A/N: The story isn't over yet, just before you think this is the end...

Chapter twelve:

He had expected the coldness of the grave. He had expected pain beyond anything he had ever experienced. Yet he had not expected the warmth radiating from the woman's hand, the feel of life flowing through it, and such tenderness that it nearly made his heart break in two.

He kept his eyes closed, literally shivering with mixed emotions – a feel that only increased when another hand, as warm and caring as the other, touched his other shoulder. Suddenly, the warm hand were at his neck, and he felt himself being pulled into a hot embrace, the coldness of his own skin seeming to be more like the grave than that of the one hugging him.

A sob fled him as he curled up within the comforting arms, the sound of a heart pulsing near his ear driving away the soft sounds of blood dripping from the walls and ceiling. His eyes closed, he could not see the accusing stares of his dead friends, and the arms surrounding him shielded him against the fear of feeling the clammy touch of death.

Other hands touched him – a large, heavy one that could only belong to Wulfgar, rested on his back. Bruenor's callused hands, worn from wielding a smith's hammer and an axe for centuries, patted his own, and he could feel Regis' smaller hands petting his knee in support.

For one of the few times in his long life, Drizzt Do'Urden allowed his tears to flow, safe within the embrace of Catti-brie, and surrounded by the warm, living, breathing creatures that told him his visions had not come to pass.