A/N: I fell, quite accidentally, over the old
Counting Crows rhyme in a book, and, for some reason, this story popped into my
head. My gratitude to SilverWolf for acting as a muse.
As the Crow Calls
The sun rose slowly into the air, driving away the shadows of the night and briefly colouring the clouds bright pink. The light was reflected off the Lac Dinneshere in the distance, effectively erasing the horizon and making everything appear to be bathed in light. However, even though it stung her eyes as well, Catti-brie fully understood why Drizzt always insisted on watching the sunrise, and she could not help a mild chuckle when she recalled his shocked expression upon discovering that the sun also hurt the eyes of surfacers.
Her eyes fell to her companion, and she could not help a light smile upon seeing him watching the sun steadfast, his gaze not wavering even though she could see small tears forming at his lower lid, the result of extended gazing at the rising ball of fire. Yet, even though his pain was obvious, so was the small look of triumph on his face, a proof to himself that he had adapted more to the surface world than he had ever imagined he would.
The drow had only arrived a few minutes earlier, having just gotten home from a month-long journey to Silverymoon and although he still wore his travel-dusty clothes, he had been determined to sit and watch the sunrise with her. In the back of her mind, she was happy for this.
As the final ray of the sun released its hold on the distant mountains, the drow stirred and stretched lightly, easing his muscles into a more comfortable position after having been sitting still for a long time, and thus broke the magic that had lain over him. Smiling, Catti-brie shuffled close enough to lay her head on his shoulder and gave a pleasant sigh at the feel of his arm wrapping around her shoulders. The moment, she decided, was pure bliss.
"Listen," Catti-brie said, holding a hand up to her ear as she heard the dual call of a crow in the distance.
"That's not often to find a crow this far north," Drizzt replied and gave the woman's shoulder a light squeeze as he asked, his smile evident in his voice: "How was it the old rhyme you told me about went? The one telling about the number of times a crow calls?"
"One fer sorrow, two fer mirth," the human replied, stifling a giggle. How typical of Drizzt to bring up something like a nursery rhyme. "Three calls' a sign o' a weddin' brewin', an' four's a death. Five fer silver, six fer gold an' seven fer a secret never to be told."
Yes, she silently decided. This was, indeed, bliss. It seemed as if all the horrors they had faced, both independently and together, had never occurred, as if nothing in the whole world existed outside of Bruenor's Climb. But, she knew, it was sadly not so.
"We've ta get back," she sighed, untangling herself and rising to her feet with reluctance.
Smiling, the dark elf rose as well and picked up his heavy packback, still lying where he had dropped it before sitting down next to her. She wondered briefly at the almost indiscernible wince that followed his moment, but decided that it had probably just been his tiredness. She knew him well, and had several times seen him ride through day and night without rest, only to following act as if he was not tired at all. It had always been his way of being, always fussing over the others when they sustained a minor cut, yet doing his best to hide a sprained ankle or worse on his own part.
A snort escaped the woman as she could not help but recall one time where they had discovered Drizzt had gotten a cut to the upper arm, and of how her dad had promptly tackled the dark elf and held him down until Stumpet had stitched the cut together – just to ensure that the drow would not get the notion of disappearing before the cleric would arrive at the scene. Catti-brie could not help but wonder if Drizzt was in fact afraid of clerics, like she had been afraid of moths when she had been but a few years old. She had heard of that type of phobia before, so, she guessed, it was not so wild a shot. But right now, she decided with a sideward glance at the elf, seeing him try valiantly to hide a yawn, the drow needed a bed and not a cleric.
They took the back entrance to the mines, avoiding the main areas of gathering and headed straight for Drizzt's quarters. Catti-brie was certain she had rarely seen him more relieved at the sight of a bed, and she quietly and quickly left, making certain to shut the door behind her to give the drow the undisturbed rest he most certainly both deserved and needed.
Catti-brie kept Drizzt's arrival silent, telling only a few about it and gaining their word that the news would not spread to Bruenor or Wulfgar – as either was equally likely to simply run to the drow's room, knock down the door and demand an explanation for his late arrival. It would be better to let Drizzt rest before having to face his friends, and to avoid risking to pass the information to her adoptive family, she decided to spend most of the day outside, scouting the mountain side for the early spring flowers, and heard that the crow had not yet left. It's single, sad crow told her that it still remained within the Dale.
However, she knew that the dark elf rarely rested for more than six hours, and was therefore quite surprised as she entered the mines again to find that he did not show up as the hours had turned late and it was nearly time for the evening meal.
Frowning, the human briefly counted the number of times she had seen her drow friend exhausted, and drew a parallel to how long he usually slept afterwards. The result was enough to set an alarm off in her head – he had never rested for that long. Shaking her head, Catti-brie told herself that it was a most irrational deduction. Drizzt was probably just soaking in a bath, or writing in his journal, but, still, she could not shake off the mild feeling of dread that was slowly creeping into her bones.
Silently, she crept from the Hall and to the area containing the sleeping quarters. Pausing before the door she had hours earlier closed, she pressed her ear against the wood and listened for any signs of life. But there were none – not even the crackling of wood within the fireplace, even though Drizzt had always liked to keep his room at a relatively high temperature. A still lingering display of his heritage, she knew, as her short stay in Menzoberranzan had introduced her to the surprisingly warm climate of the underground city.
Swallowing, she turned the handle and pushed open the door, immediately being greeted with darkness. The candle Drizzt had lit when entering the room had long since burned out, and it had not been replaced with any other source of lighting. However, thankfully, light from the corridor beyond flowed into the chamber and allowed her to see – even though that included the motionless figure on the bed. A single, ragged breath from the drow, as if something was trying to keep his lungs from expanding, told her immediately that something was wrong…
She quickly lit a candle with the flint and tinder she always carried with her, bringing a soft light over the room, and she found that her breath caught in her throat. Drizzt was startling pale, his skin having turned to a sickly grey colour, a fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead and, what alarmed her the most, he still wore the clothes in which he had arrived, not even having removed his boots. She was at his side in an instant, clutching his hand desperately and feeling his brow, shocked by the head that radiated off her friend.
Beneath the ebony skin, she could feel his pulse race madly, as if his heart, like his lungs, suddenly found it difficult to sustain his life. His eyes briefly focused on her, something unspoken within them, as he became aware of her presence and gave her hand a light squeeze, before his eyes turned clouded as he drifted back to the brink of consciousness. Thankfully, dwarves nearby heard her wail when Drizzt's lids fluttered close and his body went lax – although his shallow breathing continued. It seemed as if barely minutes managed to pass before nearly every cleric within the mines had been summoned. Catti-brie protested as the clerics began their examinations and needed room, but was eventually led out of the room by Wulfgar, even though it was clear to all that the barbarian was reluctant about taking her away from the drow's side.
It was an infection. A simple inflammation of a small cut on his back that had slowly poisoned the dark elf's blood at some point during his journey, and now blossomed in full. Drizzt had been exhausted, as Catti-brie had deduced, although she had never thought the cause to be this. It was a miracle he still drew breath, the healers said, a testimony to his strength and will. But then they gave the graver news: It would take an even greater miracle for him to survive. Even with all the combined prayers of the dwarven clerics, all the healing magic and potions they had, Drizzt's condition was too serious for them to do little more than try and heal the wound and pray to the gods for a wonder.
Only one phrase that passed through the mines that day could fully explain what was at the moment taking place within the chamber of Catti-brie's most dearest of friends. Drizzt Do'Urden was dying.
The clerics refused to completely abandon hope, and even as the shadows grew long and the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, they did what they could to keep the drow elf alive, to purge his body of the infection that none had thought could be what might fell him in the end. Throughout the night they worked, desperately, hopeful, even though Drizzt had yet to regain consciousness once more, and his condition appearing to grow worse with every passing hour. Hope, however faint it had been, was fast fading.
Catti-brie found she could not handle it. She could not sit by the side of her friend and watch his life seep away. She had risen from her seat as the night was approaching its end, and had left the mines, seeking out the top of Bruenor's Climb, where, only the day before, she had jested and talked with the drow currently lying in a coma. How much that could change in so short time…
The darkness of night was vanishing in the distance, and as she watched, the sun began its slow ascend over the sky, bathing the Dale in light as it had for millennia and would continue to do so for millennia to come, heedless of what took place beneath it.
Somewhere, the crow gave four mournful cries, and Catti-brie lowered her head and wept for her lost friend…