Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one
Title: His Greatest Treasure
Fandom: Forgotten Realms
Status: A ways down the list
Summary: To quote Jack Sparrow, not all treasure is silver and gold. Set a few decades after the Ghost King.
Note: The weave has stabilized. No more magic troubles.
Preview
"Jarlaxle?" Drizzt asked cautiously moving into the clearing, his faithful animal companion at his side. The other was not acting at all like himself. But then, that had been obvious from the moment the mercenary had requested this meeting. An unusual occurrence by itself. Usually he just showed up, walls and guards be damned.
The flamboyantly dressed figure didn't even acknowledge the other drow. Seemingly completely absorbed by something the ranger couldn't see. Both hat and eye patch had been set aside for the time being. Lying beside him on the large rock along with some sort of device the younger had never seen before.
Whatever the something that held the other's attention was though, Drizzt doubted it was dangerous. Not to him at least and not now. Gwen would have reacted if it were otherwise. He took another step forward.
When Jarlaxle did finally speak, it was so soft that Drizzt barely heard him. "I need a favor."
Violet eyes widened in surprise. The mercenary did favors, he never received them. And the situation always benefited Jarlaxle as oppose to the other way around. Drizzt strode the rest of the way across the clearing, seriously concerned now.
Only to stop dead in his tracks. Resting on the mercenary's other side was a soft blanket, and in that blanket was. "A baby," Drizzt murmured in disbelief. Once his mind started working again, he put the pieces together fairly quickly. "Yours?"
Jarlaxle merely nodded. "I can't take her to back to the Underdark," he admitted. No child of his would ever be safe in the chaotic city of the drow. He had too many enemies, not to mention even more dangerous allies. "And even if I could I wouldn't want to."
The ranger said nothing, knowing all too well what Jarlaxle meant. Though the babe's skin was black as night her red hair, copper as oppose to the wealth of flames his beloved Catti had possessed, was a clear giveaway to her less than pure heritage.
It was at this moment the babe awoke, her hawk colored eyes alight with curiosity about the world around her. They focused briefly on Drizzt before deciding the large panther was much more interesting. Gwen padded forward, seeming just as inquisitive, studying the infant briefly before giving her an approving lick. She giggled.
"Her Mother?" the renegade asked at last.
"Dead," replied Jarlaxle, no emotion in his voice. As were the prejudice scum that had killed her. And their deaths had not been pleasant. He had barely arrived in time to save his new born daughter.
Drizzt didn't even ask what the other wanted. That was obvious. Reaching down, he lifted the child into his arms. It would be easy enough to come up with a cover story to shield her true identity. At least until she was old enough to defend herself. "What is her name?"
For the first time Jarlaxle looked uncertain. "She doesn't have one," he admitted. He and Shana had never discussed it. And after she had been born, things had just happened so fast.
"Then give her one," Drizzt said gently. He would raise this child the best he could. But he would never forget she was Jarlaxle's.
There was a moment of silence. "Takara," the mercenary said at last. "Her name is Takara." It meant treasure in her Mother's tongue. For that was what she was, his greatest treasure.
