Chapter XV
Menzoberranzan lay in the distance. From above the city on a ledge of stone, Jarlaxle and Zaknafein looked down, Nevina asleep now in the mercenary's arms.
"Almost peaceful from up here," Jarlaxle snorted quietly, not wanting to wake the baby.
"Who would ever imagine that," Zaknafein replied, shifting his weight uneasily. He had had a plan when he returned to the city. He had known that he could never take Nevina with him. But, now that the moment had come....
"Jarlaxle," he began slowly.
The mercenary looked at him, a toothy grin on his face that intruded upon the grave moment above the city. "You were never one to be able to hide something," Jarlaxle told him. "Now is no different, I assume."
Zaknafein seemed confused until Jarlaxle added, "I'll take Nevina. The Bregan D'aerthe...." He paused for a moment. "We will take care of her—until I return her to her people."
"You will bring her to the surface?" Zaknafein asked with uncertainty.
The mercenary nodded. "You know as well as I that a human child cannot stay here. She would be killed—or worse, sacrificed to Lloth. You don't want that to happen to her, and neither do I."
Zaknafein had no words that could go against Jarlaxle's truth. "Your men would not let a human child stay," Zak reminded him, his eyes falling upon the sleeping Nevina.
Jarlaxle grinned shiftily. "My men obey my commands," he said forcefully. "And besides, my men do not need to know."
The mercenary's friend smiled sadly, turning his gaze so that he overlooked the city below.
"I made a mistake in bringing her here," the weapons-master admitted, shaking his head in shame.
Jarlaxle understood his friend's guilt. "I'll bring her back to where she'll be safe. Things for her will be as if she had never come here."
Zak lifted his head. "Are you certain that that will happen?"
"I will do everything I can to make it happen," the mercenary promised. The weapons-master was relieved.
If Jarlaxle committed himself to something, then there would be nothing to stand against him.
*** *** ***
Lea created a magical light that followed her as she walked through her house's library. She let her fingers scroll across the spines of the book as she looked for something to drag her troubled mind away from the mounting darkness that threatened the city.
Jarlaxle might not return, a thought whispered. Lea's finger began to press a bit harder on the books as she continued to look for a tome that would let her escape.
He could die out there in the Underdark, and then were would she be left?
Alone, she admitted, stopping her frantic search for a book. Defeated, she grabbed a random book from the shelf and glided gracefully over to a cushioned chair that rested in the middle of the library.
Closing her eyes, she sunk into the chair, trying to find one comfortable position in which she could find some rest. After a long minute, she opened her eyes, staring at the still-closed book in her lap.
Am I really going to chase away my problems by running away? she asked herself, looking at the book in a sudden disgust.
Horrified at the thought and frustrated with the stress that pressed down on her mind, she lifted the book and hurled it across the library, letting it smack against the wall with a resounding slam.
Silence followed—a dead silence in which Lea could only sit in the chair dumbly, too amazed that she had let the pressure get to her.
But she could not sit long in her peace. The door to the library opened with a creak and Lea jumped up, startled. Helarin stood in the doorway, a troubled look on his face.
"What is it?" she asked, straightening her back and pushing a few loose strands of her hair behind her dainty ear.
Helarin licked his lips. "It's your mother," he said softly. Lea's eyes went wide and before Helarin could register what had happened, Lea had pushed past him and was already tearing down the corridors of the D'teknil home.
*** *** ***
Z'ress looked at her mother in impatience. She was clinging onto her life just barely—so barely that each time her chest rolled up in a breathe, Z'ress felt a twinge of surprise.
Why can't she just die already? Z'ress grumbled in her mind, looking at the near-lifeless body on the bed. She contemplated killing her mother herself, but shook her head, deciding against it. She was dying—why not just let her take her time?
The door burst open, and in ran Lea, her eyes troubled and her face etched in worry. Had she made it in time?
Ever so slightly, her mother's chest rolled upward. Yes, she had made it in time. Her mother was still alive....
Not sparing a single moment, she hurried past her sister and knelt down beside her mother's bed.
"Mother," Lea whispered, her slender hands reaching to touch her mother's arm.
"Lea," L'lonneal returned, her voice barely a murmur. Lea's heart seemed to scream in sorrow, but she did not let her tears fall. "Tell...tell your sister...to leave us."
"Yes, mother," Lea replied. She glanced at Z'ress, her eyes filling up with water. Z'ress passed her a glare, but she did not disobey her matron's wishes. Quickly and angrily, she strode to the door, walking through and closing it with a slam behind her.
Lea ignored her sister's antics, leaning close to her dying mother. "What do you want me to do?"
"You will...be the...matron of this house," L'lonneal told her quietly, each word a strain coming from her lips. Lea nodded slowly.
"As you wish," she breathed in a new despair, as if she were chaining herself down to duty. Lea became coldly still when the realization hit her: she was binding herself to the house, to her position as matron mother....
But her mother could not and did not notice. "Guide it well, Lea'Veril," her mother bade her.
Lea shook her head. "I can't, mother," she whispered, the tears in her eyes pleading—demanding!—to fall. "I know I can't."
L'lonneal opened her mouth to reply to her daughter's sad words, but there was no strength left in her to form the words of comfort in her mind. She let her clouded eyes speak for her, letting Lea seek some consolation in those eyes...those eyes of drow...those eyes that had seen so much.
"Mother," Lea breathed, knowing that there was no time left for them. She tried to keep her control over the water in her eyes, but the tears had taken control of her body. They fell like rain on the surface world, streams of sorrow down her beautiful face, rivers of anger and despair that could not be dammed. "Mother, don't."
But L'lonneal D'teknil could not hear her daughter or wipe away her tears.
Lea lay her head down on the bed, her entire body shaking. This was unlike anything she had felt before...this overpowering sorrow.
Knowing what she had to do, Lea rose from her crying and walking dumbly to the door, the world around in her a daze, a blurred image of a dream world. She didn't feel her hand reaching out and touching the doorknob. She didn't remember pulling the door slowly open and walking outside. She only remembered her mother's still form on the bed, letting the image follow her with every step she took.
Z'ress stood outside the door impatiently, her arms crossed over her chest rudely. "Well?"
Lea'Veril felt numb to the world, but somehow her lips managed to function. Slowly she said to her sister, "I am the matron of House D'teknil."
*** *** ***
The guard fell back in awe as Zaknafein Do'Urden approached the Do'Urden gates. Almost proudly, Zaknafein smiled, waiting for the gates to open.
"We thought you dead!" a guard called to him. Zaknafein offered no response. He still didn't have a lie to explain his absence to the guard, though his knew that he was going to have to think of an excuse soon enough. It wouldn't be long until he was beside Malice, and she would press him for answers.
"Sir?" a guard asked as his side. "Where were you?"
Again, Zak said nothing of the matter. "Alert Matron Malice to my presence."
The drow scurried off, leaving Zaknafein and the gawking guards of House Do'Urden.
*** *** ***
Jarlaxle sealed the room using magic. Along the wall, no door seemed present, but he knew that the door was there. The ring on his left hand—a small, black band—alerted him to the door, giving a faint red outline around its frame.
Nevina slept in that room, his secret room. She slept on a bed of pillows, covered by blankets of fine material that only matron mothers usually possessed.
Anything for the baby, Jarlaxle thought happily, taking his gaze away from the door. Only he knew of the door. Not even his lieutenants could know—the sooner she was brought to her people, the sooner things would return to normal.
A warmth came to Jarlaxle's chest as the amulet that hung there began to glow softly. Someone was waiting outside of his door.
"Enter," Jarlaxle ordered, turning to face the door. Melyac entered. "Yes, lieutenant?"
"Sir," Melyac said, letting his suspicions creep into his voice. "The rothe milk you requested...it has arrived."
"Oh!" Jarlaxle startled with a wink. "I had been waiting for it." He kept his notice of Melyac's studying stare hidden. "Thank you, Melyac. Please bring it here shortly."
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said again, never questioning the sly mercenary's orders. Those that questioned Jarlaxle found that they did not live long.
*** *** ***
Z'ress had gone to tell the other females of the house that L'lonneal was dead. Helarin had returned to the guards, offering no answers to the questions that floated in the air. And Lea—Lea had returned to the library.
The pale magical glow hung over her as she curled up into the cushioned chair. This time there was no book on her lap, no object to divert her sorrow, as she had tried to do with her troubles.
Her sadness was hers to deal with and hers alone. There was no one else in the house that felt remorse over L'lonneal's death. There was just her. Alone. In grief. In a river of grief. In an ocean of grief.
Lea had long ago stopped crying, but her eyes were still puffed and red from the tears. Now, she sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her head half-burrowed in her arms. She hadn't blinked in some time, too dazed to bring her thoughts to conscious reality.
All she could so was sit there in silence, in the dim light, in her ocean of grief. It was hear burden to bear. How could she get out of this crushing sadness when there was no one to tell her how?
The door opened, but Lea, in his muses did not hear the urgency in which it had been opened. She saw Helarin standing just inside the library, his breathing hard and heavy.
His eyes didn't even take in the shaken and torn image of Lea. All he could do was open his mouth and shout words.
"We are under attack!" Helarin cried.
________________________________________
My fellow Ents, North Pole Elves, and Garden Gnome Liberators:
Okay, I'll make this short and sweet: I apologize for the lack of updating. I'll try to do better—promise.
-Aithne / TheBladedancer
Menzoberranzan lay in the distance. From above the city on a ledge of stone, Jarlaxle and Zaknafein looked down, Nevina asleep now in the mercenary's arms.
"Almost peaceful from up here," Jarlaxle snorted quietly, not wanting to wake the baby.
"Who would ever imagine that," Zaknafein replied, shifting his weight uneasily. He had had a plan when he returned to the city. He had known that he could never take Nevina with him. But, now that the moment had come....
"Jarlaxle," he began slowly.
The mercenary looked at him, a toothy grin on his face that intruded upon the grave moment above the city. "You were never one to be able to hide something," Jarlaxle told him. "Now is no different, I assume."
Zaknafein seemed confused until Jarlaxle added, "I'll take Nevina. The Bregan D'aerthe...." He paused for a moment. "We will take care of her—until I return her to her people."
"You will bring her to the surface?" Zaknafein asked with uncertainty.
The mercenary nodded. "You know as well as I that a human child cannot stay here. She would be killed—or worse, sacrificed to Lloth. You don't want that to happen to her, and neither do I."
Zaknafein had no words that could go against Jarlaxle's truth. "Your men would not let a human child stay," Zak reminded him, his eyes falling upon the sleeping Nevina.
Jarlaxle grinned shiftily. "My men obey my commands," he said forcefully. "And besides, my men do not need to know."
The mercenary's friend smiled sadly, turning his gaze so that he overlooked the city below.
"I made a mistake in bringing her here," the weapons-master admitted, shaking his head in shame.
Jarlaxle understood his friend's guilt. "I'll bring her back to where she'll be safe. Things for her will be as if she had never come here."
Zak lifted his head. "Are you certain that that will happen?"
"I will do everything I can to make it happen," the mercenary promised. The weapons-master was relieved.
If Jarlaxle committed himself to something, then there would be nothing to stand against him.
*** *** ***
Lea created a magical light that followed her as she walked through her house's library. She let her fingers scroll across the spines of the book as she looked for something to drag her troubled mind away from the mounting darkness that threatened the city.
Jarlaxle might not return, a thought whispered. Lea's finger began to press a bit harder on the books as she continued to look for a tome that would let her escape.
He could die out there in the Underdark, and then were would she be left?
Alone, she admitted, stopping her frantic search for a book. Defeated, she grabbed a random book from the shelf and glided gracefully over to a cushioned chair that rested in the middle of the library.
Closing her eyes, she sunk into the chair, trying to find one comfortable position in which she could find some rest. After a long minute, she opened her eyes, staring at the still-closed book in her lap.
Am I really going to chase away my problems by running away? she asked herself, looking at the book in a sudden disgust.
Horrified at the thought and frustrated with the stress that pressed down on her mind, she lifted the book and hurled it across the library, letting it smack against the wall with a resounding slam.
Silence followed—a dead silence in which Lea could only sit in the chair dumbly, too amazed that she had let the pressure get to her.
But she could not sit long in her peace. The door to the library opened with a creak and Lea jumped up, startled. Helarin stood in the doorway, a troubled look on his face.
"What is it?" she asked, straightening her back and pushing a few loose strands of her hair behind her dainty ear.
Helarin licked his lips. "It's your mother," he said softly. Lea's eyes went wide and before Helarin could register what had happened, Lea had pushed past him and was already tearing down the corridors of the D'teknil home.
*** *** ***
Z'ress looked at her mother in impatience. She was clinging onto her life just barely—so barely that each time her chest rolled up in a breathe, Z'ress felt a twinge of surprise.
Why can't she just die already? Z'ress grumbled in her mind, looking at the near-lifeless body on the bed. She contemplated killing her mother herself, but shook her head, deciding against it. She was dying—why not just let her take her time?
The door burst open, and in ran Lea, her eyes troubled and her face etched in worry. Had she made it in time?
Ever so slightly, her mother's chest rolled upward. Yes, she had made it in time. Her mother was still alive....
Not sparing a single moment, she hurried past her sister and knelt down beside her mother's bed.
"Mother," Lea whispered, her slender hands reaching to touch her mother's arm.
"Lea," L'lonneal returned, her voice barely a murmur. Lea's heart seemed to scream in sorrow, but she did not let her tears fall. "Tell...tell your sister...to leave us."
"Yes, mother," Lea replied. She glanced at Z'ress, her eyes filling up with water. Z'ress passed her a glare, but she did not disobey her matron's wishes. Quickly and angrily, she strode to the door, walking through and closing it with a slam behind her.
Lea ignored her sister's antics, leaning close to her dying mother. "What do you want me to do?"
"You will...be the...matron of this house," L'lonneal told her quietly, each word a strain coming from her lips. Lea nodded slowly.
"As you wish," she breathed in a new despair, as if she were chaining herself down to duty. Lea became coldly still when the realization hit her: she was binding herself to the house, to her position as matron mother....
But her mother could not and did not notice. "Guide it well, Lea'Veril," her mother bade her.
Lea shook her head. "I can't, mother," she whispered, the tears in her eyes pleading—demanding!—to fall. "I know I can't."
L'lonneal opened her mouth to reply to her daughter's sad words, but there was no strength left in her to form the words of comfort in her mind. She let her clouded eyes speak for her, letting Lea seek some consolation in those eyes...those eyes of drow...those eyes that had seen so much.
"Mother," Lea breathed, knowing that there was no time left for them. She tried to keep her control over the water in her eyes, but the tears had taken control of her body. They fell like rain on the surface world, streams of sorrow down her beautiful face, rivers of anger and despair that could not be dammed. "Mother, don't."
But L'lonneal D'teknil could not hear her daughter or wipe away her tears.
Lea lay her head down on the bed, her entire body shaking. This was unlike anything she had felt before...this overpowering sorrow.
Knowing what she had to do, Lea rose from her crying and walking dumbly to the door, the world around in her a daze, a blurred image of a dream world. She didn't feel her hand reaching out and touching the doorknob. She didn't remember pulling the door slowly open and walking outside. She only remembered her mother's still form on the bed, letting the image follow her with every step she took.
Z'ress stood outside the door impatiently, her arms crossed over her chest rudely. "Well?"
Lea'Veril felt numb to the world, but somehow her lips managed to function. Slowly she said to her sister, "I am the matron of House D'teknil."
*** *** ***
The guard fell back in awe as Zaknafein Do'Urden approached the Do'Urden gates. Almost proudly, Zaknafein smiled, waiting for the gates to open.
"We thought you dead!" a guard called to him. Zaknafein offered no response. He still didn't have a lie to explain his absence to the guard, though his knew that he was going to have to think of an excuse soon enough. It wouldn't be long until he was beside Malice, and she would press him for answers.
"Sir?" a guard asked as his side. "Where were you?"
Again, Zak said nothing of the matter. "Alert Matron Malice to my presence."
The drow scurried off, leaving Zaknafein and the gawking guards of House Do'Urden.
*** *** ***
Jarlaxle sealed the room using magic. Along the wall, no door seemed present, but he knew that the door was there. The ring on his left hand—a small, black band—alerted him to the door, giving a faint red outline around its frame.
Nevina slept in that room, his secret room. She slept on a bed of pillows, covered by blankets of fine material that only matron mothers usually possessed.
Anything for the baby, Jarlaxle thought happily, taking his gaze away from the door. Only he knew of the door. Not even his lieutenants could know—the sooner she was brought to her people, the sooner things would return to normal.
A warmth came to Jarlaxle's chest as the amulet that hung there began to glow softly. Someone was waiting outside of his door.
"Enter," Jarlaxle ordered, turning to face the door. Melyac entered. "Yes, lieutenant?"
"Sir," Melyac said, letting his suspicions creep into his voice. "The rothe milk you requested...it has arrived."
"Oh!" Jarlaxle startled with a wink. "I had been waiting for it." He kept his notice of Melyac's studying stare hidden. "Thank you, Melyac. Please bring it here shortly."
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said again, never questioning the sly mercenary's orders. Those that questioned Jarlaxle found that they did not live long.
*** *** ***
Z'ress had gone to tell the other females of the house that L'lonneal was dead. Helarin had returned to the guards, offering no answers to the questions that floated in the air. And Lea—Lea had returned to the library.
The pale magical glow hung over her as she curled up into the cushioned chair. This time there was no book on her lap, no object to divert her sorrow, as she had tried to do with her troubles.
Her sadness was hers to deal with and hers alone. There was no one else in the house that felt remorse over L'lonneal's death. There was just her. Alone. In grief. In a river of grief. In an ocean of grief.
Lea had long ago stopped crying, but her eyes were still puffed and red from the tears. Now, she sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her head half-burrowed in her arms. She hadn't blinked in some time, too dazed to bring her thoughts to conscious reality.
All she could so was sit there in silence, in the dim light, in her ocean of grief. It was hear burden to bear. How could she get out of this crushing sadness when there was no one to tell her how?
The door opened, but Lea, in his muses did not hear the urgency in which it had been opened. She saw Helarin standing just inside the library, his breathing hard and heavy.
His eyes didn't even take in the shaken and torn image of Lea. All he could do was open his mouth and shout words.
"We are under attack!" Helarin cried.
________________________________________
My fellow Ents, North Pole Elves, and Garden Gnome Liberators:
Okay, I'll make this short and sweet: I apologize for the lack of updating. I'll try to do better—promise.
-Aithne / TheBladedancer
