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.
Finally, the safe-house, Brionne thought. He'd lost his way and had to back-track a few times, and each time made him fear that the tiny sketch of a map he had was wrong, or that he had not memorized it correctly. He sank to the floor, glad that it was really here. He touched Nala's hair, making sure she was well and felt safe. And then he glanced over to the stranger.
And what a stranger he is, thought Brionne. Even in the dim light, he could see how dark the man's hands were, darker than any skin he had seen. He remembered the white hair, so stark against the black skin, the eyes so bright and full of life, the perfect delicate features.
He smiled softly over at the stranger, trying to open some avenue to friendship. He was rewarded with a glint of white teeth in the shadows. A smile? He gestured over his own head, as if pulling back a hood, and after a moment the stranger complied, baring his head again. Like he had in the alley, the stranger seemed to brace himself, as if preparing for a blow that he would take without flinching.
The man was too beautiful not to admire. A sudden dark vision popped into Brionne's head; this exotic stranger captured, prosecuted for stealing him and Nala from the slave-catchers, sentenced to the arena, or sold to some pleasure-hungry lord. He needed to make this stranger understand the danger he had stepped into, and fast. Brionne didn't mean to trade the freedom of one slave for the imprisonment of another.
"Brionne." He said, touching his own chest. "Nala," he said, indicating her. He raised his eyebrows, gesturing at the stranger.
"Drizzt." The man said, and Brionne smiled.
"Drizzt." Brionne repeated. It was strange name, with the drag of the zz's and the sharp t at the end. He went through his head, trying to find a language that he hadn't already asked about that had sounds like that.
"Do you understand me?" He asked in Marshlander. He tried again in the tongue the western traders spoke, and again in the language of the northern miners. He went through all the dialects of the old empire that he knew, and then into the ancient languages. There wasn't even a flicker of recognition at any of them.
"Drizzt speak?" he asked, using a hand motion to get his point across. Apparently the stranger was smart enough to hear that the languages Brionne had been trying were all different. He went through a similar, though shorter, list. He tried everything from a language that rolled musically like flowing water, to a short harsh tongue, to a language with sharp hard sounds.
At the end, Brionne sighed and shook his head. There was nothing. Nothing at all even familiar.
The old man came in with a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese. He also handed Brionne a small pouch of coins, money in trade for the objects he had taken from his master's house. The bag was lighter than he had hoped, but heavier than he should have expected. They ate in silence, tearing off pieces of the food and sharing them around.
Nala ate little, less than Brionne would have liked to see her eat, then turned and rested her head on his shoulder, eyes closed.
Brionne grew thoughtful. The man had to come with them. The slave- catchers had seen his face, and it wasn't a face he could hide forever.
"Drizzt?" He finally asked. The man looked up, turning those violet eyes at Brionne. The younger man licked his lips, a conscious signal of his uncertainty. This was a challenge for even his skills with language. "Brionne and Nala are running." He made gestures with his hand. "Will Drizzt run too? Run with us?" he hoped the urgency that he felt came through in his gesture.
*****************************
Drizzt run? The Drow considered. Did he have any reason not to? Part of him knew he should stay near that beach, in case his friends somehow managed to duplicate whatever had happened to him, to come searching for him. On the other hand, he suspected that he had inadvertently made some enemies in the short time he had been here, and might not be able to wait for them close by even if he wanted to.
The young man--Brionne--searched his face. Brionne, who had not been afraid or hate-filled when they met, when he saw the dark-elf features. Brionne, who obviously cared for this girl enough to fight for her, maybe die for her. Brionne, who couldn't have possibly fought off those four of his enemies with a rock.
He was needed. He nodded. "Drizzt run." He said, hoping he was using the right word. "Drizzt, Brionne, Nala."
The boy nodded and seemed relieved. He peeked through the cracks in the wall. It was getting darker outside.
And then they were on the go again, through the city, Drizzt and Nala with their hoods up, Brionne with his down. They walked as if they belonged there, confident and openly, and nobody stopped them in the hour or so it took them to walk through the dusk to what Drizzt thought to be a temple. The statues of seven women graced the archway above the door, and Brionne moved as if he knew where he was going.
A sharp-faced woman met them near the door. She frowned at Drizzt, and for a moment he wondered if his hood wasn't covering all of his features. She said something sharply to Brionne, and held up two fingers.
"Three," Brionne replied, voice firm, holding up the appropriate number of fingers.
She sighed and nodded, leading them through the "church" or whatever it was to a back room. There, clothes waited for Nala and Brionne, to wear under the rough homespun of their cloaks. More peasant garb, grey breeches and a dark long sleeve tunic for Brionne, and a soft wool dress for Nala. Drizzt turned his back while they changed. He could hear Brionne speaking softly to Nala as he helped her with her dress, but she said nothing back. Brionne touched Drizzt's shoulder when they were done, the action startling him. He tried to remember if ever in his life someone he had known for so little a time had touched him in so casual a manner. He couldn't think of one.
Outside a man with a cart full of tarp-covered boxes waited. "Three?" he asked, seeing the trio.
"Three." Brionne told him, this time holding that many coins instead of fingers. The man smirked and said something, then lifted the tarp.
Inside, what looked to be boxes under the tarp was really one large box built with many angles and edges, looking like a stack when it wasn't. A smuggler's vehicle. Built for taking people.
Brionne helped Nala in first, then followed her. His eyes looked back up at Drizzt, silently begging him to come to, to join them in the even tighter confines of the box. To trust the smuggler with his life.
Drizzt glanced at the outside of the box. It didn't seem too sturdy, and it looked like it would be held closed with only a piece of rope.
Disliking the idea but seeing no other way, he climbed in. the smuggler tied the door behind them.
The space inside was tight, probably meant for two but now forced to hold three. Through his chainmail he could feel Brionne's hand pressed against his back. There wasn't enough room to stretch out, so their legs were bent, the fronts of Brionne's knees against the backs of Drizzt's thighs. Drizzt could feel the pounding of his own heart. He felt dizzy, and wondered if there was enough air getting into the box, even though he could feel the wind through the cracks in the slats.
The young man's breath behind him was tense, and afraid as the wagon began to move. His fingers clenched reflexively at the lurching motion.
They rolled up to a checkpoint, and the driver talked companionably with the guards.
Drizzt braced a foot against one of the slats, prepared to smash a figurine- sized hole in it if he had to. Guenhyvar could get them out, and once he was out, he could fight. He tightened a hand over Twinkle's hilt.
There was a murmur and a clink of coins, and the wagon passed through without search. All three occupants in the back breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Half the night later, the driver stopped at a quiet place in the road, opened the door and let them out to stretch stiffly in the cool night air. He gave them a sack of food and bid them on their way.
Warning: Slash and implied rape, read at your own risk.
Finally, the safe-house, Brionne thought. He'd lost his way and had to back-track a few times, and each time made him fear that the tiny sketch of a map he had was wrong, or that he had not memorized it correctly. He sank to the floor, glad that it was really here. He touched Nala's hair, making sure she was well and felt safe. And then he glanced over to the stranger.
And what a stranger he is, thought Brionne. Even in the dim light, he could see how dark the man's hands were, darker than any skin he had seen. He remembered the white hair, so stark against the black skin, the eyes so bright and full of life, the perfect delicate features.
He smiled softly over at the stranger, trying to open some avenue to friendship. He was rewarded with a glint of white teeth in the shadows. A smile? He gestured over his own head, as if pulling back a hood, and after a moment the stranger complied, baring his head again. Like he had in the alley, the stranger seemed to brace himself, as if preparing for a blow that he would take without flinching.
The man was too beautiful not to admire. A sudden dark vision popped into Brionne's head; this exotic stranger captured, prosecuted for stealing him and Nala from the slave-catchers, sentenced to the arena, or sold to some pleasure-hungry lord. He needed to make this stranger understand the danger he had stepped into, and fast. Brionne didn't mean to trade the freedom of one slave for the imprisonment of another.
"Brionne." He said, touching his own chest. "Nala," he said, indicating her. He raised his eyebrows, gesturing at the stranger.
"Drizzt." The man said, and Brionne smiled.
"Drizzt." Brionne repeated. It was strange name, with the drag of the zz's and the sharp t at the end. He went through his head, trying to find a language that he hadn't already asked about that had sounds like that.
"Do you understand me?" He asked in Marshlander. He tried again in the tongue the western traders spoke, and again in the language of the northern miners. He went through all the dialects of the old empire that he knew, and then into the ancient languages. There wasn't even a flicker of recognition at any of them.
"Drizzt speak?" he asked, using a hand motion to get his point across. Apparently the stranger was smart enough to hear that the languages Brionne had been trying were all different. He went through a similar, though shorter, list. He tried everything from a language that rolled musically like flowing water, to a short harsh tongue, to a language with sharp hard sounds.
At the end, Brionne sighed and shook his head. There was nothing. Nothing at all even familiar.
The old man came in with a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese. He also handed Brionne a small pouch of coins, money in trade for the objects he had taken from his master's house. The bag was lighter than he had hoped, but heavier than he should have expected. They ate in silence, tearing off pieces of the food and sharing them around.
Nala ate little, less than Brionne would have liked to see her eat, then turned and rested her head on his shoulder, eyes closed.
Brionne grew thoughtful. The man had to come with them. The slave- catchers had seen his face, and it wasn't a face he could hide forever.
"Drizzt?" He finally asked. The man looked up, turning those violet eyes at Brionne. The younger man licked his lips, a conscious signal of his uncertainty. This was a challenge for even his skills with language. "Brionne and Nala are running." He made gestures with his hand. "Will Drizzt run too? Run with us?" he hoped the urgency that he felt came through in his gesture.
*****************************
Drizzt run? The Drow considered. Did he have any reason not to? Part of him knew he should stay near that beach, in case his friends somehow managed to duplicate whatever had happened to him, to come searching for him. On the other hand, he suspected that he had inadvertently made some enemies in the short time he had been here, and might not be able to wait for them close by even if he wanted to.
The young man--Brionne--searched his face. Brionne, who had not been afraid or hate-filled when they met, when he saw the dark-elf features. Brionne, who obviously cared for this girl enough to fight for her, maybe die for her. Brionne, who couldn't have possibly fought off those four of his enemies with a rock.
He was needed. He nodded. "Drizzt run." He said, hoping he was using the right word. "Drizzt, Brionne, Nala."
The boy nodded and seemed relieved. He peeked through the cracks in the wall. It was getting darker outside.
And then they were on the go again, through the city, Drizzt and Nala with their hoods up, Brionne with his down. They walked as if they belonged there, confident and openly, and nobody stopped them in the hour or so it took them to walk through the dusk to what Drizzt thought to be a temple. The statues of seven women graced the archway above the door, and Brionne moved as if he knew where he was going.
A sharp-faced woman met them near the door. She frowned at Drizzt, and for a moment he wondered if his hood wasn't covering all of his features. She said something sharply to Brionne, and held up two fingers.
"Three," Brionne replied, voice firm, holding up the appropriate number of fingers.
She sighed and nodded, leading them through the "church" or whatever it was to a back room. There, clothes waited for Nala and Brionne, to wear under the rough homespun of their cloaks. More peasant garb, grey breeches and a dark long sleeve tunic for Brionne, and a soft wool dress for Nala. Drizzt turned his back while they changed. He could hear Brionne speaking softly to Nala as he helped her with her dress, but she said nothing back. Brionne touched Drizzt's shoulder when they were done, the action startling him. He tried to remember if ever in his life someone he had known for so little a time had touched him in so casual a manner. He couldn't think of one.
Outside a man with a cart full of tarp-covered boxes waited. "Three?" he asked, seeing the trio.
"Three." Brionne told him, this time holding that many coins instead of fingers. The man smirked and said something, then lifted the tarp.
Inside, what looked to be boxes under the tarp was really one large box built with many angles and edges, looking like a stack when it wasn't. A smuggler's vehicle. Built for taking people.
Brionne helped Nala in first, then followed her. His eyes looked back up at Drizzt, silently begging him to come to, to join them in the even tighter confines of the box. To trust the smuggler with his life.
Drizzt glanced at the outside of the box. It didn't seem too sturdy, and it looked like it would be held closed with only a piece of rope.
Disliking the idea but seeing no other way, he climbed in. the smuggler tied the door behind them.
The space inside was tight, probably meant for two but now forced to hold three. Through his chainmail he could feel Brionne's hand pressed against his back. There wasn't enough room to stretch out, so their legs were bent, the fronts of Brionne's knees against the backs of Drizzt's thighs. Drizzt could feel the pounding of his own heart. He felt dizzy, and wondered if there was enough air getting into the box, even though he could feel the wind through the cracks in the slats.
The young man's breath behind him was tense, and afraid as the wagon began to move. His fingers clenched reflexively at the lurching motion.
They rolled up to a checkpoint, and the driver talked companionably with the guards.
Drizzt braced a foot against one of the slats, prepared to smash a figurine- sized hole in it if he had to. Guenhyvar could get them out, and once he was out, he could fight. He tightened a hand over Twinkle's hilt.
There was a murmur and a clink of coins, and the wagon passed through without search. All three occupants in the back breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Half the night later, the driver stopped at a quiet place in the road, opened the door and let them out to stretch stiffly in the cool night air. He gave them a sack of food and bid them on their way.