The Lesser Evil

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: I see you shiver in anticip………pation

Sorry about the cliffhanger, everyone (actually, I'm not mwahaha). I would have updated sooner, but there were these little matters of a cold and a gaming convention that needed my attention, so here it is now.

Warning: This chapter contains a few spoilers

Chapter 9: Reverie

A shrill gasp escaped his lungs that sounded like the scream of a wraith. Drizzt's eyes shot open as the wave of agonizing pain cascaded through every inch of his body. After a second, the pain subsided somewhat, making him aware of the salty, putrid taste of blood in his mouth followed by constant, violent churn in his stomach. His senses awakened enough to register the screams of battle playing in the background, and the cold, wet earth that surrounded him, though the rest seemed a haze.

His vision was faded at first, and then focused to see a familiar, swarthy skinned human leaning over him. Drizzt looked down and saw that Entreri held an empty potion bottle in one hand while the other held a bloody elven arrow with its feathers stripped; both hands covered in blood and face bearing a look of both irritation and concern. A set of ebony hands grabbed his blood-soaked tunic and he was now facing Jarlaxle, who lifted him slightly and planted a large, wet kiss on his forehead.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again," Jarlaxle said in a tone that resembled both anger and complete relief.

Drizzt managed enough strength to smile and prop himself up on his trembling elbows.

"I can't promise you anything," he said weakly.

His stomach jerked and he managed to roll to the side in time for the already churned bits of food and pooled blood to hail from his throat and land on the wet ground. The mess also contained a few, tiny bits of blue feathers, making it obvious that the arrow was pulled through his body. He spat out the last bloody bits and looked to his shoulder to see Entreri's hand holding him in this more comfortable position, for Drizzt's own muscles were too weak to complete the task.

Drizzt wiped his mouth with his sleeve and fell back, reclining in Entreri's arms as his head fell against the assassin's shoulder, his still cold flesh drinking in the body heat of his companion. His gaze now fell ahead to see a large group of dark elves standing back at a distance and watching them all. Jarlaxle came to his feet, his face locked into an icy glare as he faced the ten soldiers in leather armor and leather masks walking towards them. One drow walked to the front of the group wearing a green cloak over an outfit that looked more like scraps of leather sewn together. His white hair was tied in various braids strewn with green and red ribbons.

"Welcome to Cormanthor, honored warriors," he said, removing his green mask and revealing a lined, scarred face. "I am Xalryln and these are my soldiers, brothers and sisters of the Auzcovyn Clan. You all fought bravely in this vital battle against the enemies of the surface drow."

Jarlaxle glared at the leader, taking a breath and painting on his calm face as he held back his rage.

"You are quite welcome," the mercenary said bowing. "If it were not for a deceiver who led us into the gauntlet, we may not have been able to help. Though I am sure you had nothing to do with this."

Xalryln bowed in deference.

"It is in regret that I admit this deception was orchestrated by a member of our clan. Our brothers and sisters had been under siege by the wild elves, skilled warriors even more skilled in the tactics of covert, woodland warfare," the war leader said, nay, announced to all ears present as if he was making a speech. "Skilled foes that would ambush members of our party in small groups, keeping well concealed. We tried to stem off this tide, but strength of arms could only do so much, so we had to use strategy. Our ally, the moon elf wizard Nieral Moondown, suggested a way by which we could bring them out, an idea which was appealing in concept at the time. It was only now when we realized our former ally had used three legendary warriors, three kings of rogues, as bait. Renegade warriors such as Jarlaxle and Drizzt Do'Urden, and even Artemis Entreri, are sacred warriors, no, heroes. To use you as mere fodder was the highest insult. Though your cause was just, I am pleased to inform you this deceiver has been dealt with."

A drow beside Xalryn lifted the bloody, severed head of a familiar, black-haired moon elf. Jarlaxle's scowl deepened.

"Sacred renegade warriors;" The mercenary had heard enough about the rogue god Vhaeraun to known that this was his flock. Anything or anyone that flew in the face of Lolth and her minions (including rebellious Menzoberranzan mercenaries and secondboys, and anyone who had taken part in any activities that resulted in destroying a major chapel to the Spider Queen among many others) had the Masked God's favor. The deeds of the three bounty hunters were probably legendary.

"Nieral Moondown was your front?" Jarlaxle said calmly, keeping his growing rage at bay. "The Zhentarim were a convenient lure. And the missing apprentice?"

Xalryln stepped aside and allowed a drow with long, blond hair to move forward. Mazn'reysla had shed his gray robes and appeared in a long, black cape, a fine black shirt, and a black mask painted with red vines. Jarlaxle nodded.

"Your wizard," he said.

"And one of our most gifted clerics," Xalryln replied.

So the little bastard was friendly with the "spirits," the mercenary thought. Jarlaxle paused and chewed over the whole situation.

"So we were once bait, and now we are heroes in the eyes of your god," Jarlaxle said in a calm, businesslike manner that was soaked in venom. "I nearly lost my lieutenant, my protégé; I have become rather fond of this young warrior and I stood aside and watched as an arrow was extracted from his body. I usually turn a blind eye when soldiers are used as martyrs without their own knowledge, but I am making an exception this time."

"All three of you deserve to be treated as royalty and not lambs to the slaughter," the war leader continued in a surprisingly humble tone. "Accept the head of my foolish servant as recompense, as well as a stay in our village, where you will find food, drink, and rest with fellows who have heard your tales and will honor you as heroes."

Jarlaxle too a deep breath to calm his rage and pondered this offer. He looked back at his fellows, seeing Entreri glaring at the group and Drizzt shaking his head with a disgusted look, though his consciousness looked to be waning. His condition had barely improved since he awakened and he still leaned heavily against Entreri's shoulder, attempting to prop himself up, though still lacked the strength.

Drizzt was gravely injured, Jarlaxle thought. He could try to use his healing orb, but his friend required a cleric, any cleric. Besides, all their energy reserves were likely spent after this one battle. If they did walk away from this large band, the dangers of the road would likely overcome them all. That was if they did walk away.

"My injured soldier requires a healer," he said firmly. "I trust your gifted cleric can finally prove his worth."

"Most definitely," Xalryln said, his lined face forming into a large grin.

"If anything happens to him, the human, or me, I can assure you these lands will be overrun with Menzoberranzan soldiers, who will take great pleasure in vivisecting a colony of rowdy blasphemers. Is that understood?"

Xalryln bowed deeply.

Entreri was paying half attention to the rogue leader and half attention to his injured companion. Drizzt's body was slowly growing colder. Soon, his breaths were wheezing and his muscles tightened. His ebony skin was turning a shade of gray and his lids were becoming heavier.

"Stay awake, dammit, stay awake," Entreri hissed in his ear, though he should have known it was too late.

The arrow was removed and the strong potion only stabilized his wound long enough to keep him from dying, but Drizzt had already lost too much blood and his fragile, elven form could only take so much. Entreri clutched him tighter and shook him, though it could not reverse the shock that had already set in. Drizzt closed his eyes and his muscles relaxed. Entreri stared down at Drizzt felling a knot form in his stomach. This was a man he once despised. Why did he now hope that Drizzt Do'Urden would wake again?

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"The deep Reverie will be good for him," Mazn'reysla said, setting the bandage around Drizzt's torso and laying him down on the cot in the priest's own private room. "It will allow his body to rest, while his mind heals its own hurts."

Jarlaxle sat in a chair beside the cot, his head in his hands as he stared at his unconscious companion and occasionally looking up at Entreri, who stood in the doorway of the small tree house, gazing out at the building rain that blanketed the forest and the other tree top forts in the drow village.

"The spells should keep him for now," the cleric said, laying a green blanket on Drizzt and looking up at the two other silent mercenaries. "In the meantime I must attend a ceremony in honor of our victory. Vhaeraun will be pleased with the offerings he will receive this evening and keep closer watch over our sleeping prince."

Mazn'reysla rose and walked towards the door.

"Vhaeraun and I are on friendly terms," he said calmly, looking at both, yet placing a lingering glare on Entreri. "Please trust my abilities and trust your companion's strength. If he should leave this world, let him do it on his own terms and not because you believe it is time."

Entreri gave him an icy glare, feeling obviously accused.

"If you are truly fond of your companion," Mazn'reysla continued, "you will talk to him. He may be in the midst of deep Reverie, but he still needs company."

In a second, he faded into the air. Entreri glared at the spot and looked back at Jarlaxle, who came to his knees beside Drizzt and clasped his hand, expression vacant and eyes heavy.

Jarlaxle's demeanor hadn't changed since the first second he saw Drizzt lying unconscious in Entreri's arms. The soldiers escorted them all into the Auzcovyn village like a parade of heroes: Xalryln and his soldiers shouting war chants to the village of about thirty drow. Jarlaxle and Entreri walked beside them in a haze, the drow bowing before Jarlaxle, calling him "Shebali Valuk," or "Rogue King." Normally Jarlaxle would savor such a moment, walking like a proud peacock through the crowd of admirers, a beaming smile on his face. Now he wore a blank expression and occasionally nodded his still uncovered head when the mood struck him. His gaze was mostly kept on the two clerics carrying Drizzt on a blanket bearing him to Mazn'reysla's house.

Entreri tried to ignore the group, keeping on guard for possible attack and looking at his companions. Occasionally, Jarlaxle would sneak closer beside Drizzt and carefully place two fingers on the inside of his wrist to make sure he was still alive though his gray complexion and visibly undetectable breathing gave him the appearance of a corpse. Entreri feared what Jarlaxle would do should their injured companion die in the midst of this escapade.

Mazn'reysla repeatedly called his state "a deep Reverie," a too simple label that angered Entreri every time he heard it. The assassin just needed to feel his companion's slow pulse, listen for his shallow breath, and lift his eyelids to see his lavender irises now a thin line against his drastically dilated pupils to know the dark elf's condition was grave: Drizzt Do'Urden was in a coma, period. There was no pleasant way to describe his state and any attempts at doing so were an insult to a gravely injured warrior.

A warrior who should have been allowed to die in battle, Artemis Entreri thought for the hundredth time, not be saved to suffer in a state from which he may never emerge, let alone emerge with all his capacities.

It was a thought gnawed at Entreri as he looked back at the forest. He still had yet to come up with a rational explanation for why he saved Do'Urden in the first place. All he remembered was seeing Drizzt struck with the arrow and fall to the ground. It was instinct that took his legs toward his unlikely companion, slice the feathers of the shaft with his dagger, extract the arrow through his back, and pour a healing potion down his throat. Entreri didn't even realize what he doing until Drizzt opened his eyes and the reality set in; he had just saved the life of a man he was supposed to have killed once before. The one man he had once dedicated his life to battling was now being held in his arms as he yelled at him to stay awake. Artemis Entreri had saved Drizzt Do'Urden's life, and now Artemis actually wanted to see his efforts work, for whatever reason he had yet to understand.

He may have saved the drow's life, but could likely have condemned him to a slow death, or worse. The drow was already deep in a coma and Entreri, through his vast experience in the death of the humanoid form, knew that if he stayed in this state for more than a few days, he could suffer brain damage that nothing short of a miracle could fully cure. It was a fate Entreri would never wish on any skilled warrior he respected, leading him to the decision that Drizzt would likely prefer a quick death over a suffering existence. If the already untrustworthy cleric failed to live up to his legend, if his comatose ally lingered for too long, Entreri had no choice but to give him a painless end: a prospect that made his stomach turn.

Entreri looked back to Jarlaxle, perhaps for some kind of answers to all the troubling thoughts in his mind. Jarlaxle's face was down, tears streaming from his eyes. Artemis had never thought his partner capable of any emotions other than amusement or vexation, but Jarlaxle's eyes were tightly closed, face locked into a painful calm as the building tears streaked down his angled, ebony cheeks.

His partner kept quiet, but Entreri stared at him wondering what was going through his mind. Did he blame himself for this whole mission? Maybe he was just angered at the catastrophe that had fallen. Was he having a mental conversation with Drizzt's father in the afterlife, asking for aid or apologizing for failing to save his son? Maybe he was silently screaming at Drizzt to wake up and end this nonsense. Maybe he was doing all of this in the span of this horrible moment.

Entreri's gaze fell to Drizzt, whose face bore a look of complete peace. Maybe he had at last found the peace he lost when he watched his wife killed. Maybe Mazn'reysla was right and this was indeed a Reverie meant to calm his frenzied mind and allow him some clarity at last. It was all just speculation. Entreri looked out at the rain and barely noticed when one tiny drop fell from his eye, a tiny part of the gathering storm.

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"Are you pleased with yourself now?"

Drizzt stared ahead at the long, stone tunnel that he knew didn't actually exist. He knew this was all a dream, yet he cared not to challenge the blue glowing blade that was resting against his throat. He just stood, arms folded around his clean, black tunic as he felt the presence beside him.

"What do you want me to say?" Drizzt said through gritted teeth.

The presence stood in front of him, shaking a part of his thick, white mane over the shoulder of his green traveler's cloak, lavender eyes boring into him. Drizzt wasn't as surprised by this revelation as he expected to be, but the idea of facing himself, at least who he used to be, put a smile on his face.

"I want an answer to my question," the other ranger said calmly, face locked into a scowl. "Are you pleased with yourself now?"

"I do recall both of us are unconscious right now, so maybe I am pleased," Drizzt laughed. "We both needed a little rest."

The scimitar pressed further against his neck, though Drizzt didn't make any movements or reactions as he regarded his opponent. His other self was dressed in ranger's clothes, while his clothes were the same from when he fell unconscious.

"So it's acceptable for you to threaten me, but if I threaten others, I need to be punished," he said, looking at his companion. "That's right, you live on hypocrisy."

"If I live on hypocrisy," the ranger said, "than you certainly are part of that. You think you are truly free of your emotional shackles, but you don't realize those morals you mock are a part of who you are, as you are a part of me."

Drizzt closed his eyes. The full meaning of this meeting became apparent.

"I see, I understand this whole nonsense," he said, trying to mask his shock and frustration, "if you are the goodly ranger, than I must be the Hunter in his purest form. The creation of your own soul has slipped his leash you created and now runs free."

"My, I guess the creature has some intelligence after all," the Ranger said with a sneer. "I lost control, lost myself to the point where all that was left of Drizzt Do'Urden was you. Your freedom is the result of my lack of judgment, but a lack of judgment that I need to correct."

"And what do you propose," the Hunter said, "killing me. You kill me you kill your true nature, the true nature that you denied for too long until it finally defeated you."

"I should put you to the blade and finally have you free from my soul, but I cannot do that. You are a part of me, though I cannot allow you to run free. I have looked on my errors and this needs to end here. Too many have died needlessly; too much blood has been shed."

Drizzt heard the words that and flinched.

"I cannot believe those words were part of my existence," he muttered.

"Your existence?" the Ranger replied.

"Your hypocrisy," the Hunter spat. "Like you never slaughtered in passion. Only you called it an extension of your principles, though it was nothing better than what I have done. I will give you a good example: you once had a moral prohibition against killing your own kind. That died a quick death under the right pressure, allowing you to fully shake loose that principle and put your own sister to the blade. Forget that she was your only true sister; allow yourself neither remorse nor guilt. Only remember that she was evil and the act was completely justified."

The Ranger's grip on the blade tightened and the Hunter knew only his sword could serve where his morals had failed.

"Then maybe we are even, for I would have never committed those horrible acts in the Chapel of Ilmater. I certainly would never have put those innocent, pleading priests to their deaths. I would have never removed the head of that frightened child monk. I recall a little incident about fifty years ago that is so much similar to this."

"Don't you even…"

"A surface raid, a colony of moon elves, one young dark elf that finally woke up to the hell that was his own existence…"

"…and don't forget a small, black haired child with the beaming blue-gold eyes. The one you ran through five years ago."

"She killed herself, remember," the Ranger said, though his face bore a look of pain. "Had I known who she was, she would have lived. Though I am sure you probably enjoyed that. Look who you've pleased."

The Ranger smiled and motioned to the back. The Hunter looked over his shoulder down the tunnel to see it was covered in spider webs as large arachnids dangled from the ceiling and scuttled around on the floor. The Hunter felt ill as he peered through the webs and saw the silhouette of a glowing drider on the other end of the tunnel.

"Is that what you want?" the Ranger asked, his face becoming grave.

The Hunter closed his eyes and shook his head, the full realization of the situation sinking in.

"The Queen of the Demonweb Pits reaches out to embrace you," the cleric said before the fateful battle, words that seemed to echo through the glistening stones.

"You still haven't answered my question," the Ranger said firmly, "are you pleased with yourself?"

The Hunter paused and pondered the question.

"No," he finally said, looking the Ranger straight in the eyes. Drizzt gazed at the man he once was, the goodly ranger who stood before him. "Neither am I pleased with you."

In a flash, the Hunter's hands clasped on his scimitars and raised them against the Ranger. The Ranger parried Icingdeath with Twinkle, but the Hunter's own blue glowing sword made a slice at the Ranger's arm, drawing a slight slice before the Ranger thrust at the Hunter's chest. The Hunter jumped back in one second and charged forward with a flurry of blows. His strategy had to be improvisation because he was fighting an opponent who knew his exact technique: himself. The Ranger stood on guard and responded to the blows with calm parries meant to catch the Hunter off guard and find openings.

The Hunter spun on his right heel and appeared behind the Ranger and score a large slice on the back of his neck, but the Ranger ducked to the side before the blade could go too deep, responding by spinning around and parrying hard. The Hunter gave a feint and slammed his scimitars against the center point of both his opponent's blades, sending waves through his wrists and making him take a second to stabilize his grip. That was just enough time for the Hunter to shove Twinkle through his stomach. The Ranger howled, but jumped out of the way and found enough strength to spin around and thrust at the Hunter, who dodged and shoved Twinkle at a downward angle through the Ranger's shoulder.

The Ranger fell to his knees, blood streaming from his wounds like a river. The Hunter stood before him, looking down at his bloody blades, then at his own, dying face.

"Finish me," the Ranger growled. "Enjoy the sight of your own death."

The Hunter stood, noting the Ranger's fading, but determined eyes. The white pendant of a unicorn head fell from his brown tunic and hung from his neck, glowing with a soft, white light. The unicorn head then turned towards him, its bright, green eyes boring into the Hunter as it gave a melodious neigh. Mielikki was pleading to him and he couldn't bear to hear it. He looked at the glowing pendant, then back at the glowing drider in the back of the cavern; the face of a beautiful, drow woman peering through the webs, her laughter echoing through the stones.

The Hunter closed his eyes and steeled himself against the dissonance of voices.

"I will not finish you," the Hunter said. "Your goddess can save you. If you choose to live, know that I will not yield. You have lost your control for too long to gain it back so easily."

The Ranger glared at him, yet his face betrayed his defeat.

"We cannot exist together in the same strength," the Ranger said, voice weaker. "It would destroy us both."

The Hunter nodded.

"Then know you are defeated. You had a chance to decide your own fate, for I have decided mine."

The Ranger gave a slight smile, before his eyes closed and he fell on the ground. His body then became a gray mist and faded into nothing.

Drizzt closed his eyes. The neighing of the unicorn and the laughter of the drider were gone, replaced by a haunting silence that washed over him. He felt strong, as if he finally gained control of so many things that had consumed him once and never would again. As he felt his new power, the warm sense of goodness that had once been his reason for existence was gone. All was left was an icy chill in his heart that seemed like it had found its rightful home. Now, however, he felt calm enough to recognize the change.

Drizzt then opened his eyes and looked behind him to find the webs and the spiders gone, the Spider Queen no longer tormented him, yet nothing gave him comfort. He looked in front of him and to saw a handsome male drow standing in front of him, red eyes beaming and face in a wide grin. Drizzt's lower lip trembled and his body went numb as he watched Zaknafein lean against the wall and clap his hands.

"I guess there's hope for you after all," Zak said with a laugh, coming from the wall and walking over to his son.

"Perhaps," Drizzt said with a weak smile in spite of himself.

"I have been watching you," Zak said. "To be honest I was expecting this moment for sometime. I'm just glad you made a right decision."

Drizzt looked down at the ground where the Ranger once lay, feeling the burning in his stomach.

"Please don't mock me," Drizzt said in a cracked voice. "You consider this the right decision?"

Zaknafein's gaze became serious, yet still retained a calm smile. Drizzt knew his father's emotions and how his face showed each. It was enough to know that Zak's expression betrayed neither disappointment nor anger. He actually seemed pleased.

"What you have done in the past three months is nothing compared to what you could have done," Zak said. "I have done worse, believe me. In fact I was relatively proud of you considering the circumstances. There was no one right decision, Drizzt, though there were a few wrong ones that you chose not to follow. I taught you to be a decent creature in a place where your race was anything but. I hoped you would retain some principles, yet you chose the life of a saint. I applauded your decision, but it was not who you were and I knew you would realize this in the worst way."

"So I was destined for these three months of… hell seems to be the best word," Drizzt sighed, turning his gaze to the ground.

"You decided your own fate, remember," Zak replied, his smirk widening. "I hope this experience has been an epiphany for you. Now it is time to find out who you really are and gain some stability. In my personal opinion, I think you already have something to lean against. You still have an interesting profession and don't forget your two brothers in arms who care for you deeply, though don't expect them to admit it."

Drizzt smiled as a wave of realization came over him. Zak walked towards his son, laughing and locking him in a tight embrace.

"There is a wonderful spirit who sends her love," Zak whispered in his ear. "She will come to you, but she knows that you need your time before then."

Drizzt's grip became stronger as a wave of tears streamed down his face.

"I love you, father," Drizzt managed to say, his voice merely a gasping sob.

"I love you too, Drizzt," Zak said before pulling back. "And I will see you again under happier circumstances. You have somewhere you need to be now and two friends who are going out of their minds."

Drizzt laughed and became aware of a building light at the side of the tunnel as a small opening appeared in the wall of the cave.

"Send Shebali my regards," Zak said, taking several steps back. "And try to be a little nicer to the human. His heart is in the right place, he just needs to work on how he expresses it."

Drizzt took one last, lingering look at his father. Zaknafein kissed his fingertips and turned his hand up in a wave as he watched his son turn towards the light in the cave and walk through.

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Entreri wished he had no other choice, but the circumstances were too grave. It was moonrise on the third day and Drizzt's state had not changed: his breathing still shallow, his skin still gray, his pupils still dilated, and his body still unresponsive. Entreri allowed the cleric one day to prove himself. After the second day, the assassin started seriously planning this moment, though a part of him still begged him to wait until the third day to be sure. Now, it was painfully obvious: Drizzt Do'Urden, who should have died in battle three days ago, would likely never wake again. The only one who could clean up this mess was the one who made it.

Entreri knelt beside the bed, clutching the dagger that had become one of Drizzt's favorite weapons for non-essential purposes. The blade was poorly forged, yet it was sharp and sturdy. He didn't want to use his own jeweled dagger for his own safety and Jarlaxle refused to lend him any others. Using a scimitar against its own wielder would have been disrespectful.

Entreri tried to chase these distracting emotions out of his head. He was an assassin, dammit, this was his expert skill. One blow to the heart and Drizzt Do'Urden would finally have the death he probably desired. He aimed the dagger a few times, but his trembling hands would not allow him to carry out the blow.

"Damn you, Artemis," he spat at himself.

Entreri looked around at the hollow, empty room adorned with various tapestries and small artifacts of some unknown importance. Mazn'reysla had stepped out on other rounds like he did for the past three days. Jarlaxle was on the now-dry ground with a few of the Auzcovyn rogues playing bones around a fire. He had become rather friendly with this colony of drow, actually finding some members of his race who seemed to share many of the same goals and interests. Jarlaxle know what Entreri planned to do, though he did not know when or if it would actually happen. He knew Jarlaxle would mourn, maybe try to kill him after learning what he did, until the shock finally subsided, leaving him to accept that this was how it should have ended.

Entreri clutched Drizzt's shoulder and shook him before calling his name. There was still no response. Entreri gave a painful sigh, feeling reluctant to do this for the first time in his life. He clutched the dagger and located a point on Drizzt's bare chest where he could quickly slip the blade through the ribs, cleanly sever the aorta, and bring him instantly to the afterlife. Entreri tried not to look at the peaceful face of the man who had become so much a part of his life: once an enemy, then a companion, and now…a friend?

"For what it's worth," Entreri said, voice cracking slightly, "I always respected you. Maybe I should have applauded your skill, though maybe my foolishness those years ago actually did. I am sorry about all that has happened to you and I know that this is probably what you wanted. If it is not, wake now and prove me wrong."

He looked at Drizzt again. The drow made no response. Entreri gave a pained sigh, steeling himself for what he had to do next.

"For what it's worth," he continued, "I actually started to like you. I'm sorry it had to end this way. Goodbye, old friend."

After a moment's hesitation, he took a deep breath, raised the dagger, and felt a strong grip on his wrist that pulled his hand around as another ebony hand took the dagger and placed it at his throat. Entreri froze and his jaw dropped as a wave of denied emotions washed over him in an instant, all the while staring at Drizzt Do'Urden sitting straight up and holding the dagger to his throat with a devilish smirk and a gleam in his now visible lavender irises.

"For what it's worth," Drizzt said, "I actually started to like you too. And I'm not going anywhere."

Drizzt slowly lowered the dagger, though Entreri stayed frozen.

"You son of a bitch," Entreri managed to gasp out.

Drizzt clasped his shoulder with one hand and slowly pulled him into a loose embrace. Entreri managed to lift and arm and clap his back, before keeping his hand in place on his shoulder and actually enjoying this moment with his companion, nay, his friend.

"You're lucky," Entreri sneered in his ear, "I could have killed you in a second."

"Of course," Drizzt replied calmly, though neither broke the embrace.

Neither did they see Jarlaxle standing in the doorway, watching this scene with a huge grin on his face and holding back a triumphant laugh as one lingering tear rolled down his cheek.

Author's Note: A few more chapters to go, so stay tuned. A huge thanks to WitchWolf for pointing me in the direction of some great information on Vhaeraun for both this chapter and future ones.