Chapter III
He slept without waking, a surprise for Jarlaxle who stood just beyond the door of the inn's room. Could it be that Drizzt Do'Urden was able to be caught at unawares?
Has the surface world deafened his drow senses? Jarlaxle wondered, watching the drow sleeping in the bed with interest. Had Drizzt grown away from the stealth of their people? Or was it just that Jarlaxle had been too quiet to be detected in the quiet night of Silverymoon?
I haven't lost my touch, Jarlaxle snickered in his mind, a grin appearing on his face. Drizzt turned in his sleep, causing Jarlaxle's smile to fade and his hand to shoot to the doorknob.
Drizzt could never know that he had been here. Never. To know that drow still an interest in his life - even it just be Jarlaxle.the effects would be disastrous.
Best that he not know, the mercenary hummed, nodding in consent to his silent proclamation. He still has much to live. Why force him to waste that time watching out for the daggers of his past?
But Jarlaxle knew that Drizzt, and all drow, would continue to watch for those daggers. It were those who hid from their past that died from it. Drizzt would never be free of the horrors he witnessed in Menzoberranzan. The best the young ranger could hope for was to live on, accepting them as part of him.
And he has, Jarlaxle noted. He's changed.
And truly he had. If Drizzt had stayed in Menzoberranzan, he would have been tormented by the same nightmares Zaknafein had been troubled with. He would have been cursed a thousand times over by Lloth, and there would have been nothing he could have done about it.
Except he had done something. Drizzt Do'Urden had left.
Eh, there was too much sympathy in that one to last in Menzoberranzan anyway, Jarlaxle thought wisely. It's best that he came to the surface.
Jarlaxle sighed quietly in the corner of the room. Drizzt stirred, but he did not wake.
Perhaps he has lost the drow in him.. Jarlaxle shook his head, the plume of his hat swaying in the movement. Never, especially from a warrior.
The mercenary looked out of the window of Drizzt's room. It would be dawn soon and Drizzt along with his companions in the joining rooms would wake. They would continue their adventures in the sun-world while Jarlaxle traveled home to his darker realm.
So be it then, Jarlaxle concluded in his mind, his lips thinning in his grim decisiveness. He turned away, heading towards the door. "This promise has been kept," he whispered to himself.
"What promise, Jarlaxle?"
The mercenary's eyes snapped to the figure in the bed. He hadn't even realized that he had spoken the words aloud. Perhaps it was actually he who was getting careless..
Some part of the cocky Jarlaxle wanted to laugh at the thought.
Drizzt's lavender eyes found Jarlaxle's own and held them. The mercenary gave the Do'Urden warrior a welcoming smile, but Drizzt saw the sadness in it, hidden nearly completely by the fanfare of his cloak and jewelry and hat.
"I made a promise to your father," Jarlaxle told him matter-of-factly. "If something should ever happen to him in a battle or otherwise, that I would happen to look in on you.from time to time, of course."
Drizzt said nothing, not sure how to reply to such words. Jarlaxle didn't expect him to.
"I must be leaving now, but it is good to see you doing well," Jarlaxle said to the young drow, surprising even himself with his honesty. He opened the door and pulled it open. He was about to step into the hallway and close the door, when he paused.
"Your father would have been very proud of you, Drizzt Do'Urden," Jarlaxle added just before he disappeared, leaving a still-silent Drizzt behind, puzzling over the mercenary's words..
And in the morning when the sun had risen, Drizzt wondered if he had imagined the entire affair. Perhaps his conversation with Jarlaxle had only been a dream sent by whatever gods rule over the night or just his imagination bringing back the people of his past.
Whatever the reason, Drizzt had no proof. Even the locks of the door had been redone just has he had had them locked when he went to bed the night before.
The tiny purple strands left from the feather of a diatryma bird went unseen in the morning light, later to be gently blown under the bed of the inn, never noticed by any mortal's eyes.
He slept without waking, a surprise for Jarlaxle who stood just beyond the door of the inn's room. Could it be that Drizzt Do'Urden was able to be caught at unawares?
Has the surface world deafened his drow senses? Jarlaxle wondered, watching the drow sleeping in the bed with interest. Had Drizzt grown away from the stealth of their people? Or was it just that Jarlaxle had been too quiet to be detected in the quiet night of Silverymoon?
I haven't lost my touch, Jarlaxle snickered in his mind, a grin appearing on his face. Drizzt turned in his sleep, causing Jarlaxle's smile to fade and his hand to shoot to the doorknob.
Drizzt could never know that he had been here. Never. To know that drow still an interest in his life - even it just be Jarlaxle.the effects would be disastrous.
Best that he not know, the mercenary hummed, nodding in consent to his silent proclamation. He still has much to live. Why force him to waste that time watching out for the daggers of his past?
But Jarlaxle knew that Drizzt, and all drow, would continue to watch for those daggers. It were those who hid from their past that died from it. Drizzt would never be free of the horrors he witnessed in Menzoberranzan. The best the young ranger could hope for was to live on, accepting them as part of him.
And he has, Jarlaxle noted. He's changed.
And truly he had. If Drizzt had stayed in Menzoberranzan, he would have been tormented by the same nightmares Zaknafein had been troubled with. He would have been cursed a thousand times over by Lloth, and there would have been nothing he could have done about it.
Except he had done something. Drizzt Do'Urden had left.
Eh, there was too much sympathy in that one to last in Menzoberranzan anyway, Jarlaxle thought wisely. It's best that he came to the surface.
Jarlaxle sighed quietly in the corner of the room. Drizzt stirred, but he did not wake.
Perhaps he has lost the drow in him.. Jarlaxle shook his head, the plume of his hat swaying in the movement. Never, especially from a warrior.
The mercenary looked out of the window of Drizzt's room. It would be dawn soon and Drizzt along with his companions in the joining rooms would wake. They would continue their adventures in the sun-world while Jarlaxle traveled home to his darker realm.
So be it then, Jarlaxle concluded in his mind, his lips thinning in his grim decisiveness. He turned away, heading towards the door. "This promise has been kept," he whispered to himself.
"What promise, Jarlaxle?"
The mercenary's eyes snapped to the figure in the bed. He hadn't even realized that he had spoken the words aloud. Perhaps it was actually he who was getting careless..
Some part of the cocky Jarlaxle wanted to laugh at the thought.
Drizzt's lavender eyes found Jarlaxle's own and held them. The mercenary gave the Do'Urden warrior a welcoming smile, but Drizzt saw the sadness in it, hidden nearly completely by the fanfare of his cloak and jewelry and hat.
"I made a promise to your father," Jarlaxle told him matter-of-factly. "If something should ever happen to him in a battle or otherwise, that I would happen to look in on you.from time to time, of course."
Drizzt said nothing, not sure how to reply to such words. Jarlaxle didn't expect him to.
"I must be leaving now, but it is good to see you doing well," Jarlaxle said to the young drow, surprising even himself with his honesty. He opened the door and pulled it open. He was about to step into the hallway and close the door, when he paused.
"Your father would have been very proud of you, Drizzt Do'Urden," Jarlaxle added just before he disappeared, leaving a still-silent Drizzt behind, puzzling over the mercenary's words..
And in the morning when the sun had risen, Drizzt wondered if he had imagined the entire affair. Perhaps his conversation with Jarlaxle had only been a dream sent by whatever gods rule over the night or just his imagination bringing back the people of his past.
Whatever the reason, Drizzt had no proof. Even the locks of the door had been redone just has he had had them locked when he went to bed the night before.
The tiny purple strands left from the feather of a diatryma bird went unseen in the morning light, later to be gently blown under the bed of the inn, never noticed by any mortal's eyes.