Chapter 33: Stories and worried thoughts



My gift is my song/ And this one's for you... Elton John (okay, pretty pathetic choice of quotation)



Chalmira had finished her story, or two stories and three songs, based on what Jarlaxle had told her. She was certain that people would love them; they had the right amount of mystery, horror and exotic elements, although Chalmira didn't think of murder and death as very exotic. But she was proud of her works, and knew that they would bring her money. That is, if she had a chance to perform it. After the death of the healer, Aran Linvail had restricted the movement of many guild members, Chalmira among them. She had been assigned to help the strange gnome illusionist and some other magic-users in deciphering odd messages that might have something to do with the new guild. They still didn't know the name of the guild, but that didn't really disturb the conversation. Words "the guild" pronounced in a certain way made it very clear which guild they were talking about.



Chalmira had leafed through messages, letters, small pieces of paper and every kind of writings they could find. So far they hadn't found out anything useful and Erik had decided that they would take a break for the day. Chalmira had almost rushed to kiss the gnome, but the smell of turnip hanging persistently around him had made her change her mind. She wasn't that delighted.



Now she was walking through the empty corridors, trying to think of something to do. The last days had gone by with leafing through those stupid messages and during the nights she had worked on her stories. Now her work was finished, but there wasn't anyone she could perform it to. Of course she could have snuck out and gone to perform it, but she was certain that a story of a purple-haired half-elf performing stories and songs about the dark elves might just reach the ears of the Shadowmaster. She had no desire to anger Aran Linvail, and therefor she had t bore to death inside. Then suddenly an idea struck her, and it was so obvious that she couldn't understand why she hadn't thought of it before. She would have to perform her songs and stories to the person who had given her the inspiration and the facts, or at least believable lies. The only problem now was finding the dark elf.



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Jarlaxle had been practising, but it had been rather boring. He would have preferred to train with Entreri, but the assassin had been unavailable for some time now. Jarlaxle couldn't still fully believe it, although he had witnessed it with his own eyes; the assassin was in love. The drow prided himself in helping the man to forget some of his dark thoughts and to get over his obsession with killing Drizzt, but he had never thought that Artemis Entreri could change as much as he had.



Maybe it was the change of scenery and the new, different people around them, Jarlaxle thought. But most of his thanks would have to go directly to Shandara. Jarlaxle had known ,the first moment he saw her, that she could be the person to break the ice that seemed to have surrounded Artemis Entreri throughout his entire life. Shandara had done this, and a lot more. And now Jarlaxle was starting to worry.



The assassin had changed; he had learned to love. But he loved only Shandara. Jarlaxle didn't have any doubts that if it had been necessary, the assassin would have killed any other person in the guild, at least those who could defend themselves. That was one interesting thing about the assassin, while others of his trade were ready to kill anybody for the right amount of gold, Entreri had some honour and he didn't murder mindlessly. He spared the weak, the sick and the young. If he had been like most other assassins, Jarlaxle would never have saved him or become his companion.



So Entreri had learned to love, but all his love was for Shandara alone. And no matter how hard he tried, Jarlaxle wasn't able to determine how Shandara felt about Entreri. She loved him in some way, that the drow knew. But did she love him enough, or in the right way? Or would she leave him at some point and move to the next interesting man she encountered? If this happened, there was no way to know what Entreri would do. Having your heart broken is a terrible thing, although the drow didn't have any personal experience on the matter. He wished that there was something he could have done, but there were some things that even the great Jarlaxle, he thought bitterly, couldn't control. He would just have to see.



Dark thoughts weren't really making his day any better, and so when the enchanting half-elf came to ask him to listen to the songs and stories she had written and composed, he said yes. Of course, the woman didn't so much ask as order, which felt like a nice change to the drow. There would be no danger of her falling in love with him, and that certainty was what the drow needed. It had been hard enough with Isaldora, who had turned out to be a wonderful, if too romantic, woman, and he didn't need any more of those things happening to him. Love was wonderful, but best when kept far away from him. He liked to love women for a moment, but never to be in love with them. That was too confusing. Shandara was a bit like him in her relationships, and that was why Jarlaxle wasn't sure whether her love for Entreri would last. But he was thinking again those thoughts he had decided to set aside. After all, he was going to go and listen to a beautiful young woman, who had an amazing way of swinging her hips and brushing her purple hair from her face. There was no time to worry about other people.



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Hark: Shamiran, here's some Jarlaxle for you. And Chalmira. And stuff. To others, more will be coming soon, because I should really start to study, and when have to study, I concentrate more on fanfics than studying. Some kind of psychological thing, I guess.