" Drizzt saw the shudder, and looked her over carefully. She nodded.
"I'm fine. Just thinking." Her head twinged and she grimaced, rubbing her forehead. "Ow."
"Is your head still hurting?"
She exhaled, leaning back in the saddle. "It will be hurting for a while yet. I can function." She looked around the road. "We stay on this road for a little while, then turn and skirt around the hot springs. Kynesgrove is fairly close to Winterhold, so we'll go past it; keep your eyes out for anyone suspicious."
"You think that was a vampire, the other night in the Drunken Huntsman?" He scanned the landscape beside them.
"It's a possibility." She grimaced. "I've run into vampires other than Movarth; never an easy fight. And there are rumors that more of them are congregating. They're starting to gather together, build up their strength." She gazed into the distance, eyes narrowed. "If that's true...they may be a more immediate threat than Alduin."
"Yes," he agreed, his lips twisting into a wry grimace. "You want to save the world; but you also want to make sure it's a world worth saving."
"And one under vampire rule would not be worth saving." Ravenlight shuddered again. "We'll look for that Elder Scroll, but I'm also going to keep my eyes open for whatever's organizing the vampires."
"Which would you consider a greater threat?"
"Flip a coin," she responded. "Failing that, whichever is closer to succeeding."
"And how would you be able to tell?"
She turned to look at him, eyes dark. "Believe me. It wouldn't be hard to tell, either one. It wouldn't be hard to tell at all."
It was a grim note to end the conversation, but Ravenlight was secretly grateful that it was ended. For one thing, downplay it as she would, she still had a headache, and the quiet eased it. For another...she was thinking about what she would do once she reached the unfortunate person she'd sweet-talked the night before.
Almost without realizing it, she began to outline how she would explain what had happened. Apologize first, profusely; letting someone down easily was almost impossible, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try. Then explain that she hadn't exactly been in her right mind the previous night. Maybe she should sling a few vitriolic comments Sam Guevenne's way? That would certainly ease her mood about all this, the little...
"What are you muttering?"
She jumped. She hadn't realized she had been muttering—though, considering her irritation with the bar rat, it wasn't all that surprising. "Just...wondering how I'm going to go about getting that bit of jewelry back."
He gave her a long, level, calculating stare. One she was intimately familiar with. If he hadn't had black skin and long white hair, he would have looked exactly like Wolfgold. "Would it not be possible to just buy it back?"
"Maybe," she muttered, refusing to go into further detail. "But there's no harm in explaining why I want to buy it back, is there?"
"No; but going into detail is...unusual."
"Depends on how much I sold it for in the first place." She made a face at him. "Shut up, I'm trying to think."
He still looked curious, but at least now he wasn't asking her about it, the pest. Ravenlight went back to rehearsing a suitably non-crushing, reassuring speech to the recipient of last night's drunken affection.
Without realizing she was doing it, she began to build up a picture of him: big and gentle, with lank, straw-like hair and kindly but unintelligent eyes. The sort of farmboy who dreamed of romance, but was just slow enough not to realize that the mead-soaked woman wandering through the woods late at night might not mean her sweet words. He'd be a nice boy, she decided. Maybe not someone she wanted to spend her life with, but certainly one she didn't want to destroy. She pondered whether she should use humor or kindness when she explained how drunk she'd been...
Drizzt cleared his throat, making her turn to him. He looked around pointedly. "Are you sure this is the right way?"
Ravenlight took a look around herself and frowned, then pulled out her wayfinder compass. The needle pointed dead ahead. Not only that, but the floret at the end of the needle was starting to glow blue—a sign that they were nearing the goal. She looked around again, her mouth suddenly dry. The dark, twisted grove head of them them had a distinctly foreboding aspect, and her comforting image of the big, gentle farmboy looked less likely.
"Yes, this is the right way. I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this." Her hands tightened on Fearless's reins. The horse shook his head and snorted, prancing unhappily.
"Glad I'm not the only one," Drizzt muttered. Ravenlight noticed that he had loosed his scimitars, and his hand rested on Twinkle's hilt. "I'm starting to wonder just who you gave this piece of jewelry to."
"So am I." Ravenlight drew Fearless to a halt as the compass needle suddenly flared with light. "We're...close. Very close." She peered through the gloom and stiffened.
In front of them was a small, ratty-looking shack, half-hidden in the trees. The tumbledown appearance of the place suggested not neglect, but rather malice...helped by a decidedly unfriendly hedge of outward-pointing, sharpened stakes. The mingled odors of old blood, herbs, and something that hadn't bathed in quite some time weren't reassuring, either.
"What in Nine Hells?" Drizzt also leaned forward, alarmed by the place.
"Please the Divines that's not an accurate question," Ravenlight muttered, swinging down off Fearless. "Stay here, Fearless. Why would I have given anything to someone who lives here?"
It did not help her mood that her horse started to toss his head, paw the ground, and snort uneasily as she moved off. But hearing Drizzt's light step behind her was a comfort.
Until she came around to the front of the house. And saw what came out to meet her.
"Darrrrling!" It was hard to decide which was worse—the delight on the hagraven's hideously wrinkled face, or the word she'd chosen to greet her with. "I have been waiting for you." The hagraven approached, clawed hands outstretched—and a golden ring visible on one finger. "Yearning to consummate our love!"
It was a good thing Ravenlight hadn't eaten recently. Her stomach flopped so hard she almost started heaving anyway, and she took an involuntary step back. "Uhhh—I was actually coming to take the ring...back."
Her first thought, as the words left her mouth, were So much for not being crushing. The second thought was much more sarcastic, as she berated herself for the lack of diplomacy. The third realized that there was no diplomatic way to turn down a hagraven.
"What?!" The outraged screech hit a pitch that could have shattered eardrums. "You—you—" Her eyes suddenly burned with scarlet fire. "It's her, isn't it? That hussy Esmeralda, those black feathers she's always flaunting—you chose her instead, didn't you?! She won't have you. I won't let her have you!"
"Look out!"
Drizzt hauled Ravenlight back barely in time to avoid a fireball larger than Malkoran's. The hag wheeled to track them, insane rage quivering in every particle of her body.
"Spread out!" Drizzt yelled, drawing his blades. "Don't let her get us both in her sights!"
Easy for you to say! Ravenlight didn't quite have enough breath to scream this out the way she'd have liked to. Instinct needed three seconds after the first fireball to take over, and she was already running. She dashed back and forth, weaving through the tree trunks in order to present a dizzying target for her enraged would-be lover. With any luck, the hagraven—why did she suddenly know the hag's name was Moira?—would be too focused on her to see Drizzt coming.
And at first, as she dodged a number of loud explosions, she thought it was working. Then there was a startled yell from his direction, the hissing crash of an ice spike—a pained cry—
The word she spat would have got her mouth washed out with lye soap if her mother had heard her. Moira wasn't so focused on her that she would ignore the obvious danger of an expert swordsman. Did she catch him off guard? There was a reason people were afraid of hagravens—a reason she hated going up against them—what if she's seriously hurt him?
Then she dies!
Rage. Pure, unadulterated, fiery rage flooded every vein in her body, actually giving her vision a bloody tinge. Sunfang flew into her hand, and she spun back toward the hut, reaching for the deadliest Thu'um she knew.
Drizzt was alive—on his feet, even. But he was in trouble. Moira's magicka was nowhere near depleted, and she was hurling powerful spells from both hands: lightning, frost, and here and there a blast of fire. He zigzagged wildly, trying to avoid the varied blasts and spikes cropping up in his path. Blood streamed down one leg: he'd been caught by a spike.
Ravenlight considered and chose a course of action in a fraction of a second: striking in Bosmer silence, rather than a Dov's thunderous assault. She sprinted toward the hag, her feet brushing across the ground, landing and lifting too quickly to make any sound. Drizzt saw her coming, his tense expression relaxing into gratitude. Moira saw, and turned—
Too late. Sunfang's razor edge caught her at the neck, and her head spun from her shoulders almost all the way across her clearing. Ravenlight sped past her, not even bothering to wipe the blood off her sword, as she ran to Drizzt. He sank his knees, taking the weight off his damaged leg.
"Drizzt! Are you all right?"
He nodded, one hand going to the wound in his thigh. "Not mortally injured, anyway—though an inch to the side and this would have been deadly." He sighed in gratitude as she knelt beside him, healing golden light streaming from her left hand into him. "Ah. Thank you."
"I was hoping she'd come after me," Ravenlight admitted ruefully. "In fact, I expected her to."
"So I...gathered." He glanced sideways at her, his lips twitching as he tried to hold back his laughter. "What in the world was all that about?"
Ravenlight instantly turned bright red. "Um...with any luck she mistook me for someone else."
"Ah, I don't think so." He tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back a laugh. "You certainly didn't look like you didn't understand what she was talking about. You should have seen your face." He looked over at the hagraven's body, a curious tilt to his eyebrows. Ravenlight followed his gaze and realized to her horror that he was looking at Moira's outstretched left hand—and the golden ring visible on it. A mischievous grin stretched across his face. "That wouldn't, by any chance, be the bit of jewelry you were looking for, would it?"
"Shut up!" If she blushed any harder, she would faint from blood loss. It would have been bad enough had it been the farmboy she'd been imagining. But that would have been...understandable, at the same time. But this? Finding out she'd been whispering sweet nothings into that misshapenear? Or possibly—she gagged—exchanging kisses with her? "Oh, gods, I didn't think I could have pulled anything worse than the goat."
That was the absolute worst thing she could have said. Drizzt lost it, laughing so hard he couldn't keep his balance and fell over. "A hagraven!" he gasped out. "That ring— it's a—and you gave it to a hagraven, of all things!"
"I was drunk!" Ravenlight howled. It felt like an flimsy excuse this time; no amount of alcohol could excuse getting cuddly with one of the nastiest creatures in Skyrim. She would have felt a little less dirty had she learned she'd been sweet-talking a Falmer. At least they didn't have a choiceas to what they were!
"But still!" He pushed himself up, then burst into laughter again and collapsed. "A hagraven?!"
It took him several more minutes to finally get under control. When he looked up, panting and out of breath, he found two glaring amber eyes five inches away from his. "If you tell anyone what happened," Ravenlight threatened, "you will wake up with every grass burr in fifteen miles rubbed into your hair. And don't think for one minute that I can't pull it off. I grew up with the worst prankster in Valenwood, remember?"
He blinked. "You would?"
"Yes." She straightened, glaring at him. "I would."
For a long moment, they looked at each other, Ravenlight seething, Drizzt pondering. He'd heard deadlier threats. But at the same time...
"All right. It will never be told."
"Good." Without offering to help him up, Ravenlight turned away.
As he pushed himself up, he noticed her hands trembling. But he somehow doubted it was shame, or grief...or any of the safer emotions. "Would it be...unwise for me to ask if it's me you're so angry with?"
"Not with you." Her voice was low and grim. "But this is the last straw. I'm going to track down that Sam Guevenne—and I am going to wring his neck!"
It was hard to remain civil after such a discovery. But somehow, Ravenlight managed it, with only a few quiet snarls as she thought of the numerous and bloody indignities she was going to heap on the author of her drunken escapades. Drizzt wisely left her alone—and rode several feet further away from her than was normal.
But if her fury made those around her uncomfortable, it also had a positive side effect: her headache had faded to background noise, insignificant as a bird's chirping. And it lasted.
She was, thankfully, able to smile at Ysolda as she returned the ring, and her inquiries as to anything else she might have said while buying it were polite. They were also fruitful. It turned out she'd made some comments about someone from whom she'd recently won a staff: he was waiting for her in Morvunskar.
"What do you know about Morvunskar?" Drizzt glanced over at her as they headed out, this time—to his gratitude—after a meal at the inn.
"Not much," Ravenlight admitted, shifting a little on Fearless's back. The horse snorted in resignation, shaking his head. He hadn't particularly wanted to head back out of the stable again, but he'd had a good rest and plenty of oats and hay while he was there, and Ravenlight wasn't setting a ferocious pace. It was, however, cold, and Fearless could think of a number of places he'd rather be than out in a slow but chilling wind. "I've heard a little about it, but nothing concrete."
"What little have you heard?"
Ravenlight exhaled. "Mostly that it's a sorcerer's lair. Apparently, almost any sort of dark mage can find refuge there."
Drizzt grimaced. "Meaning that getting through them to find this bar rat will be difficult. Well...it's not as if I've never fought insane wizards before."
She shot him an interested glance. "That sounds like it has a story behind it."
"More than one, actually." He shook his head, his mouth twisting as several of his .
"Well...we have time." Ravenlight's glance turned both questioning and impish. "Tell you what; I still owe you the story about when I met Clavicus Vile. It's an interesting story, but not that long. I'll tell you that one first...then you tell me about one of these wizards?"
He considered. "All right. I have been wondering about that. You first."
Ravenlight looked up, settling back into the saddle. "It was the first time I'd been to Falkreath, a fair-sized Hold capitol to the west of Skyrim; almost as soon as I came up to the gates, one of the guards came out and asked me if I'd seen a dog out on the road. I hadn't, and said that. He explained that there had been one hanging around, and the blacksmith was interested in catching it. I talked to the smith and agreed to help him."
"So what happened?"
She let out a long breath. "Things didn't get strange until I found the dog. That was when it started talking."
His eyebrows arched. "Talking?"
"Yes. That was when I found out who—and what—it was. His name was Barbas, and he was actually a sort of Daedra: one who belonged to Clavicus Vile."
"I remember you mentioned him," Drizzt said slowly, "and that he's not someone to make deals with. But you never did say why."
"Because any deal with him is guaranteed to go sideways." She shook her head. "Just as an example, when we got to his shrine in Haemar's Shame, I found it full of vampires. I fought my way through them, with Barbas's help...then I made it to the shrine itself, where I discovered that the vampires were his worshipers. And they'd asked him for a cure for their vampirism!"
He pondered. "So..."
"He thanked me for killing them! Called it 'putting them out of their misery', the little—" Her speech degenerated into a series of snarled words Drizzt was glad he couldn't understand. "Anyway, he agreed to take Barbas back if I'd retrieve something called the Rueful Axe. Barbas had warned me not to make any other sort of deal with him; but that's all I would have asked for, anyway. I'd heard a few stories about people who'd asked Vile for help. Never turned out well for them. Ever."
"So what happened?"
She exhaled. "Got the axe with relatively little trouble, despite the fact that Haemar's Shame is near Helgen behind the Throat of the World, and the lair of the wizard who owned the axe was up in the mountain ranges near Solitude. Travel alone took almost two days—and I hadn't yet bought Fearless, so I was legging it the whole way. Didn't help my temper when I finally got back."
Drizzt shook his head slowly. "So...what happened when you returned with the axe?"
"Vile started musing on how powerful a weapon it was, and what a shame it would be to just give it away. Then he said he'd let me keep the thing if I killed Barbas." She snorted. "I don't even use axes. The blasted thing wouldn't be of any use to me. I practically threw it at him and told him to take his axe and his dog back."
"I imagine he didn't like that."
Ravenlight grimaced. "He wasn't real pleased. But since I'd refused to take a bargain from him, he really had no power over me. Besides, he'd banished Barbas for holding him in check; and Barbas had reason to be grateful to me."
Drizzt laughed. "You think he held his master in check?"
"It's possible." She stretched her shoulders and looked over at him. "Your turn. You said something about fighting crazed wizards?"
"Yes, I did." He sighed, looking up at the sky. "I'll tell you about the first one I fought: Akar Kessel, the...master of the Crystal Shard."
Ravenlight glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "Why the emphasis on 'master'?"
"Because, as I came later to learn more about Creshinibon, the more I started to wonder if Kessel wasn't just a pawn. The blasted thing was sentient—and powerful."
Ravenlight leaned forward eagerly as he told a story as wild and strange as any bard's tale— silently plotting to get him back to the Bard's College as soon as possible, so that someone with more talent than she could get it down the way it should be told.
It was dark by the time they reached the base of the mountain where Morvunskar was located. Ravenlight dismounted, looking at the rocks and considering the best way up. Absently, she smacked Fearless on the rump. "Go home, boy," she murmured, stepping forward. "Back to the stable with you."
The big horse snorted and shook his mane. Then he turned and trotted off, quickly vanishing in the gloom. Drizzt looked at her in surprise.
"Why did you send him back?" he asked.
Ravenlight paused as she started to climb the rocks. "I don't really know," she answered. "I just...felt like I should." Then she shrugged. "Let's go," she advised. "And be careful; I don't know how far we'll have to climb before we reach Morvunskar, and it's a pretty good bet that the place will be guarded."
Thankfully, the climb was nowhere near as difficult as it might have been. Both Elves were surefooted and agile, and the thin light of the stars overhead—the auroras had yet to appear—was sufficient for them to see their way. Drizzt soon found himself leading, as his night vision was better; but Ravenlight followed without any difficulty.
As it turned out, the old, crumbling fort was guarded; but the mages patrolling the battlements were tired and bored. Ravenlight dropped into a hidden crouch, watching with admiration as her companion flitted, silent and deadly, across the area. Wraithcaptor was in her hand, just in case; but it proved unneeded. None of the enemy mages had a chance against the Drow.
"It just occurred to me," she murmured as she came up to him, once he'd cleared the courtyard, "that I'd never seen you fight after night fell before."
He flashed her a dangerous grin, his eyes glowing slightly in the dim light. "Night is the time of the Drow," he said, sounding as if he was quoting someone. "Is that less so here?"
"Night in Valenwood is the time of the hunters," Ravenlight answered, flashing him an equally dangerous smile, "and some would argue the time of the Khajiit. Come on; there will be more inside."
"You don't mind me taking the kills?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Doesn't the...Dov object to that?"
She grimaced. "The Dov has been asleep since we left High Hrothgar, and I'm not sure if I'm grateful for that or not. On the one hand, I could use her help at the moment; on the other, I cannot thank the Divines enough that there wasn't a drunken dragon out wandering Skyrim the other night."
Drizzt grimaced, forcing himself not to imagine the chaos that might have resulted. "I share the sentiment. All right; I'll take the lead."
It was a bad night for the dark mages in Morvunskar. The few who didn't find themselves in the path of a Drow's scimitars were immediately taken out by a Bosmer's lethal aim. The two companions tore through the halls like a storm wind, barely meeting more than a helpless, token resistance. It was so easy Drizzt almost started to feel guilty about the lives he was ending.
Until, that is, they encountered the fire mage, gloating to himself as he stood in front of a cell filled with the bodies of people he'd burned to death. There were equal parts venom and vindication in the blows that ended that particular fiend's life, and Drizzt, standing for a moment in silent prayer for the victims, no longer felt remorse for their attack.
"Drizzt?" Ravenlight's voice filtered through the walls, clearly audible. "I found something."
Since she felt safe enough to shout, he guessed there were no more enemies—and with any luck, she may have discovered where the bar rat was hiding. Drizzt sheathed his blades and went to find her.
Ravenlight stood at the entrance to a large room, looking through the door. As he came up, she glanced at him, then tipped her head at the room. "Look in there."
Curious, he looked past her, and his eyebrows arched. "What in Nine Hells?"
She grimaced, slowly entering. "Once again, I pray that is not an accurate assessment."
At the far end of the room stood an immense portal of bluish-white light, circling and flashing. Ravenlight glanced down at her hand, checking the wayfinder.
"I don't know where that goes," she said, "but he's in there."
They glanced at each other, then at the rippling portal. Then, in unspoken agreement, they clasped each other's arms and stepped forward together. Brilliant light briefly surrounded them, then faded.
Blinking, Ravenlight looked around, frowning in disorientation. They were in a mist-shrouded, young-growth forest, surrounded by slender-trunked trees and some bushes. "So...where are we?"
"I'm not sure," Drizzt answered, also surprised. He moved a little and frowned. "But there is a path...and I can see a light up ahead. We might find some answers up there."
For a few moments, the two moved cautiously up the path. Then, as the source of the light became clear, they exchanged puzzled glances. Up ahead of them was a table, surrounded by revelers. Ravenlight leaned forward a little, peering closely at a tall figure at their head. Instantly, her eyes narrowed, and she let out a sharp hiss.
"There he is!"
She stormed ahead, her hands balled into fists, fury drifting off her like a dark cloud. Drizzt followed behind, wondering if he should somehow intervene—perhaps with Guenhwyvar's help—or just pull her off if it looked like she would out-and-out kill the man.
Then, the dark-clad, scruffy fellow looked, up, saw her—and laughed. It was an odd, almost eerie sound, though not menacing or cruel. It was just a sound that didn't seem to belong to the man in front of them...
And he changed. One moment, the red-faced bar rat stood there: the next, he'd transformed into a tall, broad-shouldered being dressed in spiked armor. His red-and-black pattered face was surmounted by four curled horns, and his lips were split in a grin of...the only way Drizzt could describe it was dark pleasure. His hands automatically went to his scimitars.
"Sanguine," Ravenlight growled, stopping in her tracks. "I should have guessed."
"Sanguine?" Drizzt noted that she wasn't reaching for her sword and paused. "Who is he?"
"One of the Daedric Princes, of course!" The demonic-looking figure laughed again, heartily. Now his laughter matched. "Lord of Drunkenness and Debauchery!" He bowed in a fashion that wasn't quite mocking. "And yes, Dragonborn, instigator of last night's adventures!"
"I should have guessed," she repeated. "What did you want? What was the point of all that?"
"The point?" Sanguine spread his arms, a look of theatrical surprise on his face. "What did I say to you as we headed out into the night?"
"After all that Black-briar mead?" Ravenlight folded her arms. "I've been crisscrossing Skyrim finding out what I did, and I still don't remember any of it. How on earth would I remember one stray statement at the start of the blackout?"
"Live a little," Drizzt quoted suddenly, recalling what Lynly Star-Sung had told him before he set out in search of his missing companion. "Have fun. That's what you said."
"Yes!" Sanguine pointed at him. "Someone remembers!"
"Yes, the bard at the inn," Drizzt answered dryly. "That's what she told me after I couldn't find my companion the next morning."
"Living a little," Ravenlight repeated, her face going dangerously still. "Having fun. Is that what you call it?"
"Is that not what happened?" Sanguine grinned at her. "You're normally so uptight. So stuffy! Wasn't it good to cut loose and enjoy yourself for one night?"
Drizzt quickly caught her arm, not sure what would happen if she attacked a Daedric Prince—and guessing from the low, animalistic growl rumbling in her throat that it was about to happen. He glanced at her face, not surprised to see the amber turning to garnet.
Sanguine either didn't realize or didn't care that the infuriated Bosmer in front of him was on the verge of becoming an infuriated dragon, at least in spirit. "Ah, but I did make a promise to you, didn't I? Beat me at that contest and I'd give you a powerful staff? You'll find that, while I do enjoy a good joke, I keep my word!" He made a flourish and produced a long staff, which resembled a flower stalk with two long thorns beneath the glowing head. "As promised: the Sanguine Rose! You'll never be without allies carrying this, I assure you—and no dangerous side effects to this!"
He held it out. Ravenlight took it, still glowering. Drizzt got the impression that she was considering using it like a blunt object on its owner; thankfully, she didn't do so. Sanguine bowed theatrically, raising his hand.
"Well, that's finished, then! Time for you both to return to Skyrim. Oh, by the way, Dragonborn, watch out. Stendarr does tend to...take offense to my machinations. He can't affect me, but he may decide to chastise you instead. Just a friendly warning!"
He dropped his hand, and light surrounded them.
When the light faded, they were in a familiar area: the field right outside of Whitehelm's curtain wall. Ravenlight let out an anguished whimper and slumped forward as Stendarr's 'retribution' crashed down on her with all the sternness an angry god could produce. Drizzt caught her before she collapsed, holding her upright with main strength.
"I was afraid of that," he muttered. "All right, let's get you back to Breezehome and into bed."
She shifted feebly, apparently trying to push away from him. "Gnnnn besick," she mumbled. His hands loosened for a moment and she reeled back. He caught her again before she could fall over, supporting her against his body.
"I'm not surprised you feel sick," he answered grimly, making sure to keep his voice down. He frowned down as her hands danced spasmodically across his chest, unsure of what, exactly, she was trying to do. "Come on; let me help you get—"
That was when he discovered—too late—what she had actually said.
Lydia sprang up in shock as Drizzt pushed the door open, his clothing covered in reeking liquid and Ravenlight a limp, moaning bundle in his arms. "What in Kynareth's name?"
"She's hungover," Drizzt answered, a wry twist to his lips, "and very sick. You'll probably want to put a basin by the bed, she's thrown up twicein the five minutessince we arrived."
Ravenlight mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'Tried to warn you.' He nodded ruefully. "Yes, you did. Let's get you in bed."
Lydia ran a hand through her hair, sighing in resignation. "You know, I never thought I'd thank the gods that my uncle was the town drunk. But I know how to deal with this. Once you get her upstairs, I'll get her out of that armor. You can borrow my room to change. Do you have anything clean to put on?"
Starting up the narrow staircase, he nodded. "Yes, fortunately."
The housekarl wrinkled her nose as he passed her. "Ugh, good thing, too. If you didn't, I'd be dragging Belethor out of bed to buy any clothing he had. Throw those out the door once you've changed and I'll get them in the fire."
He stopped dead. "No."
"No?" Lydia raised her eyebrows at him. "Those are nasty. You can't expect me to wash them, because I. Will. Not."
"Then hire a mage to try and clean them or something. I don't want you burning my clothes." Then, as one eyebrow somehow managed to arch even higher, he amended. "Look, I don't care what you arrange—I'll wash them out myself if I have to. Just don't burn them."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. Get the Thane into bed before she throws up again and then change. I'll take care of her."
"How is she?" Drizzt looked over at Lydia as she came back downstairs.
"Sleeping," Lydia answered, signaling for him to keep his voice down, "or at least trying to, with the blankets pulled over her head and an icy rag on her face. How on earth did she get that bad?"
"A scruffy old bar rat who wouldn't leave her alone," Drizzt answered, his mouth twisting sourly, "and who turned out to be Sanguine in disguise. He must have poured almost four gallons of mead into her."
Lydia blinked. "You're certain it was Sanguine?"
"Yes. We tracked him down. By that time, Ravenlight had been halfway across Skyrim picking up the pieces of what she'd done while completely drunk—which ranged from mischief to...outright danger." He shook his head, successfully holding back a burst of laughter. "The last thing we found out had her mad enough to beat that bar rat within an inch of his life, so we found out where he holed up and went after him. When we got there, he revealed himself."
"The prince of drunkenness and debauchery." Lydia shook her head. "That explains it, all right."
"By the way, what did you do with my clothes?" Drizzt looked over at her worriedly. "I noticed they'd disappeared after I left your room."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Since you were so insistent that you didn't want me to burn them, I fastened them to a rope and dropped them in the river in front of the gate. The water will beat all the sick out, and I won't have to touch them. Honestly, if it had been me, I would have just stuffed them into the foundry and been done with it."
"I'm glad you did not," he answered dryly. "I may be in no rush to return to my homeland, but I would like to keep what I have from there. And I'm most comfortable in my own clothing."
Lydia shrugged. "I don't understand that," she admitted, going to the cooking pot over the hearth. "I guess I just take being able to buy new clothes for granted. They should be clean by morning, so I'll pull them out then and hang them around the fire to dry."
He nodded. "Would you rather I went to the Bannered Mare for tonight? Knowing I'm here can't be comfortable for her." The next second, he and Lydia flinched in sympathy at the sound of violent retching from upstairs. When it finally stopped—almost three minutes later—he gave the ceiling a concerned look. "That sounds like it's getting worse."
"It does." Lydia sighed and glanced at him in resignation. "You probably should go to the inn, Drizzt. This is going to be a rough night."
The sun was rising high the following morning as Drizzt walked down the cobblestone streets back toward Breezehome. He'd made a stop by Arcadia's Cauldron, willingly paying extra gold to have her mix up a specific hangover remedy. He didn't know if Ravenlight would still be feeling sick, but considering how long she'd managed to delay the crash—not to mention how severe it was when it finally came—he guessed it would be best to be prepared.
As he came in, he saw Lydia at the hearth, stirring a fragrant pot. She looked up and gave him a wan smile, dark circles under her eyes.
"How bad was it?"
"Awful." Lydia shook her head. "I'm not sure which of us had it worse, and that's saying something."
"I must have thrown up everything I'd eaten since puberty," a croaky voice said from the back. Drizzt looked at the table to see a form swathed in a wool blanket on the bench, hunched over. It turned to reveal Ravenlight's face, pale and drawn, peering out through the opening. "Everything I'd drunk for that matter, too. I don't know how." She blinked. Her black lashes appeared in stark detail against her skin, highlighting how pale she was. "Sorry about what happened last night."
"You did try to warn me." He shook his head, walking over to her. "Here. I had Arcadia mix this up for you; it's specifically for hangovers."
"Oh, Divines bless you." She took the jug from him. Instead of drinking it all in one go—which he had been expecting, despite the fact that the jug was larger than most potion bottles—she started sipping out of it, sighing in relief. "And Arcadia. But mostly you for getting it for me. It's even helping my throat."
"Your throat's sore?"
She gave him a beady look. "Without going into too much gory detail, let's just say that after the kind of night I had? Yes, it's sore."
He chuckled. "Sounds like you're starting to feel better. I don't know what Lydia's fixing, but it smells good. Do you want me to bring you some?"
She raised a finger. "Let me drink a little more of this first. But then, yes. And thank you."
Author's Note: So, what did you think? As always, I want to know what you liked and what didn't tick. Reviews are always encouraging!
Okay, the interlude is over. Back to the quest! ...And keep an eye out for a new character appearing in a little while. She hasn't found out everything she's done yet, hehehe.