Chapter Three
Drizzt could feel himself coming back into consciousness, like a diver swimming to surface. He opened his eyes, and immediately shut them. The light was blinding! He tried again after a few moments, and found that it hurt his delicate eyes less. He blinked a few times, and the room came into focus. There was a strange-looking group standing around a lavishly decorated room. In the turmoil of his thoughts only, one registered clearly; the goblin had sent him somewhere, and that somewhere was not near Mithral Hall. Slowly, as to not draw attention to himself, he drew himself into a sitting position. A lady, and a strikingly beautiful one at that, noticed this, and calmly announced, "He's awake." Immediately, Drizzt found himself looking down the tip of a large, blue, flaming sword. He looked at the wielder of the sword. He was a tall, sandy- haired man. There was wariness in his face, of course, but there was some hesitation in his eyes. Drizzt understood that feeling very well. This man would kill only to protect his friends and loved ones. Then, a voice entered on his bemused and slightly pain-hazed thoughts.
"Oh, Garion, put down the sword. I doubt that he's in any condition to hurt anyone."
"But Grandfather..,"
"Put it back in the throne room, Garion, the guards are probably in hysterics...,"
As the two bickered, Drizzt looked around the room, seeking out any dangers. There were several strange people around the room. One of the people was a rat-faced man who was looking at him suspiciously, and his hand kept straying toward what looked very much like a dagger hidden in his shirt. A pale man in a long, shimmering green robe was talking to a ravishing blond woman, and showing her something in a clay bottle. With his keen hearing, he heard a faint purr coming from the bottle. The others in the room were quietly talking to each other, once in a while giving him a glance. Finally, the argument of the old man and the blond man, or Garion, he remembered, had calmed down. Garion made an exasperated noise and held out his sword and spoke a word. The sword abruptly disappeared. There was a loud roaring sound, and Drizzt flinched visibly. The old man noticed this.
"Did you hear something?"
Drizzt hesitated for a moment. Then,
"Yes."
His voice came out in a rasp. He tried again. This time his voice came out more normally.
"Yes"
Rather startled by the drow's melodic voice, the old man continued.
"Only a sorcerer could hear that noise."
Drizzt made a noise that if made by a human being, would have been a snort.
"I'm not a sorcerer."
"Then how did you get here, and in such a dramatic way?"
Sourly, Drizzt getting annoyed with this question and answer session, snapped
"A spell gone wrong."
"A spell? There are no such things, unless you mean a demon raising incantation."
Drizzt laughed without humor.
"The last time I tried that, the demon was only banished for a hundred years, and he vowed to come back and get me."
A tall, slightly bowlegged man with a scalp lock quietly remarked
"At least you would be dead by then."
"If you think that, then you know nothing of my race."
The old man was now looking more curious than cautious.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"I mean," Drizzt said, "That we can live up to five hundred years at least. If one was blessed by Lloth,"he spat the last word with startling vehemence" one could live for more than a thousand years. Or cursed," He added, "It depends on how you see it."
Silk was having a hard time reading the strange nonhuman's face. He could see a flash of anger and sorrow at the mention of Lloth. He knew that it was a delicate subject, but finally his curiosity got the better of him,
"Who is Lloth?" he asked.
The look he got was searching, as if the stranger wanted to make sure that he was not threatening.
"Lloth," he began, "is the drow goddess, the Spider Queen. She is evil and twisted, and thrives on chaos and pain. Hope that you never meet her."
Silk remarked "That sounds like someone we used to know. Am I correct in assuming that you are a drow?"
Drizzt nodded. "Either that, or dark elf. However, I take no pride in admitting this, for I forsook Lloth, my people, and my homeland to live among the surface dwellers. But it was no easy task, for the tales of the deeds of the other drow had made people believe that all drow were totally evil, and so I wandered for years, searching for a home. Wherever I went, looking for a place where people would accept me for myself, and not for my outward appearance, I was driven away, sometimes fleeing for my life, or politely but firmly being asked to leave."
"What happened?" whispered Ce'Nedra. Garion had been so absorbed in the story, that he was surprised to see tears running down her face. Even the more unemotional people in the room had slightly damp cheeks, and Lelldorin, Ariana, and Mandorallen were sobbing into their hands. Arends, after all, are an emotional people. Mandorallen, with tears running down his face, stepped forward.
"Upon my life, I shall march beside you, and hope to call thee friend. Together, we shall fall like wolves upon these foul miscreants who dare give slander to such a noble, brave, and all-enduring soul!"
He looked a bit uncomfortable at this, and said,
"That won't be necessary. After years of wandering, I came to a place called Icewind Dale. It is a harsh and unforgiving, place, but there I found a group of friends that are dearer to me than my life. Wulfgar, Bruenor, Regis, and..., Catti-Brie," he said softly.
Ce'Nedra looked at him knowingly, and Garion knew immediately what his tiny wife was thinking. To head off any questions on her part, he offered a hand to the drow. He grasped it, and Garion helped him to his feet.
"May I offer you the hospitality of my Citadel, until we find a way for you to get home?"
The drow smiled. "I would be honored."
Garion grinned back. "My name is Garion."
"I am Drizzt Do'Urden."
Drizzt could feel himself coming back into consciousness, like a diver swimming to surface. He opened his eyes, and immediately shut them. The light was blinding! He tried again after a few moments, and found that it hurt his delicate eyes less. He blinked a few times, and the room came into focus. There was a strange-looking group standing around a lavishly decorated room. In the turmoil of his thoughts only, one registered clearly; the goblin had sent him somewhere, and that somewhere was not near Mithral Hall. Slowly, as to not draw attention to himself, he drew himself into a sitting position. A lady, and a strikingly beautiful one at that, noticed this, and calmly announced, "He's awake." Immediately, Drizzt found himself looking down the tip of a large, blue, flaming sword. He looked at the wielder of the sword. He was a tall, sandy- haired man. There was wariness in his face, of course, but there was some hesitation in his eyes. Drizzt understood that feeling very well. This man would kill only to protect his friends and loved ones. Then, a voice entered on his bemused and slightly pain-hazed thoughts.
"Oh, Garion, put down the sword. I doubt that he's in any condition to hurt anyone."
"But Grandfather..,"
"Put it back in the throne room, Garion, the guards are probably in hysterics...,"
As the two bickered, Drizzt looked around the room, seeking out any dangers. There were several strange people around the room. One of the people was a rat-faced man who was looking at him suspiciously, and his hand kept straying toward what looked very much like a dagger hidden in his shirt. A pale man in a long, shimmering green robe was talking to a ravishing blond woman, and showing her something in a clay bottle. With his keen hearing, he heard a faint purr coming from the bottle. The others in the room were quietly talking to each other, once in a while giving him a glance. Finally, the argument of the old man and the blond man, or Garion, he remembered, had calmed down. Garion made an exasperated noise and held out his sword and spoke a word. The sword abruptly disappeared. There was a loud roaring sound, and Drizzt flinched visibly. The old man noticed this.
"Did you hear something?"
Drizzt hesitated for a moment. Then,
"Yes."
His voice came out in a rasp. He tried again. This time his voice came out more normally.
"Yes"
Rather startled by the drow's melodic voice, the old man continued.
"Only a sorcerer could hear that noise."
Drizzt made a noise that if made by a human being, would have been a snort.
"I'm not a sorcerer."
"Then how did you get here, and in such a dramatic way?"
Sourly, Drizzt getting annoyed with this question and answer session, snapped
"A spell gone wrong."
"A spell? There are no such things, unless you mean a demon raising incantation."
Drizzt laughed without humor.
"The last time I tried that, the demon was only banished for a hundred years, and he vowed to come back and get me."
A tall, slightly bowlegged man with a scalp lock quietly remarked
"At least you would be dead by then."
"If you think that, then you know nothing of my race."
The old man was now looking more curious than cautious.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"I mean," Drizzt said, "That we can live up to five hundred years at least. If one was blessed by Lloth,"he spat the last word with startling vehemence" one could live for more than a thousand years. Or cursed," He added, "It depends on how you see it."
Silk was having a hard time reading the strange nonhuman's face. He could see a flash of anger and sorrow at the mention of Lloth. He knew that it was a delicate subject, but finally his curiosity got the better of him,
"Who is Lloth?" he asked.
The look he got was searching, as if the stranger wanted to make sure that he was not threatening.
"Lloth," he began, "is the drow goddess, the Spider Queen. She is evil and twisted, and thrives on chaos and pain. Hope that you never meet her."
Silk remarked "That sounds like someone we used to know. Am I correct in assuming that you are a drow?"
Drizzt nodded. "Either that, or dark elf. However, I take no pride in admitting this, for I forsook Lloth, my people, and my homeland to live among the surface dwellers. But it was no easy task, for the tales of the deeds of the other drow had made people believe that all drow were totally evil, and so I wandered for years, searching for a home. Wherever I went, looking for a place where people would accept me for myself, and not for my outward appearance, I was driven away, sometimes fleeing for my life, or politely but firmly being asked to leave."
"What happened?" whispered Ce'Nedra. Garion had been so absorbed in the story, that he was surprised to see tears running down her face. Even the more unemotional people in the room had slightly damp cheeks, and Lelldorin, Ariana, and Mandorallen were sobbing into their hands. Arends, after all, are an emotional people. Mandorallen, with tears running down his face, stepped forward.
"Upon my life, I shall march beside you, and hope to call thee friend. Together, we shall fall like wolves upon these foul miscreants who dare give slander to such a noble, brave, and all-enduring soul!"
He looked a bit uncomfortable at this, and said,
"That won't be necessary. After years of wandering, I came to a place called Icewind Dale. It is a harsh and unforgiving, place, but there I found a group of friends that are dearer to me than my life. Wulfgar, Bruenor, Regis, and..., Catti-Brie," he said softly.
Ce'Nedra looked at him knowingly, and Garion knew immediately what his tiny wife was thinking. To head off any questions on her part, he offered a hand to the drow. He grasped it, and Garion helped him to his feet.
"May I offer you the hospitality of my Citadel, until we find a way for you to get home?"
The drow smiled. "I would be honored."
Garion grinned back. "My name is Garion."
"I am Drizzt Do'Urden."