A/N: Drizzt and co. are not mine. Everyone you've never heard of, and the
places they inhabit are.
Warning: Slash and implied rape, read at your own risk.
The sounds of the sea woke him, the surf pounding at the shore, gulls screaming at each other in the air above. Drizzt lifted his head, the harsh sun stinging his sensitive eyes. A beach. He didn't remember being anywhere near the ocean.
Drizzt pushed himself up off of the white sand, wincing at the pain in his head. A fight. He remembered that. A wizard. A flash. For a moment he wondered if he was dead, but he couldn't imagine an afterlife that smelled faintly of dead fish.
He stopped and did a quick check of his equipment. Twinkle rested in it's sheath at his left hip. The one at his right was empty. He checked the pouch that guenhyvar's statue usually rested in. She was there, safe and secure. He had a cloak and everything he could remember wearing, but no other supplies.
He licked his lips, looking both ways down the shore. Down one way he could see the silhouette of a walled city. Down the other, nothing but the beach, eventually turning to a cliff. Beyond the beach was forested land.
If he had his choice, Drizzt probably would have taken the forest, but he needed to know where he was, needed to know how far from Icewind dale. Pulling up his hood, he headed for the city.
The city was like many he had seen before, but different. The wall was in a sad state of disrepair, though scores of human slaves were putting new stone into place, under the watchful eyes of whip-wielding overseers. Yes, he thought grimly to himself, very like a city he had seen before.
Nobody challenged him coming in, though he could see checkpoints set up for people going out.
The wharf was a place of organized chaos, ships loading and unloading, carts full of provisions coming to and fro.
He blended in with the flows of people, trying to decide where he should go first for information. He realized two things. First, he was the only non- human that he could see. There were humans big and small, light and dark, but no dwarves. No elves, no halflings. Second, he didn't recognize any of the languages being spoken.
He was still trying to get his bearings and decide if he would be safe taking his hood down, when a shrill scream split the air. A few people turned to look, some even heading towards the alley the scream had come from, but they saw what was going on and then wandered off.
The scream sounded again, panicked, a woman or child, he couldn't tell. Drizzt frowned and headed down the alley, reluctant to be drawn into something he didn't understand, but was unable to allow whatever caused that scream to continue.
He turned the corner, and four men had a small woman surrounded; her back was against one wall of the alley. The men were wearing no uniform, but each one carried a short club at his side or in his hands.
Three of them were laughing and encouraging their friend as he tried to hold her against the wall. He was struggling to put a heavy wooden collar around her neck. She was fighting him though, kicking, scratching and screaming. As Drizzt hesitated, trying to be sure that this situation was as wrong as it looked, the man struggling with his captive finally punched her in the stomach. All fight went out of her and she slumped half to the ground.
"I don't think she wants to go with you." Drizzt said, stepping into sight.
Three of the men turned towards him. They hadn't understood, of course, but the tone in his voice spoke open warning. One shouted something in return, waving Drizzt dismissively away. When Drizzt didn't turn and leave like the other civilians had, he repeated it, angrier this time.
With an inward groan Drizzt stepped forward, drawing his single scimitar. And then they were on him, swinging their short cudgels. He stepped and twisted, striking with the flat of his blade, using his fists and boots and the pommel of his weapon to discourage the attack. The last thing he wanted to do, especially in a strange city, was to kill four men.
Three were down, with only the one with the girl still on his feet, in a matter of moments. That man had turned her to be a shield between himself and Drizzt. From somewhere he had pulled a dagger, and held it at her throat. A man on the ground groaned. They would be back up soon. Drizzt realized that the hood of his cloak had fallen down.
The man with the dagger shouted in a threatening voice.
"I don't understand you." Drizzt told him, bargaining for time. There was movement behind the man, but the girl's cloak and the man's bulk hid whatever it was from Drizzt's vision.
And then the man's eyes were rolling up in his head as he crumpled. A graceful young man was standing where the man had been, his grey eyes bright with the rush of battle, however brief. The girl made a soft squeak and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him.
The young man stood frozen for a moment, staring at Drizzt. He was...beautiful. Straight black hair hung to his jaw line, his features were too fine for human, too strong for elven. His cheekbones were broad, and high, his chin narrow. The eyes that stared into Drizzt's lavender ones were the purest silver. He was wearing a simple home-spun cloak, but where the cloak didn't cover, the sleekest silks showed through, dyed in bright blues and rich greens.
Drizzt tensed, waiting for that moment when his Drow nature was would dawn on the young man, and he would flinch away in fear or frown in hatred. It never came.
The young man started drawing the girl towards the back of the alley, where it must open somewhere else. He said something to Drizzt, and the tone was neither frightened nor angry.
"I don't understand you." Drizzt said for the second time that day.
The young man frowned and tried what sounded like a different language, and then a third. With a grimace of frustration, he motioned Drizzt to follow them.
"Not that I have many options," Drizzt commented, to himself since nobody else could know what he was saying, and followed, slowing only to pluck the dagger from the unconscious thug's fingers. The young man made a gesture with one hand, and it was easy to translate. Drizzt pulled the hood of his cloak back up to hide his features.
As he turned away, the young man dropped a rock to the pavement. A rock. He had attacked an armed man with a rock.
Drizzt studied the pair as he followed them through twisting turning back alleys. He sometimes doubted the young man even had a plan or destination. The girl's clothes seemed the same mix of rich and poor as the boy's. She kept the homespun cloak tight against her throat with one hand. Looking at them together, they could be twins. Her hair, her eye color, even the cut of her hair, just a little longer than his, and the shape of her face was the same as the young man's.
The way they moved, the way they watched everyone they passed, it was easy to tell that they were running. The young man carried a sack that clanged sometimes when it hit a wall or was jostled too hard. Noble children running from some enemies? Feels like menzoberanzan, Drizzt thought.
Finally the young man led them to a narrow door on yet another back alley. He took a deep breath, looking around, and then tapped out a measured count of knocks and pauses. The door opened quickly and he guided the girl in past the old man who had opened it. He hesitated on the threshold, and turned and offered Drizzt his hand, nodding his head towards the door. Again, it was easy from his body language to figure out what he said, though the words made no sense.
Drizzt took the hand and the young man pulled him inside. He had never touched a man's hand that was so soft; strong, but completely without calluses. In the close quarters he could smell a lingering of masculine perfume on the young man's hair, mingled with the fresh sweat smell of his recent exertions. A shiver of unknown origin went through him.
The room was little more than a closet, and the old man was already gone, along with the boy's clanking bag. The young man closed the door behind them, leaving them in the gloom. The only light came from cracks between the ill-fit planks on the wall.
Weary, the pair sank to the floor. To rest, to wait. Drizzt sank down too, watching as the young man tenderly straightened the girl's hair. And then the boy's silver eyes were meeting his again, sparkling with curiosity.
Warning: Slash and implied rape, read at your own risk.
The sounds of the sea woke him, the surf pounding at the shore, gulls screaming at each other in the air above. Drizzt lifted his head, the harsh sun stinging his sensitive eyes. A beach. He didn't remember being anywhere near the ocean.
Drizzt pushed himself up off of the white sand, wincing at the pain in his head. A fight. He remembered that. A wizard. A flash. For a moment he wondered if he was dead, but he couldn't imagine an afterlife that smelled faintly of dead fish.
He stopped and did a quick check of his equipment. Twinkle rested in it's sheath at his left hip. The one at his right was empty. He checked the pouch that guenhyvar's statue usually rested in. She was there, safe and secure. He had a cloak and everything he could remember wearing, but no other supplies.
He licked his lips, looking both ways down the shore. Down one way he could see the silhouette of a walled city. Down the other, nothing but the beach, eventually turning to a cliff. Beyond the beach was forested land.
If he had his choice, Drizzt probably would have taken the forest, but he needed to know where he was, needed to know how far from Icewind dale. Pulling up his hood, he headed for the city.
The city was like many he had seen before, but different. The wall was in a sad state of disrepair, though scores of human slaves were putting new stone into place, under the watchful eyes of whip-wielding overseers. Yes, he thought grimly to himself, very like a city he had seen before.
Nobody challenged him coming in, though he could see checkpoints set up for people going out.
The wharf was a place of organized chaos, ships loading and unloading, carts full of provisions coming to and fro.
He blended in with the flows of people, trying to decide where he should go first for information. He realized two things. First, he was the only non- human that he could see. There were humans big and small, light and dark, but no dwarves. No elves, no halflings. Second, he didn't recognize any of the languages being spoken.
He was still trying to get his bearings and decide if he would be safe taking his hood down, when a shrill scream split the air. A few people turned to look, some even heading towards the alley the scream had come from, but they saw what was going on and then wandered off.
The scream sounded again, panicked, a woman or child, he couldn't tell. Drizzt frowned and headed down the alley, reluctant to be drawn into something he didn't understand, but was unable to allow whatever caused that scream to continue.
He turned the corner, and four men had a small woman surrounded; her back was against one wall of the alley. The men were wearing no uniform, but each one carried a short club at his side or in his hands.
Three of them were laughing and encouraging their friend as he tried to hold her against the wall. He was struggling to put a heavy wooden collar around her neck. She was fighting him though, kicking, scratching and screaming. As Drizzt hesitated, trying to be sure that this situation was as wrong as it looked, the man struggling with his captive finally punched her in the stomach. All fight went out of her and she slumped half to the ground.
"I don't think she wants to go with you." Drizzt said, stepping into sight.
Three of the men turned towards him. They hadn't understood, of course, but the tone in his voice spoke open warning. One shouted something in return, waving Drizzt dismissively away. When Drizzt didn't turn and leave like the other civilians had, he repeated it, angrier this time.
With an inward groan Drizzt stepped forward, drawing his single scimitar. And then they were on him, swinging their short cudgels. He stepped and twisted, striking with the flat of his blade, using his fists and boots and the pommel of his weapon to discourage the attack. The last thing he wanted to do, especially in a strange city, was to kill four men.
Three were down, with only the one with the girl still on his feet, in a matter of moments. That man had turned her to be a shield between himself and Drizzt. From somewhere he had pulled a dagger, and held it at her throat. A man on the ground groaned. They would be back up soon. Drizzt realized that the hood of his cloak had fallen down.
The man with the dagger shouted in a threatening voice.
"I don't understand you." Drizzt told him, bargaining for time. There was movement behind the man, but the girl's cloak and the man's bulk hid whatever it was from Drizzt's vision.
And then the man's eyes were rolling up in his head as he crumpled. A graceful young man was standing where the man had been, his grey eyes bright with the rush of battle, however brief. The girl made a soft squeak and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him.
The young man stood frozen for a moment, staring at Drizzt. He was...beautiful. Straight black hair hung to his jaw line, his features were too fine for human, too strong for elven. His cheekbones were broad, and high, his chin narrow. The eyes that stared into Drizzt's lavender ones were the purest silver. He was wearing a simple home-spun cloak, but where the cloak didn't cover, the sleekest silks showed through, dyed in bright blues and rich greens.
Drizzt tensed, waiting for that moment when his Drow nature was would dawn on the young man, and he would flinch away in fear or frown in hatred. It never came.
The young man started drawing the girl towards the back of the alley, where it must open somewhere else. He said something to Drizzt, and the tone was neither frightened nor angry.
"I don't understand you." Drizzt said for the second time that day.
The young man frowned and tried what sounded like a different language, and then a third. With a grimace of frustration, he motioned Drizzt to follow them.
"Not that I have many options," Drizzt commented, to himself since nobody else could know what he was saying, and followed, slowing only to pluck the dagger from the unconscious thug's fingers. The young man made a gesture with one hand, and it was easy to translate. Drizzt pulled the hood of his cloak back up to hide his features.
As he turned away, the young man dropped a rock to the pavement. A rock. He had attacked an armed man with a rock.
Drizzt studied the pair as he followed them through twisting turning back alleys. He sometimes doubted the young man even had a plan or destination. The girl's clothes seemed the same mix of rich and poor as the boy's. She kept the homespun cloak tight against her throat with one hand. Looking at them together, they could be twins. Her hair, her eye color, even the cut of her hair, just a little longer than his, and the shape of her face was the same as the young man's.
The way they moved, the way they watched everyone they passed, it was easy to tell that they were running. The young man carried a sack that clanged sometimes when it hit a wall or was jostled too hard. Noble children running from some enemies? Feels like menzoberanzan, Drizzt thought.
Finally the young man led them to a narrow door on yet another back alley. He took a deep breath, looking around, and then tapped out a measured count of knocks and pauses. The door opened quickly and he guided the girl in past the old man who had opened it. He hesitated on the threshold, and turned and offered Drizzt his hand, nodding his head towards the door. Again, it was easy from his body language to figure out what he said, though the words made no sense.
Drizzt took the hand and the young man pulled him inside. He had never touched a man's hand that was so soft; strong, but completely without calluses. In the close quarters he could smell a lingering of masculine perfume on the young man's hair, mingled with the fresh sweat smell of his recent exertions. A shiver of unknown origin went through him.
The room was little more than a closet, and the old man was already gone, along with the boy's clanking bag. The young man closed the door behind them, leaving them in the gloom. The only light came from cracks between the ill-fit planks on the wall.
Weary, the pair sank to the floor. To rest, to wait. Drizzt sank down too, watching as the young man tenderly straightened the girl's hair. And then the boy's silver eyes were meeting his again, sparkling with curiosity.