The celebrations in the Do'Urden compound began as Narbondel began to rise and continued an entire day, until it once again reached its nadir. Matron Malice, Briza, and the others had emerged from the private chapel shortly after the death of Matron SiNafay, and upon seeing the bodies of three experienced drow warriors waiting for her, Malice began to shower praise on her third son, the proof of Lloth's favor towards House Do'Urden. Even Briza, who hated males with a passion, was impressed by the thirdboy, and offered him brief and grudging congratulation on his prowess. Only Vierna, the most sensitive of the Do'Urden females, noticed the pain hidden behind the lavender eyes of her brother. But she had no time to address it privately before Drizzt was whisked away at her mother's side to be congratulated in front of all the returning warriors of Do'Urden.

Hours later, Drizzt had secluded himself on the rooftop of one of the buildings in the Do'Urden compound, high above the revelers still in the courtyard, drinking, gambling, fighting and making love in the dirt. The young drow was torn, unable to stop thinking about the events earlier in the day. He had ended the lives of three other drow, and Drizzt could not help feeling that it was wrong to kill other thinking, feeling beings, especially drow, who were so similar to himself. But at the same time, those drow had been willing to kill him, and to kill his family, and to end the Do'Urden clan, so Drizzt could not understand why he did not feel like a hero. Matron Malice had certainly thought he deserved repeated accolades, first in front of the returning warriors of House Do'Urden, then again in front of the soldiers of Bregan D'Aerthe who had arrived in the compound to join the revelry, and finally lauding his accomplishments to the captured common soldiers of House Hun'ett, who were beginning their integration as common soldiers of the newly more powerful House Do'Urden, eighth house of Menzoberranzan.

Even Briza had congratulated him, a moment that Drizzt still could not quite believe. But no amount of congratulation could take away the nagging sense that he had done something wrong. The adolescent dark elf wondered about the family and friends of the drow elves whom he had killed. Certainly, he thought, he would have been devastated if Zaknafein or Nalfein had not returned from the fighting, and in his desperation to win, he wondered, could he have overlooked an opportunity to save the lives of his opponents, and return them to their families unharmed? Drizzt, lost in thought, didn't even notice a drow elf, formerly of House Hun'ett, slowly scaling a stalagmite to approach his position from behind.


Meanwhile, elsewhere in the compound, Matron Malice had returned to her throne room, and summoned Zaknafein to join her. Malice had been drinking heavily, flushed with victory and the resolution of her ambition to one day join the ruling council of Menzoberranzan. As she waited, she took another swig from her eight-legged chalice, filled with a strong mushroom spirit brewed by the kobolds of the Clawrift. She gasped with pleasure as its heat tore down her throat, and went to pull another long draught from the chalice, but before she could, the door crept slowly open. Zaknafein stood in the entrance, hood pulled up over his head, and swords attached firmly to his hip as always. "Ah, brother," Malice greeted him, slightly too drunk to find her usual husky and sultry tone, "It's so good to see you. And to see Rizzen of course," here she giggled slightly, for despite her great power, the high priestess was still susceptible to getting a little tipsy, "But oh wait, Rizzen isn't here, is he?" Zaknafein restrained a flinch as Malice lifted her petite but powerful body from the throne and swayed towards him, in what Zaknafein assumed must be Malice's drunken attempt at a sultry sashay. Resigned to his fate, and knowing that he had implicitly agreed to it when he thrust his sword into Malice's former lover, Zaknafein stood stiff as a statue as Malice approached him, raising herself onto her toes to place herself so close to him that he could smell the spirits on her breath.

Malice spoke again, her voice low in her range, quietly, barely slurring her words. "So, Zaknafein, brother," she asked, a hint of threat and a hint of lust entering her tone, the two commingled as they so often were with the dangerous and lustful Matron, "where is Rizzen? I was so sure that you would uphold your end of the deal. When you asked me to choose another lover, anyone but you, when you said you would sire no more children for me, despite your power and prowess, because you 'didn't think it was right,'" Malice spat these words out with the excessive venom she reserved for drow elves like Zaknafein who did not welcome the chaos and baseness of Lloth's following, "you promised me that you would make sure my new patron would come to no harm. But that snivelling weakling isn't here, and you are, brother," Malice giggled, the most unnerving sound that Zaknafein had ever heard, "So I assume you're ready for the consequences."

As she finished speaking, Malice raised herself just slightly higher, and, quick as the snakes that headed her cruel whip, snapped closer to the unmoving weapons master and grasped his lower lip between her teeth in a cruel kiss. Her hands shot out, one grasping the back of Zaknafein's head, drawing him in closer, the other grasping his buttocks, nearly lifting the male off his feet with the power of Malice's grip.

Zaknafein was powerless to resist his Matron, but was horrified by the actions she was taking. Zaknafein was not unused to Malice's advances, as she had commanded him to bed many times, but the male could not help the familiar sense of wrongness, despite its accompaniment by stirring primal urges. He sighed inwardly. He had known the consequences when he had despatched the Malice's patron, and it had been a long time since Zaknafein had known the comfort of a female, especially one as shapely and skilful as Matron Malice.


Jarlaxle had been with his old friend when Zaknafein received the summons from Matron Malice, and for lack of better things to do, the eccentric rogue had followed his companion, at a very safe distance, beyond even Zaknafein's keen senses and instincts, to the throne room. Jarlaxle smirked as he began to understand the terms of the agreement that it seemed Matron Malice had made with Zaknafein to prevent the male posturing and infighting that plagued the male hierarchy of many houses in Menzoberranzan. Not many drow males would strike a bargain to avoid the opportunity to fornicate with the beautiful and powerful matron mother. Rizzen had even been willing to give up all dignity and freedom just for that very opportunity.

Jarlaxle pondered why Zaknafein would give up the stable truth as he listened absently to the sounds of his closest friend rutting with his employer for the previous night's martial activities. Eventually the cunning rogue arrived at a workable solution, which, of course, hinged around the weapon master's strange devotion to his son, the thirdboy, Drizzt. Zaknafein seemed to think that the boy had inherited his odd moral code, more similar to that of the elves of the surface than the drow elves, and to protect this seed, Zaknafein was willing to sacrifice himself to Malice's tender care in order to remove the influence of the weak minded and heinous Rizzen, the boy's official father. And of course, in less than a year, the boy would be off to Melee-Magthere, the school of fighters, Zaknafein would be released into Jarlaxle's service, away from Malice, and Rizzen would still be permanently dead. Not a bad solution, Jarlaxle decided with a wry smile. Of course, the rogue mused, as the sounds of approaching climax reached him from inside the room, anything scheme that Zaknafein could come up with, Malice could easily decipher, so he imagined that Malice would use Zaknafein as hard as she could in the coming year. He shrugged. Maybe he should help relieve his friend of some of the burden. When a spent and dejected Zaknafein finally left the room, the master of Bregan D'Aerthe slipped unnoticed inside the door, taking in the lovely view of an unclothed Matron Malice.


Lost in thought, Drizzt Do'Urden barely noticed the presence approaching behind him, and only whirled around, drawing his scimitars in one smooth motion, making sure to set his feet well on the damp, smooth tiles that roofed the building on which he had perched. To his surprise, the approaching drow elf, hooded, but clearly a female and an adolescent like himself, crossed her arms over her chest in the drow signal for approaching in peace. Drizzt observed the approaching female, her toned legs, slender waist, and small but shapely bosom, but could not place her figure to any of the drow he had seen in the Do'Urden compound. As the unfamiliar drow stopped and pulled back her hood, shaking loose a smooth curtain of white hair, Drizzt confirmed that she was not a Do'Urden. "Not another step," he growled. "Hands where I can see them, and answer my questions directly." Wary of the unknown female using a clerical spell against him, Drizzt watched her hands closely and sheathed one scimitar so that he could palm a ceramic globe into his hand. If the unknown female decided to begin casting, Drizzt was ready to spring into action to disrupt the spell, preferably without having to kill anyone else.

The unknown female extended her hands from her sleeves, and smiled, waiting for Drizzt to speak again. This slightly reassured the young male, and his tone was kinder when he resumed speaking. "Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Zayana," the female replied, "Once of House Hun'ett, now of No House Worth Mentioning. Hopefully soon I will be of House Do'Urden." Drizzt had been aware of the outcomes of Menzoberranzan's internecine conflicts since Nalfein had first told him about the fall of House DeVir, many years ago, so he was not surprised by the cavalier manner in which Zayana treated her membership of House Hun'ett. Only the nobles of Menzoberranzan's houses held any true attachment to their house, and that was merely because they were almost always murdered in the fall of a house. For the common soldiers, they gave their loyalty to whichever house was more powerful.

"Greetings, Zayana," Drizzt spoke, now at much greater ease, although still unwilling to sheath his other scimitar, "My name is Drizzt Do'Urden, thirdboy of House Do'Urden. Why are you here on this rooftop, and not down below, in the celebration?" Whatever he was expecting, Drizzt was certainly unprepared for her reply.

"For the same reason as you, I imagine," the attractive adolescent replied. "Because you killed my father."

Drizzt stood still for a moment, shocked. Then he raised his scimitar back to a guard position, ready for an impending assault. But moments of studying the face of the female facing him convinced the young drow that he was not under threat. He sheathed his scimitar and attempted to apologize. Unfortunately, the language of the drow did not contain the appropriate words to apologize, so Drizzt was forced to settle on a similar statement. "It was not my intention," the adolescent stated, "to cause pain to you, and if I could have not slain him, I would have avoided it."

"I have heard, and I have seen," Zayana replied, "which makes you a very strange drow, Drizzt Do'Urden. But you misunderstand. I have come to convey my gratitude, and also to offer you my alliance. My father, Kas'im, was the Blademaster of House Hun'ett, but he was not my mother's consort, and his jealousy caused him to be cruel to me. I do not mourn his loss. But I am intrigued by you, Drizzt Do'Urden." Zayana stepped closer and Drizzt felt his skin tingle, and his breaths begin to come slightly faster. Zayana lowered her voice, dropping it almost to a whisper, as she continued to close the gap. "I have heard of you, Drizzt Do'Urden," she repeated his name almost like a chant, "In my time in this compound. They say you are the most talented with a blade ever to live in Menzoberranzan. You defeated the finest three warriors of House Hun'ett. And yet they say you have no ambition, that you do not guard your emotions, that you avoid those with power and only speak to your mentor, your brother, and your wean-mother. How interesting you are, Drizzt Do'Urden."

Zayana was now only a step away and Drizzt could feel his heart pounding. He could smell her scent, just a light hint of perfume, and found himself lost in her bright red eyes, yet taking in the entirety of her graceful body. But Drizzt was still confused, so he stuttered out words, trying to buy time to sort out his emotions. "But," he began, "I'm not special, I'm no different really to any other drow, and I killed your father, and how can you speak to me when I took away a part of your life?" The young drow was almost pleading by the end for answers, to soothe his conscience, but no salvation was forthcoming. Zayana merely reached forward and encircled him in her arms, pulling him close to her, and whispered in his ear, "Because you're powerful, and you're mysterious, and because a true drow elf cares about no-one but herself." Drizzt's eyes widened at this last statement, but it was too late to pull away before her soft lips were pressed to his, and he surrendered to her desires.


Author's Note: So this chapter is finally here, it was very difficult to write because I knew what I wanted to get across to the audience, but I couldn't figure out how. Anyway. As you may have noticed, things got a little more M rated in this chapter. I personally think that any story about the drow is going to walk the line between T and M, but to save my rating, there will be no explicit intercourse in this story. However, I am toying with the idea of a separate, M rated story, "Thirdboy Outtakes," in which I include the very M rated in between scenes, as a corollary for anyone who is interested. Yes, this chapter was very sex oriented. No, none of the other ones will be quite this bad. But it's a massive drow party. What do you expect? A prayer circle? At drow parties, there's sex, drinking, gambling and fighting. Anyway, keep an eye out for "Outtakes," and keep an eye out for the next chapter of "Thirdboy." Thanks for reading!