Disclaimer still applies, and a really big thank-you to everyone who's following this much-more-unwieldy-than-planned story. We're nearly there, I promise!
Chapter Forty-Nine - Safe
The sun rose over The Yawning Portal. Soft light touched the edges of the roof, and the sentries' poised bows, and sliced in through the small gaps in the boards over an upstairs window. In the midst of wringing his hair dry, Imloth paused and stared at the lines of sunlight floating above the rug.
He had slept uneasily, and woken to shouting outside. After Mhaere's reassurance that it was merely tired men seeing shadows moving, he had dragged himself into a bath and soaked the bone-deep aches from his muscles. Now, wearing a tunic and leggings and wondering if he should bother with his boots, he combed his fingers through his hair and prowled across the floor.
Relax, he thought. Go back to sleep. Get some food. Do not pace.
He stalked across the rug and back again. His weapons and armour had been dumped on the chair, and he eyed them dubiously. He did not like the idea of wriggling back into leathers that stank of blood and sweat and oil and smoke, but he supposed he would have to, come nightfall.
Or earlier.
He stopped again and held his hand out to catch the sunlight. Soft gold brushed the back of his knuckles, and he found the contrast with his coal-coloured skin odd. How do surfacers stand it, with it beating down on them all the time?
And Jaiyan's kobold had talked about the great eastern deserts, wherever they were. He had spoken of vast swathes of sand, where it was so hot the air danced and shimmered, and the light painted pictures that were not there. Imloth had felt the sweating, close heat of deep caverns in the Underdark, where every breath was suffocating, and sweat ran as freely as water off a scout's skin.
But to be that uncomfortably hot, and to have the sun hammering down from above as well; he could not picture it.
He tipped his hand both ways and smiled as the marigold light washed across his skin.
A knock at the door startled him. "Yes?"
The Seer stepped inside, balancing a tray in one hand, and a clutch of healing potions in the other. He hurried across the rug, helped her. "I was just about to come down," he said, apologetic. "You didn't have to…"
She laid the tray on the table, and he saw sliced meat and steaming potatoes, and some mulched-up orange something that he could not for the life of him identify. There was a carafe of wine, as well, and two glasses.
"It was no trouble," she answered. "I wanted to see how you were."
"I'm fine." He joined her at the table, poured the wine. He risked a quick glance at her, and saw that her face was serene as ever. "You mentioned that you had visions?"
"Yes." She accepted one of the glasses, perched on the edge of the bed. A faint line creased her brow. "I saw you, out in the city. It was raining, and there were devils. They fired arrows."
"That did happen," he said. "We ran into the arch-devil. He played us, let us go until he thought we'd run far enough, and they fired after us."
"I saw your sword falling, and I saw you, covered in blood."
The quiet, fragile note in her voice lacerated him. "That happened as well," he explained. "It was raining, and I couldn't see properly. Nathyrra and I holed up, and I tried to check back behind us. An arrow clipped against my sword, and I dropped it."
"Ah." The Seer sighed. "And the blood?"
"Was Nathyrra's. But I was soaking wet, so it spread."
The Seer's lips lifted in a rueful smile. "I wish I had the time and the scholars with me to study these visions."
"Are they less clear, here?"
"Yes. Very much so. I thought…I thought I had seen your death." She blinked rapidly. "Imloth, I also saw Valen."
"What..?"
She gazed down into the dark wine. "I saw Valen, and Jaiyan, and Deekin. In a place that was all snow."
He picked up his glass, sipped at the wine. The taste was sharp, and tangy, and so very unusual. "How can that be?" he asked carefully.
"I do not know," she said. "I saw them. Alive, breathing. Happy."
"Happy?"
"Do you remember how they were, just before the attack?"
When they found each other. "Yes," he answered, quietly. "Yes. I remember. What do you think it means?"
She shook her head. "I haven't the faintest idea."
He smiled. "Did you see anything else?"
"Snow. Cold. A fire burning over strange plants, not wood."
Imloth swirled the wine around. The back of his neck felt tight, and he wondered what such visions might mean. "We saw them die."
"Yes." She flicked a rebellious lock of white hair away from her face. "I'm sorry. I'm inadvertently starving you. Please, eat something."
He glanced at the tray, and realized that his stomach was churning. "Seer, I was wondering, if…"
"Yes?" She looked across at him, her pale gaze innocuous and listening.
"Before, when I came back to the inn, you…and before that, we…." Oh, yes, you're doing so well. What was it you suggested to Valen? Just go and talk to her? Wonderful way to take your own advice.
"Yes." She clasped her hands together on her lap. "If I have…made you feel at all uncomfortable…"
"No," he said, too quickly. "No…not at all."
"Ah." The Seer smiled, shifted around so that she faced him properly. "That…pleases me."
Imloth gazed into her face and wondered what exactly he should do next. Take her to bed, he had told Valen, along with two other equally pretty maidens.
As if he could dare suggest such a thing. Not when he was more used to being ordered to take his clothes off and lie down, while his mistress prepared herself, and whatever playthings she had for the evening.
"Imloth?"
"Yes?" His heart was jumping, he realized.
"It is alright." She reached out, cupped his chin, and turned his face towards her. Her other hand brushed his hair aside. She leaned up and very gently kissed the very tip of his ear. "Imloth..?"
His throat closed up. She is not going to hurt you, his mind told him firmly. She can't possibly be hiding chains on her anywhere, and besides, you know her. "Seer, I…"
"It is alright," she murmured again. Her fingers played softly down the slanted length of his ear, rested at his chin. Barely touching him, she leaned forward again, and kissed him.
Without thinking, he clasped her face in his hands and responded, yielding against her, discovering that her mouth was warm and damp and soft.
Part of his mind screamed at him for such a violation. The other, less sensible half noted her satisfied sigh as she pulled away to draw breath.
"Seer, I did not…"
"Don't apologise," she said. She touched a finger to his mouth. "Don't you dare apologise."
He smiled. "I want to say that I'm sorry, but that wouldn't be correct. What should I do instead?"
Her pale eyes gleamed. "What would you like to do?"
Tentatively, he reached up, pulled out the pins that tamed her hair. Thick white tresses spilled free, coiling across her shoulders and her throat. He feathered his fingers through a fallen wing of snowy hair, marveled at the sleekness of it.
Drow had many ways of remarking upon physical beauty, but these seemed like shallow, bland platitudes. How to say that you think she's beautiful, without it seeming like a rehearsed line to a Matron Mother?
"Your hair is so soft," he mumbled. He cautiously lifted the white lock to his mouth, ran it over his lips. He smelled soap, and herbs that he could not name. "Seer…"
"Yes, Imloth?"
He looked up, and into her wide-lashed eyes. "I don't know what to do next," he said, honestly.
She smiled. "Anything you want."
His heart was hammering, and he realized he felt more afraid than that time he had stepped into the area only to see five drow opponents and two trolls. Keeping his gaze on her face, he threaded his hands through her hair and kissed her. Her eyes closed, and she sighed up into his mouth.
He locked his arms around her, held her as tightly as he could against him. Her lips were warm and eager against his. Her hands slipped up into his hair and stroked. She found his ears again, and the tips of her fingers slid along them until he broke away from her mouth and moaned. "Oh, that feels…too good."
She laughed gently. "Forgive me?"
He trailed a trembling hand down the side of her face. "Anything."
What now, he wondered. Do I just sit here and kiss her, and enjoy myself, or..?
"Imloth," she murmured. "You look far too serious."
"Well, there is an arch-devil outside, and we're drow on the surface, and we'll likely all be dead in a day or so…" He grinned. "But these are such trifling matters, aren't they?"
"Compared to this?" She kissed him again, teasingly, and he considered the merits of never leaving the room again. "But of course."
His hands slipped down to her waist, and he could feel the heat of her skin beneath. "Seer?"
"Yes?"
He kissed his way along her forehead, and up onto her ear. He paused, his lips over the pointed tip. "Why me?"
She tilted her head. "Why you? Why me, as well?"
"Well…" He kissed the top of her ear, then turned her head so that he could look at her properly. "You're…not like normal drow females."
Their language had few words for trust – save the opposite of it – and even less for the emotional business of love. Words for lust and desire abounded, and Imloth reckoned an old mistress of his could have written a book on how to demand various services in bed. But for simple explanations of emotion, well, there drow falls down somewhat, doesn't it?
"The highest accolade," the Seer said, a little wickedly.
"I didn't mean…" He shook his head. "I don't know how to say these things."
"Ssh. I'm teasing you." She rested her hands against his chest. "And as for why you…Imloth, I feel…safe, around you."
Looking at her, he thought he understood. Safe, and protected, and somehow peaceful. "I think I know what you mean." He combed his hands through her hair. "Seer?"
"Yes, Imloth?"
"I…what do you want me to do next?"
She stirred against him, and her head lifted. She looked up and him with something very like sorrow in her eyes. "Tell me what you would like to do."
"But…" He frowned. Why are you asking me? You're meant to tell me, and then I will please you in whatever manner you wish, and then… "What if I get it wrong?"
She kissed his cheek. "You won't."
He stared at her. You knew she was unlike the others. There was no anger in her eyes, no impatience; only trust. "Can I…touch you?"
She smiled. "I would like that."
Tremulously, he explored the slant of her cheekbones, the dip at the hollow of her throat. His hands travelled lower, gently caressing, and he heard her breath catch. He found the collar ties of her robe, glanced back at her face. "May I..?"
At her nod, he slipped the knots open, pushed the robes off her shoulders. The shift beneath followed, and then he was gazing at her bare skin. She was beautiful, all unbroken ebony, and delicate.
He realized he was staring at her when her hand rested against his shoulder. "Oh…I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"
"Ssh. You did nothing wrong." She smiled, and plucked at his tunic. "May I?"
He lifted his arms obediently, and the warm air touched his skin.
"Well," the Seer murmured appreciatively. "You are striking."
She's seen you like this before, his mind protested. Well, yes, but you were injured and writhing around covered in blood…a little different, yes?
She trailed a hand up his chest, and he shivered. Say something back, he thought desperately. Think of something. "Imloth?"
He blinked. "Yes?"
"You look serious again." She cupped his face in her hands, and he was tortuously aware of her naked skin near his. "Dare I suggest that you stop thinking?"
"I wasn't…" He sighed. "I'm sorry. This is…very different."
"I know. Is that bad?"
"No," he answered. No, because it doesn't hurt, and it doesn't feel awful. It feels…good. "No…I just fear I am not very good at it."
"Do you wish to stop?" she asked gently.
"No," he said, vehemently. "No, I don't." He drew in a deep breath, abandoned all rational thought, and said, "I want you, but I don't quite know how to go about it. I mean, I do know how to go about it, but…"
She smiled, not mocking. "I understand. May I help you?"
He nodded, did not quite trust himself to speak. She leaned forward and kissed his mouth first, then his chin, then trailed her lips down his throat to his chest. She stroked and kissed her way down to his waistband and stopped. There was an infuriating moment while she breathed against his skin, before she trailed back up to his face again.
"Oh…that felt very good." He knotted his hands in her hair. "What would you like?"
Oh, yes, that sounds very unplanned, very informal, doesn't it? Just like something you'd never say to a mistress, of course.
He shoved such thoughts aside and bit down on a groan when she guided his hands across her. Her skin was warm, and so very soft, and she twisted delightfully in his arms when he kneaded her breasts. She murmured something against his collarbone, and pushed gently.
He ended up on his back, her lithe shape a taunting weight across his hips. The sensation of her sliding against his chest made him close his eyes. "Seer, is this…is this what you want?"
She nuzzled his throat. "Yes. Is it what you want?"
"Oh, gods. Yes. I meant, is what I'm doing…"
"Perfect," she murmured, while he ran his hands up and down her. "Are you thinking again?"
He laughed then, despite himself. "Yes," he admitted. "Forgive me?"
She moved down him until she was poised over thighs and her hair tickled his stomach. "Anything. May I?"
He managed a nod, and groaned as she loosened the ties on his leggings. Slowly, she peeled them down over his hips, and he froze for a brief, terrible instant. The last time this happened to you, he thought madly, she carved the inside of your thighs open afterwards, and told you to be thankful she hadn't cut you anywhere more important.
"Imloth?" The Seer's head lifted, and he saw the concern in her eyes.
"I'm fine," he said, raggedly. "I'm sorry, I just…"
"Don't be sorry." Her hands smoothed up his legs, gently squeezing. She leaned in, kissed the hollow of his hip.
Some of the tension drained from him, and he moaned aloud when she wrapped a hand around him. "Oh, gods."
The pressure of her fingers had him shuddering, and when she straddled him and guided him into her, he nearly lost himself. She traced her hands across his chest, and whispered his name. She started to move, rising and falling slowly against him, her hair a white curtain on either side of her face.
The sheer simple pleasure of this, the intimacy of it, without observers, or harshly snapped commands, or the threat of pain; it felt both unusual and utterly right.
It's also far too much, he thought frantically. "I'm not going to last…"
She smiled and kissed his throat. "It's alright," she murmured.
Her hips circled against his, and her hands delved into his hair again. He cried out as the release washed through him, almost painful in its unfamiliar intensity. For a long, drowsy moment, he lay there, feeling her weight on top of him, and her lips brushing his ear.
And then he remembered he was in bed with a female, and that he had reached his climax first, and that he had done little except lie there and moan. Oh, Gods, she's going to be angry. He tried to sit up, but she planted her hands on his chest and pinned him.
"Imloth," she said quietly. "I am not displeased with you. Quite the opposite."
"Oh." He exhaled quickly. "But you did not…"
"No." Her eyes gleamed. "Not yet. Imloth, you are allowed another go, I promise."
He laughed at her disarming smile. "I'm glad. I would hate you to think me a complete disappointment."
She traced a hand down his chest, following the taut lines of muscle. "Quite the opposite," she said again.
Encouraged by her slight nod, he sat up and lifted her into his lap. He knew all the places on a female's body that should be touched, or caressed, or licked. He knew how to bring a female to a quick, shivering climax, and yet it seemed too clinical, somehow, to approach her in that manner. Too practiced, too mechanical. Too servile.
Instead, he explored her slowly and carefully, finding curves and lines and stroking. He took his time, and paused often to kiss her, and found her still eager. She was small and slim in his arms, and he enjoyed the slick feel of her skin. The yielding wetness between her thighs was tantalizing, and he smiled as she arched up against his fingers. He teased her with his hands and his mouth until she whimpered. He kissed her again, softly, and lifted her hips to meet him.
She twisted beneath him as he thrust into her, and pulled his head down so she could press feverish kisses against the side of his ear. When she tightened around him, and stiffened in his arms, he found himself following, loosing himself again to her.
Afterwards, in the strange lull, she curled up against his chest and drew his arms around her. He had half-expected to be ordered out of the bed, and away from her, and then thoroughly cursed himself for daring to think such things. "Seer?"
"Yes, Imloth?"
"Is it…alright if I stay?"
She laughed. "Let me put it this way. It is not alright if you leave."
Well, that solves that problem. Marveling, he threaded his fingers through her hair. "Seer?"
She trailed circles on his shoulder. "Yes?"
"What's your name?"
She laughed again, and he wondered if this was what she had been like when she was much younger, before Lith My'athar, and before her visions. She tugged his head down, and whispered something in his ear.
"Really?" He coughed. "I mean…that's a very…unprepossessing name."
"I know. I was the youngest of seven daughters, and there were at least another six males that my mother counted worthy enough of the family name." She twisted a lock of his hair around her fingers. "Like yours, my mother was a great Matron. It seemed her favorite pastime was playing us against each other."
Imloth understood that; unless there had been war with rival Houses, his family turned their attentions on each other. "Yes. I imagine that like mine, yours was rather good at it."
"Very. She was quite old – she had survived so many plots and machinations I think she believed herself immortal. When she died, she was very close to her third century."
"That's…impressive." Drow rarely survived so long, he knew; not with the brutal nature of political accession among the elite. "May I ask how she died?"
The Seer rested her forehead against his chest. "That is not a cheerful tale."
"I would like to know, if you would like to tell me."
"When I was much younger, I was rash enough to make my way up to the surface."
Guilt burrowed into his stomach. "Oh…I asked you about that, didn't I? And I never let you finish…"
"Don't worry." She hooked her hand behind his head, guided him into a lingering kiss. "I was my mother's daughter, and I was trained as an assassin, and given all the privileges of such. She must have sensed that I was…distant. So, when the day came that I stole away to the surface, she had me followed." She drew in a careful breath. "I found a tunnel that led up, and it was nighttime. The moon was full, and clear. And, oh…Imloth, it was beautiful. She was beautiful."
Eilistraee's moon, hanging in the night sky; Imloth nodded. He had never seen it; the sky over Waterdeep always seemed to be either thick with smoke or cloud or both. "What did it look like?"
"A pale, perfect disc. Silver. The Tears of Selune following…beautiful. Turning everything hushed and bright." She smiled and brushed her lips against his chest. "I'd had visions, dreams, in the Underdark, and they frightened me. I was never faithful to Lolth, but…"
He understood. To be called to throw aside all semblance of protection, and swear loyalty to a goddess whose very name could mean death; he understood very well. He remembered murmuring half-hearted prayers to the Spider Queen along with his brothers, and wondering if his mother would be able to sense the difference in his voice.
"But on the surface it seemed simpler," the Seer said. "So I pledged myself, and stood in devotion beneath the moonlight. And when I went back into the Underdark, the four assassins my mother sent after me found me. And I…killed them. All of them. With spells, mostly, but the fourth…I cut her throat."
Imloth tightened his arms around her. "What happened after?"
"I went back to my mother's House," she said, a little rueful. "I was young, and afraid, and I wondered if I went back, alive, would she merely pretend nothing had happened?"
"Yes." When he had been little more than a child, an older brother had trapped him in the training hall. He had fought his brother off, and left him with a broken arm, a shattered jaw, and little pride. And, upon venturing warily up to his mother's chambers upon her summons, had discovered his brother sent away, and him thanked by way of a gift of a sword; and yet he never did hear his mother speak of it directly.
"But she knew," the Seer whispered. "She knew my devotion had never been to Lolth – but maybe that could have been changed, in time. But now that my loyalty was to Eilistraee, well, what use was I, as a daughter, or a drow, or a future Matron Mother?"
A little tentative, Imloth traced his fingers up the side of her ear. "What did she do?"
"She demanded that I renounce Eilistraee, privately before her, and then publically, before her councilors." She licked at dry lips. "I refused. I was headstrong and foolish, and screamed at her that Lady Silverhair had gifted me with visions, pictures of the future. So my mother told me there was little to do but have me executed as a traitor."
Imloth had never stayed long enough to hear those words from his own mother. No, his mind taunted. You bolted, and killed your brother instead, because he was too afraid to go back to her.
"She sent for her guards, but before they arrived, I…I killed her." The Seer trembled. "One simple spell. A death spell that turned her heart inside out and had her shrieking on the floor before me as she died." Another tremor ran through her. "I ran away, after that, and spent a long time in the Underdark, finding drow who did not care for Lolth."
"You killed her..?" Imloth kissed her forehead. "You are braver than I would have been."
"No. I was frightened, terribly so." She smiled sadly. "Ah, well. An old story."
"Thank you for telling me." He rolled onto his back, carrying her with him, and settled her comfortably against his chest. "How long were you in the Underdark, before Lith My'athar?"
"Oh…I was very young when I ran away, maybe all of forty-five or so. So…over fifty years. Yes…closer to sixty. Lith My'athar was an abandoned outpost. The group I was with – there were a few hundred of us by then – took it over, and we decided it might make an acceptable haven."
Imloth counted quickly, and frowned. Drow discounted decades as easily as surfacers ignored months, or the odd excess year, but still, he had not imagined her to be this young. Certainly most adult drow females took on that deceptive, somehow ageless look, but he had always assumed her to be venerable, not of the same age as him. "You're…much younger than I thought."
She laughed. "Is that a problem?"
"No, just…" He smiled. "Never mind."
A knock at the door jarred his thoughts. Feeling somewhat foolish, he dropped a quick kiss on her hair, draped the sheets over her, and rummaged around for his clothes. Another knock followed, insistent. Growling to himself, he yanked his leggings on, and made it to the door just as a third pounded against the planks.
He opened the door and snapped, "Yes, what?"
Durnan raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Am I disturbing you?"
Imloth glanced away from the door guiltily. "What? No, no. Of course not. What's happened?"
The innkeeper drew in a slow breath. "The city's on fire."
"What..?"
"Started maybe an hour ago. Roof sentries saw fire, on the other side of the river. Figured maybe it was yon arch-devil having some fun. But the fire's spreading, and I'm wondering if he wants the whole city down to the ground."
"How long do we have?"
"Not sure." The innkeeper shrugged helplessly. "I've got your clerics and mine all lined up with spells, and my fellows with buckets and water. The well's still working in the yard, and I've got more lads running outside with pails to the well across the street. It's just…lad, if this tavern burns, we've no place else to go."
"I know," Imloth said softly. "Give me a moment. I'll be dressed and down."
Durnan grinned wearily. "Bring the Seer down with you, will you? Her spells will be useful."
Imloth spluttered. "How did you…what makes you think she's in here?"
"Lad," the innkeeper said severely. "I saw her myself on her way up here hours ago, and she hasn't emerged since. Now, I don't want to know what kind of strange drow things you were doing to each other, but the noise kind of gave you away, and besides, I can see her clothes on the floor from here."
Imloth clicked his mouth shut. "Right."
"Just get yourselves ready." Durnan rubbed a hand across his eyes. "And then we'll see."
Left alone with the Seer again, Imloth fumbled his shirt and tunic and boots on. He paused beside the bed, lined with the late afternoon sunlight. He wanted to stay, and try to put into words what he felt, but he had no clue where to begin. "I don't…"
"Go," she urged quietly. With the sheets pooled around her waist, she leaned up and cupped his face. "I will be down soon. Go and get ready."
"Do you see what will happen?"
She kissed him, tenderly, plying his lips apart with her tongue. "No," she answered, honestly. "I don't know what will happen."
"Thank you. I don't…"
"Go," she said again, as gently. "You need to go."
"Yes." He stared at her for a long moment, twined in the sheets, and turned away. The city was burning, and he was needed downstairs, so he gathered up his weapons, and stepped through the door, and wondered if Eilistraee cared enough to grant them some small chance of survival.
