Disclaimer: See last chapter

A/N: I made some minor changes in this chapter and reposted it, because Neven told me that there actually is a deity that fits my story perfectly and I thought it would be better to use him than the one I had just conveniently made up. (Thank you once again.) I hope I got it right and haven't put in any mistakes.

Nariel: Catti-brie soll es ihm auch gar nicht abkaufen. Wo wäre denn sonst die Spannung?

The death

It's nearly dark when at the end of the third day I finally complete the task of duplicating his body. I have to be very careful. If somebody were to stumble in and see this I'd be in trouble. The lifeless body of what appears to be Drizzt Do'Urden lying on a table, it looks peaceful somehow and devoid of strength very different from the Do'Urden I know, who usually has a more guarded and watchful demeanour.

I touch the cool, dry skin of my creation and the unnatural sensation makes me feel uncomfortable for a moment, my nose crinkling in distaste. I don't like this still, chilled thing. The faster I can dispose of it the better. Fortunately tomorrow will be the last day I'll have to endure its presence.

Catti-brie has not left the city yet. I don't know why she'd choose to stay here while her friend is gone, but this could actually work to my advantage. If she sees the corpse herself she'll be more likely to believe in his death without starting troublesome inquiries. You believe what you see, it's always been like that. I have been too busy during the last days to talk to her, which is probably for the best, for what would I tell her, that I did not care enough to go and see him?

I cannot duplicate his weapons in such a short time. They're simply too complex in their magical signature and easy to trace because of that. I hope he's aware of the fact that he'll have to part with them.

He's not as I discover the next evening, on the contrary. He's quite upset when I tell him. So much that he actually starts pacing agitatedly displaying a surprising loss of composure. I can't really comprehend how anybody can obsess in such a fashion about something as inconsequential as a scimitar, a lifeless thing which can be bought over and over again. But then, I don't know anything about the circumstances under which they were acquired so maybe they do have some sentimental value after all. I would understand if he made this kind of fuss about the cat, but apparently for reasons only he knows he has left her with his friends and seems resigned to the fact that she'll stay there.

After watching him for an hour I suggest that he could always come back afterwards and steal them. He's offended of course and becomes angry, which is exactly what I intended because it distracts him from his loss.

Now the only ting left to do is to write the letter before dropping the body off a tower. He has to do it, because if I did, it could be traced back to me. It goes along the lines of "Death for all drow in the name of Shevarash", although it will have to be a bit more drawn out of course in order to convincing.

 I watch him, hunched over the parchment, face screwed up in concentration. I still want him, with an urgency that borders on pain, but I'm only too aware that tonight is not the time for such things. He might even really kill me if I touch him now. He's so tense already.

The followers of the God Shevarash are known for the fanatical practise of their beliefs. Even though most people must know by now that this particular drow really is different from the cold blooded killers who make up the majority of his kin it would still be likely for them to just go and kill him. They are also known for their blind hatred of our dark cousins after all and in this city so full of elves it would be no difficulty to hide inconspicuously after committing the deed. Especially considering the fact, that many people I know will still avoid him when possible. Not obviously so, they know better than to be rude when the mistress herself clearly trusts and values him, but I've seen on several occasions how looks of resentment were directed at his back, despite everything he has done the colour of his skin still seems to be an obstacle not everybody can overcome.

In my opinion that just shows it doesn't pay to be unselfish and good when nobody expects you to. Once someone is convinced you're the epitome of evil you'll have a hard time to make them believe differently.

From the secure surroundings of my office I open a portal to the tower through which we can throw the body, complete with letter and knife in the back. Fast and simple. It's quite an anticlimax after all that has transpired beforehand.

When it is done I hand him another letter that gives time and place of our next and probably last meeting and without another word he is gone, slipped away into the shadows as if he had never been there.

*****

It is done! For the first time in months you feel free again. Now the only thing that still ties you to this existence is the letter, which burns in your pocket like a hot iron, but soon this too will be over. You will shed this part of your life and be born once more.

You ignore the soft voice at the back of your mind which is telling you that you are just running away and that the problems will remain with you wherever you may go. The voice is wrong. For days you sat under that tree near the city, slowly drowning in your thoughts, guilt, your fear, you saw their faces, him smiling in that special way which says "I know the truth! Give in and everything will be fine." You felt ghostly hands on you and felt the stirring these thoughts caused. Maybe one day you'll be able to replace the hands with somebody else's, make the memory go away or at least turn it into something bearable.

For now you hate the way your body betrays you, how you lean into his touch, how you crave it, the humiliation, the loss of control. This is not what it should be like!

It was a surprise though when he told you that his people know a God who to you appears to be just as revengeful as those he hates with such passion and even goes so far as to sanctify murder. Hopefully you'll never meet someone who really follows him.

You plan to go far away where no one knows you. Because only then you'll be free again, you won't have to carry the burden of hidden guilt. You have done this before after all and know it's possible. You will not forget, but you will be able to choose, to remember the good times and the lightness of shared laughter instead of forced pleasure, the dirty feeling and the bad aftertaste it left in your mind.

You have convinced yourself that it is better this way. Your friends won't have to learn how cheap you are, what an obedient whore, you won't have to face him again everything will be fresh and new. You are still young and can start a new life, come to terms with yourself to find some inner peace before you have to face anybody.

Slowly you take out the letter and read it. It's very short and consists only of a date four weeks from now and the name of a shabby tavern in Waterdeep, nothing else. You will be there. That was the bargain after all and as always he has kept up his part. In your mind that leaves you with no other choice, even though you fervently wish it were different.