Disclaimer: I only own Raiyel. Everything else belongs to R.A. Salvatore, and I thank him profusely for creating such wonderful characters.
A/N: WARNING: Don't read this if you haven't read Sea of Swords yet—it contains major spoilers. Also, this is not a Drizzt & Catti-brie romance as I am opposed to that pairing. I choose to ignore all hints that they are together. Maybe I'm just in denial (in fact, I know I am, because R.A. Salvatore himself all but told me that they're together), but I don't care. And Raiyel's swords are supposed to resemble movie-Arwen's. If you don't know who movie-Arwen is, then go read Lord of the Rings and see the movie, in that order. Thank you.
Raiyel pulled her cloak tighter around herself and leaned closer to her small fire. The slender elf-woman was unused to such cold weather as they had up north near Icewind Dale, and she was beginning to regret her decision to visit the old friend living in Lonelywood, in Ten-Towns. She and Galyna had parted ways about fifteen years ago, when the human had met and married one Aaron Sharn. Galyna had settled down to a quiet life in one of the towns, and Raiyel had continued adventuring, wandering, and doing whatever it was rangers did in their spare time. Raiyel grinned at the thought. Spare time was a myth to her—as soon as she finished one thing, another sprang up to take its place. There was always one more goblin to replace the last, but at least living on edge and among humans for most of her seventy-odd years had her living as fully and with as much vigor as possible.
But now, she was cold, and she wanted to be warm.
Raiyel curled up as close to the fire as she could be without scorching herself and closed her eyes. Five minutes later, they snapped open again as she heard the faintest sound, the quiet shhffth of a sword leaving its sheath. She laid her hands on her sword hilts, tensed and ready for the attack.
It came silently, five silent, dark shapes diving quickly in at her in a circle. She sprang up to meet them, twin blades drawn and ready. When she recognized the race of her attackers, she grimaced. Drow elves.
She had only time to toss a strand of blond hair that had fallen loose from her braid out of her face before they were on her.
Raiyel was a master swordswoman, excellent by anyone's standards. But she was facing five drow, each of whom she could have easily beaten in single combat, but all together...
Raiyel was an experienced warrior; she knew when to retreat.
But there was no way out of this circle of dark elves.
Raiyel whirled her swords around in a furious dance to keep her foes at bay. Soon enough, however, one slipped through her guard while she was distracted with another.
Raiyel fell to the ground, rolling to kill her momentum, but was stopped by a heavy kick in her side. She felt cold steel slide along her throat and knew that her time was up.
Drizzt ran, hearing his pursuer's footsteps soft and swift behind him, drawing ever nearer. The ranger darted between two trees, hoping that his larger opponent would be slowed trying to find a way around.
He came out into a clearing, the brilliant, starry sky finally visible amongst the branches. It would be nice to stay here, for a while, and watch the stars. He turned around to meet his pursuer.
The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back with six hundred pounds of panther weighing him down. "I wanted the game to stop," Drizzt protested to the smirking feline face. "I wanted to watch the stars."
The panther yawned prolifically.
"I was!" Drizzt sighed. Arguing with Guenhwyvar was so difficult. "Will you let me up now?"
Guenhwyvar gave his face an affectionate swat of her paw before bounding away several paces, watching him mischievously. Drizzt propped himself up on his elbows, staring up above him and enjoying the peace of the night, here with his oldest friend, a friend who would outlast him as he would outlast their other friends—Bruenor, Catti-brie, Wulfgar, and Regis—if an enemy's weapon didn't end his life first.
The silence was broken by the sound of metal clanging on metal. He heard a short cry of pain, and laughter.
Drizzt leaped to his feet. Guenhwyvar was snarling, her fur bristling. They plunged into the forest towards the noise of battle.
They slowed outside a clearing as more laughter sounded. Peering in cautiously, making sure they weren't in over their heads, the pair froze.
Guenhwyvar threw herself forward into the fight, but Drizzt stayed frozen for a moment as memory flooded back in a brutal wave.
He remembered his first visit to the surface world, a drow raid on a colony of silver elves. He had saved a single child. She had fallen before him much as the wounded elf—he couldn't tell her race from this distance—did before these drow now. Her name was Ellifain, but in later years, she had called herself Le'lorinel and come after Drizzt to kill him, blaming him for the death of her family. In a fierce battle, they had given each other fatal wounds. As each lay dying, Drizzt's dear friend Catti-brie had run in with a healing potion. Drizzt had ordered her to save Ellifain-Le'lorinel.
Catti-brie never listened to orders.
Drizzt was alive now, and the elf-child he had saved, who had grown up hating him, who didn't know the truth of what had happened, had died because of him.
Two swords lay just out of reach of the elf before him now, and blood trickled between the fingers clasped at her side. Her eyes were tightly shut, and her face was pale under more blood.
Guenhwyvar had killed one of the five before Drizzt moved. When he realized this, he stepped in before the other four could attack her while her back was turned. Scimitars spinning and slashing, Drizzt had two of the drow down before they knew what was happening. The remaining three, shocked at seeing one of their own race so fiercely defending a bright elf, held still for a moment, a moment long enough for their helpless victim to seize one of her blades—one hand still occupied holding her injured side—and slay another. One of the two still alive turned on Drizzt, and the other to the elf-woman.
It was over soon enough, even with Guenhwyvar sitting back calmly and washing her bloody paws. Soon Drizzt and the wounded elf were the only two standing. They eyed each other, she suspiciously and he readying for another attack, though if she did attack him, he would fight purely on the defensive until he convinced her that he wasn't her enemy.
The five dead drow had obviously been hurting her before the planned murder. She was bleeding heavily from many wounds. She swayed suddenly, and Drizzt thought she would faint. He stepped forward to catch her, and she fell into his arms, dropping her sword. She tried to push away, reaching for a knife thrust through her belt, but was unconscious before she could complete the movement.
Drizzt put her down long enough to slide his scimitars back into their sheaths and do the same for the other elf. He picked her up again and ran back towards the camp the Companions of the Hall had set up. "Go home, Guenhwyvar," he ordered the cat, who obeyed, fading into mist.
Catti-brie was on watch when he returned. Her magic bow Taulmaril was strung and ready at her side. As Drizzt came into the clearing, she reached for it automatically, but when she realized who it was, her hand slid away. "An' what're ye bringing us?" she asked, voice thick with the accent of the dwarves she had lived with for most of her life. "Whoever it is, they're not lookin' to be in a good way."
"A bright elf, attacked by five drow in the woods. I don't know her name, but she needs help."
"That's clearer than the nose on yer face," Catti-brie remarked. "Get her closer t' the fire. Looks t' me like she needs a healer, but we'll just have t' do."
Drizzt set the elf down. She stirred in her sleep, reaching for her swords and crying out in elvish. Her voice woke the other companions Regis and Bruenor. The dwarf woke with a growl and a snarl. "Tell whoever's making all the noise t' shut their trap an' wait till morning!" Bruenor roared.
Regis, the halfling, curled into a tighter ball and hid his head in the folds of his cloak.
"Now that ye're all awake," Catti-brie said casually, "ye c'n help us wi' this elf."
"What'd the damned drow do this time?" Bruenor rumbled.
"He rescued—"
"Oh, no."
"—a bright elf, an' she's hurt bad."
"A bright elf? A she? Lovely! Just lovely! Sounds t' me like someone's been nipping at the holy water, or I'm a—"
"Bearded gnome, we know," Regis muttered.
Drizzt shook his head. "We still have one of those vials of healing potion, don't we?"
"Aye!" Catti-brie grinned and tossed Drizzt a pack.
The drow dug around in it for a moment, finding not one but two extra vials of the healing potion they had stolen from an ogre clan. He tucked one into an inner pocket for safekeeping and popped the cork of the other. He poured it down the sputtering elf's throat.
"That oughta make her better," Bruenor grumbled. "Hope she appreciates it, but she probably won't. Elves."
Raiyel felt a fiery liquid burn its way down her throat. She choked and coughed, but felt her wounds healing. It must have been some sort of healing potion.
She opened her eyes to see who had given her the lifesaving drink, and looked straight into the face of the purple-eyed drow. She froze, terrified. One hand crept towards her sword hilt; the other was ready to hit him in the face if he tried anything.
"She's coming round," he said in the common tongue.
"Oh, good," said a feminine voice behind him. A human face framed by auburn hair and dominated by bright blue eyes peered over the drow's shoulder. "Hello, elf. Ye've been healed, an' yer wounds're no more. Me name's Catti-brie, an' over there's me father King Bruenor Battlehammer an' me friend Regis Rumblebelly. This here's Drizzt Do'Urden. Who're ye?" When Raiyel didn't reply and kept inching away, she frowned. "Oh, surely ye don't believe we're with the drow that attacked ye? Ye've come this far north an' ye've not heard o' Drizzt Do'Urden or th' Companions o' the Hall?"
Now that Catti-brie mentioned it, Raiyel remembered that Galyna had mentioned something of the sort in her letter. But she didn't remember exactly what her friend had said, so she shook her head.
"Oh, great," a deep, dwarven voice muttered. "A mute elf."
"Not as bad as a typical dwarf," Raiyel shot back almost automatically.
Catti-brie didn't bother to hide her grin. "Ye'll fit right in, elf—once we know yer name. Who are ye?"
"Raiyel," the elf-woman replied suspiciously, still expecting the drow to draw one or both of those scimitars and try to kill her. "Raiyel Forestheart."
"Welcome t' Icewind Dale, Raiyel."
Drizzt smiled and inclined his head, as if bowing. Still fearful, Raiyel continued to move away.
Catti-brie glared. "He saved yer life, ye know."
"Catti-brie, you don't have to—" Drizzt tried to protest.
"Yes, I do."
"I don't expect bright elves to—"
"Well, ye should, 'specially under circumstances such as this. Raiyel, Drizzt saved yer life, an' I'll assure you, he's not yer ordinary drow. Ye've heard o' Mithril Hall?" Raiyel nodded. "Me father Bruenor's th' king o' Mithril Hall. Would a dwarf king travel with an evil drow?"
"Could a dwarf king tell the difference?" Raiyel asked, but she was smiling.
Drizzt bit his lip to keep from laughing at Bruenor's ensuing roar. Catti-brie giggled. "Like I said, elf, ye'll fit right in."