Alustriel stared at her scrying, overlaying the portal. The bodies of men lay scattered through the clearing like refuse; unburied, un-mourned. One man's dark eyes stared at the sky, dead and unseeing, as insects began to devour them.
"Drizzt was there, I'm thinkin'," Cattie-Bree's voice spoke from behind her. Hope swelled in the young woman's voice. "It's lookin' like his work."
Alustriel couldn't find a reason to dispute the evaluation. Still, it saddened her, to think of her friend, forced to such violence. The locket in her hand was beginning to warm. Closer, but not close enough. She let the spell dissolve. It was taking more out of her than she had expected. The portal was pulling at her, drawing the magic from her. She would not be harmed by it, but her spells weren't as strong here as she would like. She would rest, then begin again.
She would not lose him.
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Drizzt thought Brionne looked better. They had put several leagues between them and the place where Brionne had his last fit. The two men had ridden for a while as the younger rested. Now Nala rode while they walked. They had passed another stream, and Brionne washed the blood out of his mouth. His smile and energy had returned soon after.
The stream led downhill, in the direction they were going and soon merged with a roaring river. They followed the river downhill, looking for a safe place to ford the waters. Cool spray settled over them, giving a watery shimmer to their skin and hair, the horse's hide. Nala fluttered her eyelashes like a princess and they all laughed at the effect.
Brionne glanced up at the trees above them, and then took a second look, a grin on his lips. "Drizzt!" He called with a grin. He went over to a tree and in a heartbeat he was pulling himself up among the branches, nimble and graceful. With one hand on a not-so-sturdy looking branch, he reached out, plucking hard green fruits from the tree and dropping them down.
Drizzt smiled, catching the offering. He passed some to Nala. She grinned down at him. The horse turned its grey head to consider her, and she fed it one of the fruits. Huge yellow teeth chomped down near her tiny fingers. Juice squirted and dripped on the ground.
Drizzt watched until Brionne came back down. He admitted to himself that he was surprised. When they had met, he never would have expected the young man to be comfortable with climbing a tree in the middle of the forest, or to have the determination to walk for hours while freshly wounded, or …so many of the things Brionne could and had done.
Brionne perched on a rock by the river, tearing the fruit open with his fingers. The flesh inside was juicy and golden. The dark haired boy grinned as he ate, the juice running down his chin where so recently blood had. Drizzt laughed. "You are a mess, love."
The younger man looked up. "I don't understand," he said in common as unaccented as Drizzt's. It seemed he knew those words quite well by now.
Drizzt grinned at him, teeth white against the darkness of his lips. "Mess." He said, pointing at Brionne's lips as he dipped the corner of his cloak into the stream. He dabbed at the juice, with care to avoid the cut from the fall. "Not a mess."
"Love?" Brionne asked, so innocent.
Drizzt shook his head. He had not meant to say that. "It is nothing," he said with a shrug and a smile. He pulled the dagger from his belt, cutting a fruit into slices for himself. /So much tidier this way. He grinned and passed the blade over to Brionne.
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Like arrows, she thought, watching her hounds on the trail. Dark shapes in the trees, they flew down the paths, through the forest. Her heart beat hard and fast with the thrill. Soon. She was closing in on her prey. It was only a matter of time now, if nothing else unexpected happened.
She savored the anticipation. So very close; a day, perhaps just a little more.
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Brionne almost took the dagger before he seemed to realize what it was. His hand jerked back as if he had almost grasped a stinging insect. His eyes widened and he took his fruit back in his cupped palms.
Drizzt's white brows came together in puzzlement. "No, you can take it." He said, offering the knife again. Brionne shook his head.
Distracted, he watched the younger man, eating the slices of his fruit. It was sweeter than he would have thought, though tangy also; unlike anything he had tasted. Brionne had relaxed and was eating his fruits again. Drizzt tried to puzzle out why he wouldn't take the weapon, even to cut food with. He had used a rock against a man; he could easily have broken the slaver's skull, so Drizzt didn't think it was an aversion to holding an instrument of harm.
Could it be a fear of being indebted to me? He wondered. He tried to pass the blade again.
"Brionne, here. For you."
Again Brionne shook his head. "No," he tapped the collar.
"Brionne, you are not a slave." Was this part of a slave's conditioning here? "You are free. You can take this."
Shame flickered across the fair features, before his expression faded to none at all. "I take…" he made a stabbing slicing gesture, searching for a word.
"Knife." Drizzt provided.
"I take the knife and the collar will hurt me." His voice was soft, almost distant.
The idea made Drizzt feel ill. He could not hold a knife? Drizzt could not think of a man or woman who did not carry or use a blade at some time, for some purpose. It was as if Brionne was trapped in some perpetual childhood. A toy, and not a man. He has been kept as a toy, the thought whispered through his head. He knows it, and it shames him that I know now.
His lips became a gentle smile, and he took the fruit from Brionne's unresisting fingers. He cut it into neat slices and passed it back. The smile he received in gratitude was soft, but genuine.
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Relder's hands shook as he read the note. It was written in the hunter's own hand; a dense and businesslike script.
The trail is warm.
They have found combat with brigands and survived.
Your property will soon be returned to you, along with the dark thief.
She had not signed it, though he had no question who it was from. He sank to his knees in the center of his bedchamber. Gods, Brionne, his Brionne, attacked by brigands. He could have been injured. He could have been killed. A vision of those silver eyes, closed forever, passed through his tormented mind.
I should have gone with her. I should have hunted him instead of staying here. The political intrigues, the financial interests, paled to insignificance in his life. I should be there, to save him. To kill him. I should be there.
Relder put his forehead to the floor, feeling its coolness seep into his skin.
Outside the door, his guards glanced at each other nervously, hearing their lord weeping alone in his room. He was not sleeping, and barely eating. He walked the halls at all hours of the day and night. His eyes were ringed with dark smudges, and his hair hung lifeless from his head. He seemed to care not at all what his servants or his peers thought of him.
The soldiers looked back at the blank wall in front of them. They feared he had gone mad, over the loss of a slave.
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Request to reviewers: Okay, if you've been reading this far, you have an idea what the fic is about. How well does the summary fit? Can you help me make a better one?
Thanks,
Janelly.