Disclaimer: the characters and places (Drizzt, forgotten realms, etc, etc)
that you've read about in books aren't mine.
Brionne, Nala, the places they inhabit and the people around them, are.
SLASH WARNING: You don't like, you don't read. Thanks.
****************
He was tired and content, but sleep would not come. He kept watching the young man beside him, as if every breath was a miracle.
He felt lost and found in the same moment. So much of his life made sense now. Like why he had never acted on his attraction for Cattie-brie. She was beautiful, he did love her, but his appreciation for her looks was more distant than he had thought, and his love was that of a brother. He closed his eyes and tried to remember her, to imagine touching her, but the images slid over each other and he couldn't make the thought whole in his mind.
He wondered if it was the doing of his mother and sisters. Had they destroyed some part of him with their cruelty, warped him when he was young? Somehow that idea didn't feel right. He did not fear the touch of any woman, he just didn't respond to them with the depth of desire that Brionne had woken in him.
Should I have tried to please him, as he pleased me? Drizzt wondered. He realized just how limited his knowledge of physical love was. He had seen the dark conquerings of his homeland, and the affection loving couples on the surface showed in public. He had heard the lewd offers of street girls, yet he doubted all that they offered was physically possible. This morning had proved that he could arouse Brionne, but would it be so easy to satisfy him?
Beside him, the subject of his musings stirred a little in his sleep. A strand of dark hair fell against his eyelashes and he twitched against the tickle of it. Tenderly Drizzt moved the lock of hair, never touching the soft skin.
Brionne's eyes flew open at the same time the sound of noise in the underbrush alerted Drizzt to the sound of trouble. The clumsy footsteps of men were crunching through the forest, coming closer, fast.
Brionne rolled to his feet and sprinted to Nala's side in an instant. He was not a warrior, but his reflexes were not lacking for speed.
Drizzt's reaction was just as fast. He was on his feet before the clearing was invaded. He grabbed Twinkle off of the forest floor and shook the sheath off of it with a snap of his wrist. He didn't know where the dagger had gone.
A band of five men stepped into the camp. They were rough looking men; their eyes were hard and cold. Drizzt could imagine what they saw; one warrior, one unarmed boy, one frightened girl.
They didn't even hesitate. They had no preconceptions of the Drow, and this hurt him. With a sharp command, the bearded man, apparently the leader, gestured at Drizzt. Four of the men drew weapons and charged him. The one with a beard drew a short sword and headed for Brionne.
From the corner of his eye, Drizzt could see Nala and Brionne running. With a sense of dread, he knew they couldn't outrun the man with the sword. He knew they'd be cut down or taken. Desperately he fought the four men surrounding him, but with only one weapon it was difficult to force them back. He slipped between two of them, using their numbers against them, keeping all four from swinging at him at the same time.
And then Brionne was next to a large tree with a branch just above his head. He was making a stirrup out of his hand. Nala put her small foot in it and he lifted, practically flinging her up. She grabbed the branch and pulled herself up, her eyes wide and frightened.
Safe. If they could both just get to safety until he could finish these bandits, if he didn't have to worry about them, it would be alright.
Parrying a vicious slash towards his head, Drizzt spared another glance at the young duo. Brionne leaped for the branch, caught it with his fingertips. Nala reached down, grabbing at his wrists, trying to pull him up. His grip was too precarious. Bits of tree bark showered him as he fell, twisting in the air to land on his feet, facing the bearded bandit.
Twinkle danced in Drizzt's hand, over and around one of the rougher swords. The wielder cried out in pain and dropped the weapon, the tendons of his wrist slashed to ribbons.
The lead bandit closed on Brionne, the sword in his hands a dull blur in the sunlight. Brionne raised his arm to block it from his face. The wicked blow landed on his forearm, knocking him back. His knees crumpled and he drew the wounded arm to his chest, but not a sound of pain slipped from his open lips.
Drizzt used his empty hand like a weapon, and his feet too, kicking and punching at his opponents as his scimitar blocked their blades. Desperation filled his chest. He would not, he could not, lose this fight. The second attacker fell away from the fight, one arm useless because of a broken collar bone.
The bearded leader of the bandits stepped towards Brionne, reached down and grabbed a fistful of hair at the young man's forehead. With a cruel wrench, he pulled his head back, baring the fine black lines of the collar. He pressed the blade of his sword, near the hilt, against that fair throat.
Drizzt's heart stopped. He tried to spread his arms, to show his surrender, but the men fighting him wouldn't stop. He started fighting purely defensively, trying to get past them, get to Brionne, but they wouldn't let him. He expected some moment of parlay, a chance to give up.
Brionne's captor didn't even look at Drizzt, but Brionne did. Time seemed to freeze, and their eyes met. Those silver eyes were filled with pain, and sorrow, and some un-nameable tenderness, but no fear.
And then the world was moving again. He deflected shot after shot without really watching. He saw the bandit's arm muscles tense, and then with a vicious pull, he ripped the sword across Brionne's slender throat and tossed him away like so much garbage.
A sound came to his ears, a wordless scream that he didn't recognize as his, and his scimitar flashed faster and harder, beating down the weapons that stood against him. He had no patience for defense, and felt his body take a strike to his shoulder, hard even through the chainmail. A glancing slice to his ribs slid off of the fine links.
He cut the third man down, accepting the stab to his bicep that it required to get into the right position. He didn't even really feel it. He tangled swords with the fourth man, turning his opponent's body so that he was a momentary shield against his last remaining comrade. He brought his knee up again and again into the man's groin, and then cut him diagonally from hip to ribs as he went down.
The look on his face sent his last opponent, the man who had slashed Brionne's throat, into a fit of shaking. He raised his sword in clumsy defense. Drizzt's face was a mask of grief, lips pulled back from white teeth, his eyes mad with pain and sorrow. He slapped the flat of his enemy's sword away with his free hand, taking a step forward. The man retreated, raised it again, and again he slapped it away. In desperation, the bandit swiped at him, a poorly timed and poorly aimed blow. Drizzt paused in his advance and the blade just touched the front of his tunic. Drizzt swung the scimitar, cleanly. The man fell at his feet, dead.
Too late, Guenhyvar burst into the clearing, her muscles tense, looking for somebody to fight. There wasn't anyone.
His heart full of dread, Drizzt turned around. Brionne was sprawled on the ground, Nala at his side. Dimly, he could remember her screaming the young man's name as he fell.
He heard Twinkle clatter to the forest floor, but didn't know he had dropped it.
SLASH WARNING: You don't like, you don't read. Thanks.
****************
He was tired and content, but sleep would not come. He kept watching the young man beside him, as if every breath was a miracle.
He felt lost and found in the same moment. So much of his life made sense now. Like why he had never acted on his attraction for Cattie-brie. She was beautiful, he did love her, but his appreciation for her looks was more distant than he had thought, and his love was that of a brother. He closed his eyes and tried to remember her, to imagine touching her, but the images slid over each other and he couldn't make the thought whole in his mind.
He wondered if it was the doing of his mother and sisters. Had they destroyed some part of him with their cruelty, warped him when he was young? Somehow that idea didn't feel right. He did not fear the touch of any woman, he just didn't respond to them with the depth of desire that Brionne had woken in him.
Should I have tried to please him, as he pleased me? Drizzt wondered. He realized just how limited his knowledge of physical love was. He had seen the dark conquerings of his homeland, and the affection loving couples on the surface showed in public. He had heard the lewd offers of street girls, yet he doubted all that they offered was physically possible. This morning had proved that he could arouse Brionne, but would it be so easy to satisfy him?
Beside him, the subject of his musings stirred a little in his sleep. A strand of dark hair fell against his eyelashes and he twitched against the tickle of it. Tenderly Drizzt moved the lock of hair, never touching the soft skin.
Brionne's eyes flew open at the same time the sound of noise in the underbrush alerted Drizzt to the sound of trouble. The clumsy footsteps of men were crunching through the forest, coming closer, fast.
Brionne rolled to his feet and sprinted to Nala's side in an instant. He was not a warrior, but his reflexes were not lacking for speed.
Drizzt's reaction was just as fast. He was on his feet before the clearing was invaded. He grabbed Twinkle off of the forest floor and shook the sheath off of it with a snap of his wrist. He didn't know where the dagger had gone.
A band of five men stepped into the camp. They were rough looking men; their eyes were hard and cold. Drizzt could imagine what they saw; one warrior, one unarmed boy, one frightened girl.
They didn't even hesitate. They had no preconceptions of the Drow, and this hurt him. With a sharp command, the bearded man, apparently the leader, gestured at Drizzt. Four of the men drew weapons and charged him. The one with a beard drew a short sword and headed for Brionne.
From the corner of his eye, Drizzt could see Nala and Brionne running. With a sense of dread, he knew they couldn't outrun the man with the sword. He knew they'd be cut down or taken. Desperately he fought the four men surrounding him, but with only one weapon it was difficult to force them back. He slipped between two of them, using their numbers against them, keeping all four from swinging at him at the same time.
And then Brionne was next to a large tree with a branch just above his head. He was making a stirrup out of his hand. Nala put her small foot in it and he lifted, practically flinging her up. She grabbed the branch and pulled herself up, her eyes wide and frightened.
Safe. If they could both just get to safety until he could finish these bandits, if he didn't have to worry about them, it would be alright.
Parrying a vicious slash towards his head, Drizzt spared another glance at the young duo. Brionne leaped for the branch, caught it with his fingertips. Nala reached down, grabbing at his wrists, trying to pull him up. His grip was too precarious. Bits of tree bark showered him as he fell, twisting in the air to land on his feet, facing the bearded bandit.
Twinkle danced in Drizzt's hand, over and around one of the rougher swords. The wielder cried out in pain and dropped the weapon, the tendons of his wrist slashed to ribbons.
The lead bandit closed on Brionne, the sword in his hands a dull blur in the sunlight. Brionne raised his arm to block it from his face. The wicked blow landed on his forearm, knocking him back. His knees crumpled and he drew the wounded arm to his chest, but not a sound of pain slipped from his open lips.
Drizzt used his empty hand like a weapon, and his feet too, kicking and punching at his opponents as his scimitar blocked their blades. Desperation filled his chest. He would not, he could not, lose this fight. The second attacker fell away from the fight, one arm useless because of a broken collar bone.
The bearded leader of the bandits stepped towards Brionne, reached down and grabbed a fistful of hair at the young man's forehead. With a cruel wrench, he pulled his head back, baring the fine black lines of the collar. He pressed the blade of his sword, near the hilt, against that fair throat.
Drizzt's heart stopped. He tried to spread his arms, to show his surrender, but the men fighting him wouldn't stop. He started fighting purely defensively, trying to get past them, get to Brionne, but they wouldn't let him. He expected some moment of parlay, a chance to give up.
Brionne's captor didn't even look at Drizzt, but Brionne did. Time seemed to freeze, and their eyes met. Those silver eyes were filled with pain, and sorrow, and some un-nameable tenderness, but no fear.
And then the world was moving again. He deflected shot after shot without really watching. He saw the bandit's arm muscles tense, and then with a vicious pull, he ripped the sword across Brionne's slender throat and tossed him away like so much garbage.
A sound came to his ears, a wordless scream that he didn't recognize as his, and his scimitar flashed faster and harder, beating down the weapons that stood against him. He had no patience for defense, and felt his body take a strike to his shoulder, hard even through the chainmail. A glancing slice to his ribs slid off of the fine links.
He cut the third man down, accepting the stab to his bicep that it required to get into the right position. He didn't even really feel it. He tangled swords with the fourth man, turning his opponent's body so that he was a momentary shield against his last remaining comrade. He brought his knee up again and again into the man's groin, and then cut him diagonally from hip to ribs as he went down.
The look on his face sent his last opponent, the man who had slashed Brionne's throat, into a fit of shaking. He raised his sword in clumsy defense. Drizzt's face was a mask of grief, lips pulled back from white teeth, his eyes mad with pain and sorrow. He slapped the flat of his enemy's sword away with his free hand, taking a step forward. The man retreated, raised it again, and again he slapped it away. In desperation, the bandit swiped at him, a poorly timed and poorly aimed blow. Drizzt paused in his advance and the blade just touched the front of his tunic. Drizzt swung the scimitar, cleanly. The man fell at his feet, dead.
Too late, Guenhyvar burst into the clearing, her muscles tense, looking for somebody to fight. There wasn't anyone.
His heart full of dread, Drizzt turned around. Brionne was sprawled on the ground, Nala at his side. Dimly, he could remember her screaming the young man's name as he fell.
He heard Twinkle clatter to the forest floor, but didn't know he had dropped it.