Author's Note:

Someone bribe me, c'mon! Or I will make Fluff! (threatens)

As it is…. (introduces new Weird Couple!)

Part 3

Falling or Flying

            Entreri had never been so relieved to see Jarlaxle in his whole life.

            As quickly as he could, he ducked behind the rather surprised-looking mercenary, gasping for breath, fingers clutching the mask, which he had accidentally – really accidentally, too – removed from Zaknafein.

            Jarlaxle opened his mouth to ask, then noticed (quite difficult not to, actually) a very enraged Zaknafein charging at him, teeth bared in a snarl, normally expressive eyes carrying the brittle gleam of madness, fingers locked at his sides into claws.  Jarlaxle waited, then sidestepped, kicking at Zaknafein's knee sharply.  The dark elven warrior fell, but rolled gracefully up onto his feet, eyes flickering between Jarlaxle and the hastily-backing-away Entreri. 

            "Really, Zaknafein," Jarlaxle said disapprovingly, though his eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth, "You lose a lot of form when you get this angry."

            Zaknafein hissed, shaking his head in animalistic frustration, then sprang at Entreri.  A little guiltily, the assassin tossed the mask at Jarlaxle, who caught it easily and examined it with bored interest.  Unable to stop his momentum, Zaknafein barreled painfully into Entreri's ribs, cursed, tried to get up, then found himself locked under the assassin, arm twisted behind his back and held by the gauntleted arm in a firm grip.  Entreri had apparently picked up something from the past few months of their relationship…

            Jarlaxle sat down just out of reach, all the bangles and bracelets around his wrists and feet jangling in a cacophony of metal, and tapped the mask next to Zaknafein's nose.  "Are you going to calm down soon, old friend?"

            Zaknafein snarled like a wolf fighting for dominance, feral eyes locked on the mask hungrily, as if starved of something essential to his very existence.

            "How rude," Jarlaxle said, with a mischievous grin, "Dark elves are famous for their gift of dark wit, which is obviously lacking in your current condition…"

            "Uh, you arrived earlier than expected, Jarlaxle," Entreri said hastily, once he felt Zaknafein's muscles tense further at the provocation.  His eyes shot daggers at Jarlaxle – what did you say that for?

            "I have a lot of mages working for me," Jarlaxle said expansively. 

            "Weren't you supposed to be in hiding?"

            "And what better place to 'hide' than in a Surfacer city of which Bregan D'aerthe has apparently lost interest in?"

            "It's hardly going to be a stealthy move to go back to your old headquarters, despite what you said about reparations."

            "That is exactly why I will be staying here."

            "What!" Entreri yelped, loosening his grip for a moment, and then had to spend a few confused moments re-pinning down Zaknafein as the dark elf warrior, sensing a break in concentration, tried to squirm out to freedom. 

            "You do have spare rooms.  Do not deny it… I checked out your little enterprise here before I arrived.  Despite everything… you have done quite well for yourself, have you not?"

            "But dark elves in the building could ruin…"

            Jarlaxle raised an elegant eyebrow at Entreri, then looked down pointedly at the growling, cursing, struggling Zaknafein, then looked back up again and smiled.  The smile had knives and sharp shiny edges in it.

            Entreri rubbed his temple with his free hand, feeling a headache approaching inexorably.  "Please try not to destroy anything."

            "And I thought the time we spent together built up our trust!"
            "You make that sound positively scandalous."

            "It is not my doing what you would make of my words, old friend." 

            Entreri snorted, knowing that this conversation was likely to lead nowhere.  "What are we going to do about Zaknafein?"

            "Well… why is this so important to him?" Jarlaxle pointed at the mask.

            "Oh.  I thought you knew…"

            "Unlike Gods, old friend, I am not omniscient."

            Entreri muttered something about that particular remark associated with Bregan D'aerthe's spy network under his breath.  "He uses the mask to exacerbate his mental condition by marking every strange mood swing or 'personality' that he changes into.  Sometimes it gets really… disturbing."

            "Hmmm.  It is quite likely that I did not understand that."

            "He changes into a lot of faces that are basically the same, just with trivial differences like… hair length or… it's a little hard to explain.  But his mood swings get very… extreme."

            "That is very interesting," Jarlaxle turned the mask over in his hands, tracing the delicate mithril designs.  "We all hide behind masks, but it seems that since all of his must have cracked open, he has to use a magical one."

            "Cracked open?" Entreri blinked.  Underneath, Zaknafein tensed further, and then stopped struggling, though his soft litany of dark elven curses did not break. 

            "Everyone does it all the time," Jarlaxle said mildly, "Did you not realize? It is nearly unconscious, how one would act in different ways in front of different people and situations.  None of us ever fully shows who we truly are in front of another.  Perhaps it is because it is inconvenient, or painful, or you believe you will be rejected… building little masks is how everyone learns how to survive."

            "Imagine if all your masks were torn off by torture, or some other means, as well as the ability to make them, so you can feel every little hurt, every bit of pain, and not know how to respond." Jarlaxle indicated Zaknafein with a tilt of his head, the large diatryma feathers sweeping briefly forward in a soft wave.  The mercenary's appearance had not changed from the last time Entreri had seen him, nor had it for years. 

            "How do you know if that is true?"

            "It is mostly theory woven to fit the facts at hand," Jarlaxle said mildly, tone a little reproving, as if at Entreri's defensiveness.  "Zaknafein appears to be in no shape to answer questions, so it is as good an account as any.  Besides, I have known him for a few centuries."

            Entreri ignored the small ugly stab of jealousy.  He was very sure that Jarlaxle was baiting him, for fun, but it was very difficult to keep control of his emotions, especially after nearly being clawed to death by an insane dark elf.  "It seems a little far fetched… you would have me believe that Zaknafein's inner self is a continuously sociopathic individual?" Among other… things.

            "Sometimes I would believe that… that is a very accurate description of most of the Dark Elven race," Jarlaxle smiled.  "Though I would believe that Zaknafein is just reverting to a more intensified version of what he knows best while trying to work out all the harder little masks we keep on to preserve our sanity.  It is probably even harder since he is not himself most of the time."

"So… what do you suggest we do now? If I let him go he's most likely to go after that mask."

            "You think so?"

            "Well, he's been obsessive about it ever since I gave it to him."

            "Then the answer to that problem is quite simple, is it not?"

            "Jarlaxle…" Entreri shot him a suspicious glance.  "What are you scheming on this time?"

            "If the mask is the problem…" Jarlaxle carefully pressed the pale blue sapphire mounted on one of his rings to the mask, "Then you get rid of the problem."

            Abruptly, the mask caught fire in an intense, magical heat that made Entreri instinctively duck away his face.  His irritated protest at the violence of the destruction was lost in the harsh, broken wail of grief and anguish from Zaknafein, like that of a trapped, dying beast.

**

            "What did you do that for?" Entreri muttered, when they managed to put a now-unconscious Zaknafein into bed.  It wasn't too difficult – Zaknafein had gone catatonic at the sight of the destruction, and had promptly collapsed, as if totally, mentally defeated and exhausted.  Entreri seemed to say that very often in the mercenary's presence – sometimes Entreri wondered if Jarlaxle purposely did the most outrageous things just to keep him off balance. 

            "You asked me to come here to try and 'fix' and separate Zaknafein, yes?"

            "Yes… but…"

            "When you go to a doctor for treatment, do you question him every step of the way?"

            "Going to the corrupt doctors in Calimport is suicidal, and besides, you are not a doctor." Entreri paused, thinking suddenly of Jarlaxle's law degree.  "I think."

            "I was merely using a metaphor, but I see that is not a very effective mode of communication with you, old friend," Jarlaxle said merrily.

            "So what sort of 'treatment' did you have in mind?" Entreri asked sarcastically.

            "After we separate him from the girl? You could try shocking Zaknafein."

            "Aren't you elves innately resistant to lightning…"

            "I meant, startling him to an extent that he might drop out of his state and see the real world for what it is, not what it seems to be."

            "And how do you propose that we do that?"

            "An excellent choice of words." Jarlaxle smirked.

            Entreri blinked, replayed the last sentence, replayed it again, and then covered his face in right hand in exasperation.  "I can't believe you said that."

            "It might be…"

            "Amusing.  To you."

            "That was not the word I had in mind, but true."

            "I refuse."

            "Well then, just tell him you love him."

            "I… you want me to… what? You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

            "Careful, you might wake him up…" Jarlaxle pointed at Zaknafein flippantly.         

            "Right," Entreri lowered his voice irritably, "Firstly, I'm not even sure.  If… if… fine… are you sure about this?"

            "It will be worth a try."

            "I hate it when anyone says that," Entreri growled, "The last time, the man I saw got hit by several delayed blast fireballs that he did not see coming."

            "I see no incendiary spells in the vicinity, I assure you," Jarlaxle said.  The smirk returned in full force.  "Do you have any better ideas, old friend?"

            That was the problem – he didn't. 

            "What if he reacts in… contempt or something like that?" Could he bear it?  "Or doesn't understand?"

            "Then it would be an excellent indication of how well you are doing in this particular relationship."

            Entreri glared at Jarlaxle – that particular sentence had been full of various connotations and implications, all of which were giving him another headache.  "Fine then! When you separate him from Sam. Do you want me to buy gifts and flowers and a wedding ring, while you're at it?" he added sarcastically.  "Or dress up?"

            Jarlaxle chuckled.  "You humans are always so very amusing."

**

            "Okay, it didn't work, now what?" Entreri wrinkled his nose at the heavy scent of burnt flesh, which was just about all that was left of the mages that Jarlaxle had brought with him.

            Jarlaxle frowned, playing with a diatryma feather in one finger, while within the now-destroyed pentagram, Sam grinned and waved happily at Entreri, thinking it was a game.  The mages had vaporized far too fast for her to understand what had happened to them, and, as far as she was concerned, the smell wasn't as bad as the alleys she used to live in for the short while before Entreri had found her and Zaknafein. 

            "I had not anticipated such a strong ward on the binding spell," Jarlaxle admitted mildly.  "Do you have any powerful mage friends?"

            "No!"

            "You do not have to say it like I was asking you for their services," Jarlaxle said, feigning an injured tone expertly as he knelt down next to Sam.  "Are you all right?"

            "Yes… everything felt a little fuzzy for a moment, but it was fine, thanks!"

            "Uh… can we speak to Zaknafein?" Entreri asked, and then added hurriedly, "Though if he's coming out warn us first."

            Sam tilted her head for a while.  "Zaknafein's still refusing to even talk to me.  I think he's sulking."

            Jarlaxle nodded.  "That behavior is distinctly familiar, though I would believe that it is called 'brooding'."

            "Brooding? Isn't that word used to describe hens on eggs?" Sam asked curiously.

            "Where did you learn that from?" Jarlaxle blinked.

            "Well… I learnt from some of your friends that stealing brooding chickens is a great investment despite the fact that they aren't worth much money." Sam beamed at Entreri, who shrugged helplessly when Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow at him.

            "In any case… Zaknafein has been steadily refusing to come out for the past three days," Entreri said irritably, "That's a long time for him to stay on one matter."

            "You should have seen how long he stayed on his son's case," Jarlaxle said dryly.  "On and off about it all the time, especially when he started drinking.  Zaknafein is actually a somewhat obsessive personality."

            "What is he brooding on now, his mask? The son I can understand, barely, but the mask?"

            "Who knows?" Jarlaxle shrugged.  "I can get Kimmuriel up here to take a look inside his head, if you wish.  Perhaps a skilled psionist can get something done about it."

            "He came with you?" Entreri winced.  Kimmuriel had been distinctly sour on Entreri ever since Jarlaxle had wandered off to look at the Surface world instead of staying on as the leader of Bregan D'aerthe, and still sour when Jarlaxle had returned.  It wasn't even as though the whole hiatus was Entreri's fault – just one of Jarlaxle's more elaborate whims.

            "Oh yes, though he has been passing himself off as an ordinary-looking soldier to your spies," Jarlaxle smiled wickedly.  "You get nervous around mind-readers."

            "I get nervous around him," Entreri snorted.  "I don't even know what his problem with me was."

            "He is jealous, I would think," Jarlaxle said mildly.

            "Jealous? Of what?"

            "Well, you did spend a decade or so with me."

            "You're making it sound scandalous again! All we did was get into trouble… I mean, you'd get us into trouble and I never understood how we managed to get out of all of those…"

            "It was fun," Jarlaxle cut in, winking at Sam, who laughed. 

            "I'd bet! Uncle Artemis is really funny!"

            'Uncle Artemis' was currently very upset, and tried to regain control of the conversation, a rather futile gesture whenever the conversation involved Jarlaxle at any end.  "He spent more than twice that amount of time with you!"

            "Some people are very possessive," Jarlaxle said, winking.

            "Oh." Enlightenment dawned a little belatedly on Entreri.  "And all this time I thought… Rai'gy… oh.  Er."

            "I did not actually find out about it until I came back from the fun we had on the Surface to regain leadership of Bregan D'aerthe."

            "Did that have anything to do with how it was supposed to be joint leadership but it strangely enough ended up with you back as the sole head?"

            "I tried to get him to follow along with the plan…" Jarlaxle's 'innocent' face was getting on Entreri's nerves, "But he spent a very long time convincing me how he preferred it otherwise."

            Entreri had forgotten how Jarlaxle's very expressive voice managed to convey shiploads of meanings just on one word.  Currently he made the word 'convincing' sound like the dirtiest thing in the world.

            "I don't think… I want to know," Entreri said hastily. 

            "And another reason why you upset him so much now is because he can't read you."

            "The gauntlet."

            "Exactly."

            "He can't read you either!"
            "I am different, Entreri…" Jarlaxle grinned. "Or so he said when he…"

Another hasty interruption seemed in order.  "About Zaknafein… really, what do you want to do next?"

            "Use Kimmuriel.  At the most, he might be able to see how Zaknafein got plucked out from the Abyss." Jarlaxle seemed to be stifling a laugh again, from Entreri's extremely clumsy method of changing the topic.

            "If Zaknafein was conscious."

            "I believe consciousness is always a compulsory option in that Plane, Entreri.  It's not fun to play with something which can't feel what you're doing to it, isn't it?"

            Sam spoke up suddenly.  "Will it hurt?"

            "We will try not to let it, Sam," Jarlaxle said in his most reassuring voice.  Not having the experience that Entreri had with the mercenary, Sam calmed down trustingly. 

            "You had better." Entreri said, deciding to sit down.  "Or a lot of people from headquarters may try to kill you."

            Jarlaxle tipped his hat while he signaled to one of his guards.  "Concern from you, Entreri?"

            "As if you'd need it," Entreri snorted, looking at Sam.  "Sorry about this… I'd buy you something to make up for it later.  Do you want cake from that shop you told me about yesterday?"  Sam nodded happily.

            "You have changed," Jarlaxle said curiously. 

            "No, not really," Entreri said solemnly.  "I just know what it is like to be so young and be used, like some object without feelings, or an opinion, or life."

**

            Kimmuriel seemed slightly different, but then, Entreri didn't know better – he had only seen glimpses of Jarlaxle's highest-ranking lieutenant in his stay in the Underdark, and even briefer glimpses after that.  The elf seemed to have some grudge with him, and always refused to even be in the same room.

            Currently he wore rather ascetic-looking mage robes in a strange off-white color.  Under the dimmed light, if Entreri squinted, he could just make out shimmering patterns drawn in nearly the same shade of color on the robe.  Kimmuriel held no staff and wore no adornment now other than a rather weird looking soft brown leather collar with a complicated white gold clasp.  Even staring at it, Entreri couldn't figure out what the design was.  A snake? A wave? A hand… shit, the psionist was giving him a really odd look now.

            "Greetings, Entreri," Kimmuriel said with clipped formality.  He sounded exactly as though Jarlaxle had carefully instructed him beforehand not to call Entreri 'human'. 

            A close examination of Kimmuriel's handsome, fine-boned face currently set in a mask of calm, draped by a waist-long curtain of fine silvery hair, failed to reveal whatever Kimmuriel was thinking, so Entreri just replied with an equally non-committal greeting, then had to hastily cover Sam's eyes when Jarlaxle stood up and kissed Kimmuriel rather enthusiastically.

            "Jarlaxle!" Entreri snapped irritably.  "Aren't you forgetting something?"

            Kimmuriel shot Entreri the Look of Death when Jarlaxle disengaged, smirking like a maniac.  "Hmmm? Oh, in front of children? It was only a kiss, old friend."

            "Not where your hands are going!"

            Jarlaxle laughed.  "Is that all? Very well then…" He stroked Kimmuriel's hair as if playing with a prized pet.  "Maybe later, mrann d'ssinss." Kimmuriel smiled at him, and they looked at each other for a very long time.  Entreri cautiously removed his hand from Sam's eyes.  Whatever perverted things they may be talking to each other about telepathically, at least Kimmuriel wasn't projecting.

            Entreri coughed loudly and pointedly.

            "Eh? Oh, I see," Jarlaxle said, looking away and down at Sam.  "Kimmuriel, if you would be so kind?"

            "If you wish," Kimmuriel replied, sitting down gracefully and placing a hand on Sam's forehead, ignoring the way Entreri tensed.  Jarlaxle silently sat down next to him and put his head on the mage's shoulder.

            Entreri watched in silence for a while, and then said, "What is he doing?"

            "Looking around in Sam's mind." Jarlaxle replied, absently rubbing Kimmuriel's thigh through his robes.  "It may take a while."

            "It's a little ticklish actually," Sam said with a grin. 

            "He will pass through the link from Sam's mind to Zaknafein's mind once he finds it."

            "Are you sure you won't be breaking his concentration?" Entreri pointed at Jarlaxle's hands. 

            "This would not break his concentration.  I can show you what will break his concentration, if you like," Jarlaxle said, then chuckled at Entreri's flush.  "Interesting.  Living with Zaknafein still has not cured you of your prudish ways?"

            Entreri snorted.  "I'm surprised you're doing this with Kimmuriel."

            "Hmmm?"

            "Calling him 'mrann d'ssinss'.  As far as I've known, you always only call your lovers by name, not by any indication of what they might mean to you."

            "Just by not using his name you can tell what our… relationship is like?" Jarlaxle looked so amused that Entreri felt a little less sure.

            "If you treat him differently then that means he's special, to you!" Sam said loyally.  "Like what Uncle Artemis meant."

            "Uncle Artemis, eh?" Jarlaxle said wickedly.  "Does Zaknafein call you that, as well?"

            "Whenever he's trying to be annoying," Entreri said, a warning note in his voice.  "I would advise you not to follow suit."

            "Well, if you allow those kinds of liberties… then he is obviously special to you as well," Jarlaxle grinned, "Despite your constant aversion of professing your feelings."

            "What do you know of my feelings?" Entreri said irritably.

            "Ah yes, what do I know indeed, someone who has lived so long and who has survived always by just having the ability to know approximately, by wit, what anyone might do in the next moment."

            "You…!"

            "And after such an outburst of incoherent annoyance, you are no doubt considering initiating a fight, which is one way of getting Kimmuriel to wake up, when you start projecting violent considerations about my person.  Is that not so, Kimmuriel?"

            Entreri forced himself to calm down when he realized Kimmuriel had not only opened his eyes, those eyes were glaring at him.  Jarlaxle smirked and sucked at Kimmuriel's neck just above the collar.

            "What did you find?" Entreri said, ignoring the gesture.  Kimmuriel stared at him disdainfully, and apparently decided to ignore him – instead, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, baring his neck, lips parting into a soundless moan as Jarlaxle began to use his teeth. 

            Entreri sighed irritably, and picked up the rather fascinated Sam.  "We're leaving.  When you two are finished, the both of us will be in my study."

            Jarlaxle broke off, still smirking.  "We are done." The psionist shot Jarlaxle a disbelieving look, but the mercenary only winked and nodded.  With a sigh, Kimmuriel said tersely, "The link is preserved through a spell cast by either a group of mages or a single, powerful mage.  I did not manage to get much information out of Zaknafein – he is running in a very strange, if somewhat depressing, loop of imaginary events."

            "What loop of events?"

            Kimmuriel sounded as puzzled as Entreri had ever heard him.  "Well in it this place gets destroyed, and he kills you.  Then the loop changes back to the start of the chain of events."

            "Kills me?" Entreri blinked.

            "That is not the strangest thing," Kimmuriel said thoughtfully.  "While he's doing it… he is both laughing and crying."

**

            "So we have to break the link by killing the mages?"

            Jarlaxle and Entreri were now both alone in the assassin's study, several hours later since Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel had excused themselves from company. 

            "I would think so." Jarlaxle said mildly.  "Kimmuriel said he was not powerful enough to break the link."

            "Sam said she was raised by mages… do you think it was their doing?"

            "Since the child does not remember anything about how to get to the residence of the mages… it is not very helpful, is it?" Jarlaxle leant into the comfortable chair opposite Entreri's.  "Zaknafein could have been more helpful, had he been lucid or talkative."

            "We could try and fix him… before trying to break the seal."

            "And how could you even talk to him to begin that kind of conversation?"

            "I'm sure Sam can still hold a conversation at him."

            "And what would you say?"

            "That if he comes out, I'd give him another mask."

            Jarlaxle snorted.  "Did you not say it exacerbated his condition?"

            "At least if he took the bait I can talk to him face to face."

            "Do you have such a mask?"

            "No, and even if I did, I wouldn't give it to him."

            "Zaknafein does not like to be tricked, Entreri," Jarlaxle said warningly.

            "Funny, I thought you dark elves would be used to it," Entreri replied absently.

            "I have this strange feeling that you are going to regret this," Jarlaxle sighed.  "And what about what Kimmuriel saw?"

            "What about it?"

            "If Zaknafein wants to kill you… he will kill you."

            "Why, concern for my safety?"

            Jarlaxle grinned.  "Of course.  You are, after all, an old friend."

            "Your idea of 'friend' is different from mine.  And as it is… I'm getting a little tired of life," Entreri said, looking out of the window and towards the busy streets below, dirt and beggars trampled under human feet.  "Everything seems so worthless.  Doing the same thing for the rest of eternity… and besides, the current judicial system is unbearable."

            "Worthless? Even him?" Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow.

            Even him? No, definitely not worthless… but it was rather pathetic how the one of the most important things to Entreri right now was rather broken.

            "I'm going to speak to Sam," Entreri said abruptly, and left the room.

**

            Sam was occupied in learning how to throw a knife.  At her height, the only bits of the dummies she could hit were in very painful though supposedly non-lethal areas.  Entreri winced – as did every man in the room – when the next knife found its target.

            "Well princess… it wouldn't kill him, but it sure would stop someone," Jaser, one of the assassins, said with an encouraging grin.

            "Really? I don't think I want to kill, anyway," Sam said brightly.  "After all if you don't kill them you can keep stealing from them."

            "All right, how much have you lot been teaching her?" Entreri asked, amused.

            "Well, boss…" There were general shufflings of feet around the room.

            "This is an assassin-run enterprise… not a thieves' guild," Entreri said with mock severity.  "You're giving her the wrong set of morals."

            "Well…" Jaser muttered.

            Entreri allowed himself an apparently cold smile.  "Just go away.  I'd deal with this later.  Right now I need to speak with Sam."

            When all of them left, Sam ran to Entreri and tugged on his breeches.  "It wasn't their fault! Please don't be angry…"

            "Whoever said I was angry?" Entreri said mildly.  Sam blinked at him, and then shook her head in resignation. 

            "Fine! Next time I won't be that worried for them," she said, sitting down on a stool in a huff.  "And you didn't even buy me any cake yet!"

            "Well… I told someone to do it…"

            "I wanted you to buy it for me," Sam said mulishly.

            Now it was Entreri's turn to blink.  "Why?"

            "You said you were going to do it, you should do it."

            "And… is there a difference between cake that I buy, and cake that someone else buys?"

            "Zaknafein says there is."

            Ah…

            "Well as it so happens, I need to speak with Zaknafein…"

            "He doesn't want to talk to you," Sam said after a brief pause.  "He doesn't even want to talk to me."

            "But he's listening?"

            "He normally is, really, even if he says he isn't."

            Okay, that was a disturbing statement.  Did Sam often listen in even when she said she wasn't, as well? "So he won't be interested to find that I may have another of those shapeshifting masks?"

            Sam frowned at him.  "Are you sure that's wise? To give it to Zaknafein? I've heard you complaining about him and that mask.  Many times.  You said it worsened his er, condition."

            "If it's between him having the mask, or him not having the mask and therefore throwing a tantrum of this scale…"

            "And he says he's not throwing a tantrum," Sam said, an impish grin turning up on her small face.

            "Therefore… if he doesn't come out to talk to me then I guess he's not interested in this world or that mask any longer, then."

            Sam had started grinning wider once she grasped what the assassin was doing.  "Uh huh.  It isn't that bad being out all the time, anyway.  Though I sort of miss that other place sometimes."

            "It must be very nice."

            "He thinks it's very boring."

            "Well, maybe he discovered something new about it…"

            "What's more it's beginning to seem as though the mask's more important to him than you," Sam said, thoughtfully.  "Which really shouldn't be the case… Uncle Artemis? Did I say something wrong?"

            Entreri had gone silent, closing his eyes and clenching his gauntlet-arm, and there was a harsh sound that could have been a hiss of surprise or a sob.  Sam frowned, then immediately looked extremely embarrassed.  "Oh! Sorry about that… sorry! I wasn't… er…"

            "Expecting to say that."

            Entreri blinked his eyes open – the voice had changed back to Zaknafein's purring baritone.  A hurried greeting turned into a muffled yelp when Zaknafein pressed his mouth to his and forced his tongue inside.  When they broke for air, the dark elf smirked.  "Missed me?"

            "Everything was a lot quieter when it was only Sam," Entreri retorted obliquely.  The dark elf's eyes were slightly different now – they still had a little of their mad edge, but it didn't seem as broken as before – now they were sharp, calculating… calculating what? Besides, he didn't understand… why did Zaknafein decide to surface then? It was not as though he gave any real details about the new 'mask'…

            "I made myself do some thinking," Zaknafein said mildly, as if he had read Entreri's mind.

            "About what?" Entreri asked, managing to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

            "Things," Zaknafein said irritatingly, and smirked at the assassin's exasperation. 

            "You dark elves!" Entreri threw his hands up in frustration.  "Go and talk to Jarlaxle, he's around here somewhere.  I'm so…"

            Zaknafein hooked Entreri's legs up from behind him, watched with scientific interest as the assassin cursed and fell on his back, and then gracefully straddled him, pulling his wrists above his head.  "I believe Jarlaxle can wait."

**

            "You certainly took your time," Jarlaxle said blandly, when they finally located him in the rooms Bregan D'aerthe had commandeered for usage.  Kimmuriel, who was standing behind Jarlaxle, shot Entreri a disapproving glance that the assassin decided to ignore. 

            "It wasn't my fault," Entreri muttered, glaring at Zaknafein, who smiled possessively when the assassin gingerly sat down on one of the chairs in front of Jarlaxle's desk.  "And where did you get so much furniture on short notice?"

"Does it not look familiar?" Jarlaxle waved a hand to indicate the extremely gaudy pieces.  On closer inspection, Entreri realized that a lot of it was from Bregan D'aerthe's old Calimport base.  The realization brought with it a sinking feeling… were they going to stay here for a long time?
            As Entreri was mulling over this disturbing idea, Zaknafein leaned over his chair and put his arms loosely around his neck.  "I gather your mages were not of any help, mercenary?"

            Jarlaxle laughed, and then began speaking quickly in the Dark Elven tongue.  Zaknafein replied in kind, and the conversation went over his head for quite a while – Entreri wasn't very good at languages, despite his best efforts, and could only understand non-Common if it was spoken slowly.  What was worse, he was quite sure that some of it was about him, considering how Jarlaxle's eyes kept darting down towards his in amusement, and Kimmuriel's cheek seemed to be twitching…

            "If you people are going to speak in a language I do not understand, I see that there is no need for my continued presence," he said curtly, and attempted to sit up.  Zaknafein pushed him back down, chuckling deep in his throat at the assassin's hiss of pain. 

            "Be patient, Artemis," he said with mock solemnity. 

            "Patient?" Entreri snapped.  "While you might go into a relapse, or into your odd moods, or go out of control…"

            "But I will not be leaving you this time," Zaknafein said neutrally, tracing a line down Entreri's neck with a finger.  "That was what I had been thinking about."

            Although that should not have been very comforting… considering what Kimmuriel had seen in Zaknafein's mind… somehow, it was.

--

Notes and References:

Mrann d'ssinss: (male) lover