Midsummer
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: This chapter contains no sex…instead it contains gore (ha ha). I am not a med student nor do I have very much knowledge of medical practices, so this chapter is going to contain a lot of literary license (or complete BS-ing, whichever works best).
Chapter 9: Fading Moonlight
Jarlaxle crossed his feet as he leaned comfortably against a mid-sized armoire that stood in the side corner of the spacious tent: a green canvas structure the size of a small cottage, yet used entirely as a healing station and infirmary for the small village. The mercenary folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the blue painted cabinet with a calm gait, yet his heart was pounding and his impatience was slightly turning to anger the longer he waited. His red eyes never left Drizzt, who was lying on the plush, green cushion of a raised bench: his excruciating pain looked slightly muted after drinking the gold-colored elixir Nialian gave him earlier, yet his face was still slightly contorted as he continued closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.
For some reason, this sight disturbed Jarlaxle. Maybe he cared so much more about Drizzt's health than he originally thought; enough seeing his friend in this state was hard to bear. Drizzt's complexion was also slightly gray and beads of sweat poured from his body. He dry heaved over the bench several times, though Jarlaxle could only speculate as to why Nialian made him change immediately out of his leather trousers and into a pair of loose, blue cotton bottoms and only a part of it had to so with increased comfort and the cleric's accessibility to the drow's aching hip.
The thing that unnerved Jarlaxle the most about this was the fact that Nialian was saying nothing, not even making it clear if Drizzt's hip was actually the problem. Nialian started the examination by gently feeling the structures in the joint and muscles before having Drizzt flex his hip and examining the workings of the extremities. The old priest remained quiet, though Jarlaxle was even less reassured when his attentions went from the hip to the adjacent side of his lower abdomen, which he was now patting gently; withered, yet delicate fingers feeling the structures underneath.
Nialian's expression of inquiry then went from one of curiosity to one of grave concern. He closed his green eyes and concentrated as his fingers began to glow a bright silver, which passed to Drizzt's abdomen. Drizzt let out a long sigh as if the pain was melting away, though his complexion remained gray and perspiration still flowed. Jarlaxle let out his own cautionary sigh, yet somehow knew his friend was not yet well and his condition could be more serious.
At last, Nialian's fingers stopped glowing and he gently opened his eyes, continuing to feel the section of Drizzt's abdomen; his features still sour.
"So will it be a boy or a girl?" Jarlaxle piped in; immediately receiving a patient, yet annoyed glance from Nialian and an obscene gesture with a forced smile from Drizzt.
Jarlaxle managed a small chuckle, yet received a sudden realization about Drizzt's possible condition that quickly straightened his smirk. Abdominal pain, nausea, fever…other possible digestive disturbances; the condition sounded too much like an illness more common in humans, though under the right circumstances…
"If you don't have any theories," Jarlaxle said again, leaning further against the armoire, "I did think of one possibility."
"And what is that?" Nialian said, his eyes still heavy despite the small upturn in the corners of his long, thin mouth.
"In my fourth year at Melee-Magthere, one of my instructors taught us a rather difficult, yet extremely effective thrust with a blunt weapon, aimed at the right side on humans, the left for elves, saying if we hit the right spot at the right time, the blow could either rupture or otherwise severely damage the appendix; the recipient would either bleed to death quickly, suffer a slow death by peritonitis, or perhaps even damage the appendix in such a way to turn it into a timed bomb set to go off any time."
"Master Argith mentioned that briefly in my sixth year," Drizzt added weakly, "though he said it was a maneuver best used by monks and a waste of effort otherwise. Though I can guess a large club wielded by a large orc can still have the same effect."
Both drow turned their attention to Nialian, who responded with a long sigh and a reluctant nod. Drizzt groaned and threw his head back against the black and green embroidered pillow.
"It is a very wise and astute observation," the old cleric said grimly. "Unfortunately it is also the cause of your condition, Drizzt."
"Brilliant," Jarlaxle groaned, shifting uncomfortably.
"Your appendix is badly inflamed," Nialian continued, focusing his attention entirely on Drizzt, whose heavy gaze was fixed on the ceiling. "My examination has shown me that the organ was likely bruised after the initial impact causing a case of rather mild appendicitis, a pain most likely concealed by the bruised muscle in your leg and your natural tolerance for pain. If you had taken any measures of healing, whether through a potion or at the hands of a healer, the condition would have been fully cured. However, given the circumstances at the time, you were very much isolated and surrounded by an army of orcs, so you simply stretched it out a little; the pain eventually subsiding as the appendix most likely healed itself in time, though it was left damaged; the entrance partially blocked and a thin layer of scar tissue forming. This would bring on another mild appendicitis attack, then another. Every time you thought it was merely your hip acting up, Drizzt, was actually your appendix becoming inflamed. Given the injury, the appendix sustained more tissue damage with every attack, ultimately you would have one, acute attack that could not be ignored; which is what happened tonight. I have used every one of my magical means to treat this condition, which have relieved some of the pain and swelling, though the appendix is still greatly inflamed, most likely due to permanent tissue damage that is beyond my powers to heal. There is only one more thing I can do to bring you out of danger."
"He's going to have to vivisect you, friend," Jarlaxle muttered, though it almost echoed through every corner of the deathly quiet room.
Drizzt gave a small, groaning chuckle managed a small smile; the grim yet lightly delivered pronouncement appealed to a certain sense of dark humor that seemed only appropriate given the circumstances.
"I hesitate to use those exact words, Jarlaxle," Nialian said calmly, giving him an annoyed look before turning back to Drizzt. "But the only way your condition can be cured is if your appendix is removed, and immediately. I will give you a potion that will put you into a deep sleep and you will feel nothing. It will just be a small incision, your appendix will be tied off from the rest of the intestine and cut out, and then you will be sewn back up and you should wake up soon after. It should take less than a couple hours."
Drizzt let his gaze fall to the ceiling as another wave of nausea threatened him. The idea of being knowingly cut open and having his internal organs felt and scrutinized was one with which he was not entirely comfortable; neither was the phrase "should wake up" a pleasing thought either. However, he preferred this option greatly over the alternative. He looked up at Nialian and nodded slowly.
"If it must be done, it should be done soon," he said, his weak voice now fully resigned.
Nialian nodded back stepped aside, raising a blue ring to his mouth, into which he spoke a few words to his clerics out of ear shot. Jarlaxle came fully to his feet and gradually walked closer to Drizzt, whose gaze returned to the ceiling; a look of grim concern plastered on his face as his lower lip trembled slightly. It was obvious he was nervous, maybe a little afraid, though Jarlaxle could blame him for nothing.
Nialian ended the magical conversation, then went into the back end of the tent and retrieved a few sets of linen towels from a small cabinet as he moved a small, wooden table next to the bench. He then moved to the armoire, gently nudging Jarlaxle aside while tying back his long, silver hair with a leather cord, then opening the cabinet, pulling out a small, rolled up bag from one side drawer and placing it on the table, followed by a few small bottles of various elixirs.
Jarlaxle moved away from the bureau and walked over to Drizzt, who put his hands behind his head and regarded him calmly.
"Sorry your night had to end this way, abbil," Jarlaxle said with a long sigh.
"Who said my night's over?" Drizzt replied, forcing a grin despite all the thoughts racing through his mind steeped in a thousand nerves.
Jarlaxle gave a small chuckle as they both watched Nialian unroll the bag and draw out a series of small, curved blades on wooden handles, space them out on a small, white towel on the table, and open a bottle of gold liquid before sprinkling its light contents over them.
"And of course Catti-brie is likely half way to Mithril Hall by now," Drizzt said.
"Who knows, maybe she and Innovindil are enjoying some quality time together," Jarlaxle added in a cheery tone, a sudden realization drawing a dirty laugh; a reference not lost on Drizzt, who added his own laugh.
"Given how this night has gone," Drizzt said, his voice a bit lighter, "nothing surprises me anymore."
"And to think none of us were there," Jarlaxle said, drawing a heartier laugh from Drizzt, who actually started to feel slightly cleansed by this laugh.
His new mirth even lasted through the sight on Nialian taking out a small bottle of greenish, silvery liquid. The priest undid a glass stopper, and poured a small amount on a thick, green towel. Drizzt had a strong feeling what this meant, yet he was determined to remain calm.
"This is a rather powerful herb used only for sedative purposes," the priest said. "You need to breathe in its contents and you will fall unconscious, not feeling anything and waking when all is through."
Drizzt sighed hard, laying his head back into the pillow.
"Jarlaxle," Drizzt said, his expression more serious, "should you find Catti-brie before I wake, tell her I love her."
"You have my word," the mercenary said with a nod.
Drizzt gave him a small, defeated smile; a look that sent a chill through Jarlaxle's spine.
"See you soon, abbil," Drizzt said to his kinsman with a nervous laugh.
"Sweet dreams," Jarlaxle replied, feeling a significant sting of concern pierce through his being.
Nialian positioned the cloth in his hand and slowly covered Drizzt's nose and mouth.
"Now, just breathe deeply," the cleric softly whispered into his ear.
Drizzt's gaze went at first to the ceiling, then at Jarlaxle as he deeply inhaled the mixture. His eyelids then grew heavy as a numbness crept over his body. His muscles relaxed and his eyes gently rolled back as his lids fully fluttered closed, the potion fully taking his consciousness.
Nialian removed the cloth and raised Drizzt's lids slightly to see his pupils at the appropriate dilation. He then rolled up the sleeves of his robe and reached for a bottle of clear liquid, opening the cork, removing his rings and putting them in a side pocket before pouring the liquid onto his hands and rubbing it in. Jarlaxle shook his head, shaking off a sudden feeling of dread that crept into his consciousness.
"So your assistants should be here soon?" Jarlaxle asked with a sigh.
Nialian's expression became even grimmer as he concentrated on rubbing in the potion with more effort. Jarlaxle's stomach sank
"This is a small village," Nialian said, rubbing in the liquid until it was completely absorbed by his skin, though creating a shiny membrane on his delicate flesh, "I have a total of four clerics in my service. One is recovering from childbirth, one is attending to an ill child, and the two others I called are en route to the village and should be here in an hour."
"You have an hour?" Jarlaxle asked through gritted teeth.
Nialian sighed hard and shook his head vigorously.
"We need to begin immediately," he said, nudging the bottle towards Jarlaxle. "His condition is grave. The appendix is severely inflamed; in fact it is a mere mass of bloated tissue that could burst at any time."
"Thank you for sharing this information now," the drow said in a tone of biting sarcasm. "You did a great job putting on a smiling face in front of your apparently dying ward." Jarlaxle gave another sigh, and then another thought slammed him across the skull. "Wait, what in the Nine Hells do you mean 'we?'"
"If he is not operated on now, Drizzt will die," Nialian said in a raised voice. "All I need is an assistant who will monitor his vital signs and pass me a tool when I need it."
"I hope you realize, friend, that I am far from a cleric," Jarlaxle growled.
"But your training as a warrior has given you basic knowledge of the anatomy, which is all I need."
"As well as individuals more qualified for such matters than I. What do you mean none of your clerics are able to come here immediately? Doesn't Corellon have other representatives in this village tonight besides your four damned favorites; at least representatives who would be willing to cut open this drow for the purposes of saving his life?"
"Jarlaxle, Drizzt only has enough time for me to remove this bane from his body," Nialian snapped. "I'm not forcing you to assist me, though if you refuse, leave my sight now. Sit there out in the open in a village of elves, which will surely welcome your presence, and take the chance that Zaknafein will have a premature reunion with his son because of his old friend's cowardice."
Nialian could have slammed Jarlaxle in the sternum with an adamantine ram and had the same effect. He stood dumfounded for a second, then nodded. Nialian lifted the bottle of liquid and forced it into Jarlaxle's hand.
"Remove your ring and rub this solution on your hands," the priest said, his tone significantly calmer, yet those green-gold eyes bored through the drow's soul.
The mercenary did as he was asked, removing the silver ring and putting it on the table before pouring the slimy solution on his hands and rubbing it in. He felt a tingle through his skin and watched as the small dirt smudges that found their way on his ebony fingers earlier faded as a stretchy membrane formed over the covered flesh. His red eyes trailed to Nialian, who positioned himself over Drizzt, removing his cotton bottoms and placing them on the floor before lifting a linen towel and laying it over his legs, then laying another over his chest and upper abdomen, exposing the area where his work would be done. The priest then picked up a simple, short blade from the table.
"You're eight hundred-years-old, Nialian," Jarlaxle muttered, flexing his hands as the liquid was fully absorbed. "How can I be sure your hands won't shake?"
Nialian then flipped the razor-sharp blade into the air and held out his tiny index finger. The handle landed on the space between his knuckle and fingertip and balanced perfectly. There was no swaying or shaking from this hand. Jarlaxle smiled and nodded in defeat.
"I say we start this," the drow said as merrily as he could.
Nialian gave a pained smile and swung the handle into the proper position between in his hand. He nodded, looked down, positioned the blade over the left side of Drizzt's lower abdomen, and made the first cut.
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The leather flap flew open, sending in a wave of cool, night air that Catti-brie greedily inhaled. She practically skipped out of the tent, her eyes eating up the sight of the lush, green trees that stood out against the starry sky illuminated by the rich, full moon that had already begun its slow descent over the horizon.
She casually buttoned her shirt, not caring who was around to get even the slightest glimpse of her exposed form or even the fact that she and Innovindil were walking together rather closely. Catti-brie looked over at her…lover? The very thought just made her giggle.
Barely an hour earlier, she and the moon elf were wrapped in each other's arms, their delicate fingers gently caressing each other's intimate flesh in a moment meant to be nothing more than pure, passionate abandon. Even after their moment of passion, she and Innovindil lay together in a peaceful embrace; Catti-brie lying quietly in between a beautiful waking dream as she savored Innovindil's soft skin and inhaled the lavender oil that gently rose from the blonde hair that tumbled over her bare breasts. Even when her elven lover rose and pulled her to her feet, Catti-brie's head was still swimming.
I made love with a woman; Catti-brie's thoughts sang as she now skipped along the grove and inhaled the aroma of evergreens and every cedar campfire in the forest. And I enjoyed the experience. Is there nothing I cannot do now?
She took another deep breath as every one of her senses seemed to sharper as all they experienced was beauty. She had just gone through a rather unique experience, making everything seem fresh and new. The leaves seemed a little greener, the elven revelers a little more beautiful, and the glow of the wonderful, precious moon seemed more a song through her heart than a vision in her blue eyes.
Nothing that happened before seemed to matter now. Catti-brie had gone from being locked in a world of her own expectations of the natural order of things to having those comfortable concepts completely smashed. Not only had she made love with a woman, she had also seduced a vile, dark elven mercenary and left him senseless. It was absolutely perfect.
Catti-brie held her head high as the extra bounce flowed through her step. She and Innovindil floated back into the party grove, taking hands and skipping into a small circle of revelers gathered around a trio of elven maidens: all with glowing, blue black hair and all wearing soft, green dresses with plunging necklines. A few fair eyes turned in their direction, conjuring a few joyous smiles from elves that would glance at them, give their beaming greetings, and turn their attentions back to the haunting wail of the fiddles played in a perfect chord.
The two stopped, Catti-brie leaning her head on Innovindil's fair shoulder while drinking in the beautiful sight of these delicate, elven maidens; admiring their fair faces while allowing her eyes to trail over their curves and mentally celebrating the whole new world that had opened up before her.
A world of her own, apart from the stifling walls of Mithril Hall, Bruenor's gruff doting, Wulfgar's constant attentions, all the whispers speculating when she would finally marry Drizzt…
The very thought of that name sent curved her face into a sad smile. Maybe that was why he was intimate with Innovindil last year, she thought. Maybe he was also feeling stifled, as he had allowed himself to be his entire life; whether by the general hell of Menzoberranzan, the dangerous isolation of the Underdark, the harsh shunning of the surface world, or even his own moral code. Maybe he was breaking free at last and this was the clearest way.
Catti-brie's bliss was slightly bruised as she thought of Drizzt: the first one to experiment with his body, yet she punished him for this. She did nothing but give him harsh words and cold glares for doing something that she had come to appreciate now.
He was right, Catti-brie thought, her smile straightening slightly. I really need to find him and tell him that. We have so many things we need to discuss, and now is the best time.
Catti-brie's mind turned to Drizzt in more ways. She wished he was here; here so she could run her hands through that beautiful mane of white hair and over his soft skin of the most beautiful shade of ebony. It was the first time she had thought truly lovingly of him in the past year. All it took was another Midsummer.
"Mistress Catti-brie," a male voice called from behind.
She looked over her shoulder and saw the black-haired mage she had flirted with earlier.
"I hate to bother you," he said, "but I have word that Master Drizzt was taken to the healing tent earlier."
Catti-brie's eyebrows furrowed in sudden concern. Another silver-haired male elf in similar robes came close beside him.
"My partner told me he saw Drizzt leaning on the shoulder of this…other dark elf…"
"…Nialian escorted them both to his tent," the other elf continued. "He looked ill. We have been trying to find you for the past half hour, but we could only reach you now."
Catti-brie's cheeks briefly flushed in embarrassment. She looked over to Innovindil, who heard the conversation; her own face taking a look of concern.
"Thank you…" Catti-brie squeaked out, suddenly realizing she never got his name.
"Lasthen," the black-haired mage said with a bright smile. "And this is my lover Rinis."
"Pleased to formally meet you," Catti-brie replied with a stiff bow and an embarrassed smile before turning to Innovindil. "I say we investigate."
Catti-brie gave the elves another bow, before turning on her heel and quickly pacing towards the green tent at the back of the grove.
"I hope he is not too ill," Innovindil said, following close behind.
"He and Jarlaxle were probably carousing a little too much," Catti-brie said, her lingering bliss the only thing keeping her together. "I will probably walk in and see him retching into a bucket and going on drunkenly about how he violated another one of his principles."
Innovindil gave a laugh, though she did notice that Catti-brie's voice took on a significant strain. She was trying to act brave, though the idea of Drizzt being ill really bothered her.
Maybe love was there after all.
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"Just spread this part a little more," Nialian said softly.
Jarlaxle obliged, still not surprised that he had gone from feeling Drizzt's pulse, listening to his breathing, and passing Nialian the occasional blade to actually taking an active role in this operation. That role may have just included spreading the skin a little more and opening more of his friend's abdominal cavity…but nonetheless.
Nialian was at a crucial part of the procedure; the mass of red, bloated flesh that was Drizzt's appendix was now tied off and isolated. The cleric gently lifted the mass with his index finger and reached in with a long, thin blade. With a steady hand, he slowly sliced into the tissue, drawing a small trickle of blood as the mass gradually separated from the rest of the large intestine and was now removed from the young drow's body.
Nialian slowly lifted the scarred mass out and placed it in a small, white bowl on the table. He then let out a long sigh as Jarlaxle allowed himself a triumphant chuckle. Drizzt was mostly out of danger now. Nialian reached for the table and lifted a needle strung with a strand of enchanted dandelion root, which created a suture that was strong, yet would dissolve in time. He gently positioned the needle and put a small stitch in the open tissue where the appendix used to be.
Jarlaxle looked up from Nialian's work and turned his attention to Drizzt. He was still very much unconscious with his face bearing a look of peace. His chest gently rose and fell with each steady breath and Jarlaxle placed a finger on the inside of his wrist once again and felt a strong pulse.
"I guess you owe me yet again," he said softly, one of many words he spoke to Drizzt over the past hour he was sure were heard. "Though I do get the right to say I know you inside and out."
Nialian gave a gentle chuckle, yet his hands remained steady as his eyes did not leave his work once. Jarlaxle laughed and gave the cleric a warm smile before turning his attention back to Drizzt. He saw his friend draw a long breath, and then looked back down at Nialian's work, his eyes lazily trailing towards the wall, then back at Drizzt; in time to notice his chest did not rise.
It was a sight that gave Jarlaxle a chill. He waited for another second, though his chest remained still. The mercenary gently placed a hand on his throat to feel for air flow and only felt a weakening pulse. Jarlaxle freed his other hand and used the cleaner one to tilt Drizzt's head back while he leaned his own face over to hear his breath and mentally cursed; his friend had stopped breathing.
Jarlaxle immediately tilted Drizzt's head back further, pinched his nostrils shut with his bloody fingers, and clamped his open mouth over Drizzt's, exhaling one, long breath into his lungs. His chest rose in response, though did not rise again. Jarlaxle repeated his procedure and looked up enough to see Nialian feeling the pulse in his wrist first, and then clamping a firm hand on the inside of his elbow.
Jarlaxle ceased his breath for a second and turned his head. Drizzt finally let out one long, gasping breath and took his usual rhythm, though his breathing was shallow.
"His blood pressure just plummeted," Nialian said, running to the armoire, throwing it open, and producing a vile of pale yellow liquid.
The priest came beside Jarlaxle, put a finger under Drizzt's chin, uncorked the stopped with one finger, and slowly poured the liquid down his throat. The glistening elixir flowed past his tongue and was absorbed in his mouth. Almost instantly, his breathing grew stronger. Nialian lifted Drizzt's eyelids slightly and saw his pupils at the same dilation they took when he first went under.
Both elves let out respective sighs of relief. Nialian put the empty bottle back on the table and resumed his position.
"Well done," the priest said with a beaming smile. "I knew you were good for something."
Jarlaxle looked back down at Drizzt, feeling immense happiness at seeing his chest rise and fall with each strong breath.
"You know, I've almost gotten him killed a few times," Jarlaxle said with a pained laugh.
"I think this makes up for that, at least a little," Nialian replied, making one more tiny stitch. "Shears, please."
Jarlaxle resumed his own position, picking up a tiny pair of steel scissors and passing them handle first to Nialian. Nialian took the shears without a word and snipped the thread, handing the needle back to Jarlaxle, who replaced it on the table.
The room was deathly quiet; a quiet suddenly interrupted by a sharp gasp from the back of the tent. Both elves looked back and saw Catti-brie standing by the door, her eyes locked on Drizzt and a trembling hand covered her mouth.
She had just came in a second ago and expected to see Drizzt lying down, though she was immediately met with the sight of Drizzt laying down as Jarlaxle and Nialian held back the skin of his open abdominal cavity. His intestines were exposed and blood drenched the towels draped over his legs and chest. Catti-brie felt ill, a screaming chill running through every part of her being as her breathing became a mass of gasps that threatened sobs with every exhalation. She then felt small hands over her shoulders and felt them pull her back.
"Catti-brie, let's go," Innovindil said, pulling her away.
Catti-brie allowed herself to move back, not peeling her eyes off Drizzt until the tent flap came between them.
Nialian let out another pained sigh.
"Jarlaxle we are pretty much done," Nialian said in a grim tone, "I just need to close him up, and I can do that on my own. Go out and talk to Catti-brie. I know what happened between you two tonight, though I guarantee she will listen."
Jarlaxle gave Nialian an incredulous look, though he had no desire to question how the ancient elf gained such knowledge. He merely nodded, wiped his bloody hands off on a towel draped over the table, and gave Drizzt one more glance before turning and walking towards the door. He lifted the tent flap to see Catti-brie sitting on the ground, her face buried in her hands as she let out a series of dry sobs, every muscle trembling as Innovindil embraced her and whispered in her ear.
All Catti-brie could register was the warm embrace and the constant mental image of Drizzt lying unconscious with his insides fully exposed. It was an image that was too hard to bear. She had done nothing but scowl at him all night, now he was dying. Guilt, sorrow, terror: all these emotions pulsed through her body and came out with every sobbing breath.
Jarlaxle stood aside, waiting for a second for her fit to pass before he approached, knowing that if he said a word now, his own guts could be as exposed as Drizzt's. Innovindil looked up and gave him a questioning glance.
"What happened?" the moon elf gasped.
Catti-brie looked up and saw Jarlaxle standing over her, his hands still bearing traces of blood; Drizzt's blood. In a second, she was on her feet and ran over, her hands locking on the collar of his tunic and shaking him violently.
"What in the Nine Hells is going on, Jarlaxle!" she screamed, putting her tear streaked face directly into his.
Jarlaxle put his own hands on her shoulders and gradually held her back.
"Just calm down, for the fear of Lolth," he said.
Catti-brie's left hand left his tunic and a fist crashed into the side of his jaw, knocking him backwards and briefly stunned by the sudden punch he immediately cursed himself for not anticipating. He grabbed his jaw, feeling a trickle of warm ooze coming from his lip and tasting salt in his mouth. Jarlaxle's tongue probed the wound only to find the side of his cheek had scraped against his teeth. No teeth were loose and his jaw moved with only a slight ache.
Catti-brie's rage calmed slightly. She stood back and watched Jarlaxle spit out a wad of blood, her muscles still trembled, but she sobered at this sudden outburst; now feeling a slight pang of guilt for what she had done.
"Well at least teeth won't be coming out my arse," he replied, his speech slightly muffled.
"Just tell me what is wrong with Drizzt," Catti-brie said, her voice still cracked, though significantly calmer.
"You know how he was slammed by an orc's club last year, thought he broke his hip?" Jarlaxle replied, rubbing his hands and feeling the waxy membrane peeling. "It still bothers him on occasion."
Catti-brie nodded, feeling a burn form in her stomach.
"Well, it turns out his hip is fine," Jarlaxle continued, pulling off the membrane on his right hand. "He is, however, at the disadvantage of being an elf and therefore having his appendix located on the same side of his body as the impact."
Innovindil let out a small gasp. Catti-brie faced Jarlaxle expressionless, though she felt even more ill.
"The appendix was bruised, causing the occasional inflammation that led up to a major one tonight," Jarlaxle said, turning his attention to his other hand. "Nialian had no choice but to cure the illness through non-magical means and considering that all of his other clerics were indisposed, I was forcibly volunteered as his assistant. Don't worry, he is out of danger. Nialian is sewing him back up."
"What do you mean all his other clerics were indisposed?" Innovindil asked in a deeply perplexed tone. "We saw two of them just a few seconds ago milling around the grove. He would have known…"
Innovindil paused in a sudden realization. Jarlaxle froze where he stood and glared at her.
"And what would he have known?" the drow asked in a strained tone. "Are you telling me his four clerics were here all along?"
"Four?" Innovindil replied with a small laugh. "Nialian has at least eight in his service and six are here in this village as we speak."
Jarlaxle looked back down at his hand and continued peeling off the rest of the membrane, knowing full well what was going on; he had just been tested. Nialian lied to him, though a lie fitting of putting a shifty drow into a desirable position. The old priest wanted to make sure he was not as evil as the rest of his kin and was capable of saving the life of his friend's son. All he needed to do was coax him into assisting with the operation while keeping a few clerics nearby in case he failed the trial. Instead, he passed with flying colors; not only assisting but resuscitating Drizzt and delivering him from the brink of death. Jarlaxle felt both incensed and slightly humbled at the same time.
"All is well," Nialian called from the tent.
Catti-brie rushed over to him with Innovindil following close behind.
"Jarlaxle just told me what happened," Catti-brie said in a tone of desperation. "He had an appendicitis?"
"Due to the wound he received last year," the priest said with a clearing sigh, "his appendix did become badly inflamed. We operated, all went well up until the end when his blood pressure dropped dangerously low and he stopped breathing for a second."
Catti-brie let out another sob.
"He is fine now thanks to a potion that brought his blood pressure back up, though he could have been in more danger if Jarlaxle hadn't given him artificial respirations."
Catti-brie and Innovindil gave awed glances to Jarlaxle, who wiped his clean hands on the side on his trousers, keeping his gaze down, letting his rage abate slightly. He then looked up and met Catti-brie's gaze; her blue eyes red from tears and her face locked in a gratefully amazed expression. He knew he had been thanked, though she could manage no words.
"You're welcome," he said tersely.
Catti-brie flinched away from him and turned back to Nialian.
"How is he now?" she asked weakly.
"Everything is done and he is fine," Nialian replied. "He is now resting comfortably in a cot in my tent and he should wake very soon. I want him to stay in Moonwood until next sunset. He is out of danger and if all goes well, he should be fully healed within a tenday."
"Can I see him?" Catti-brie asked.
"Of course," Nialian said, gently putting a clean hand on her shoulder. "Though not for too long. He needs his rest and, I warn you, he will be very incoherent when he wakes. The potion needs another hour to fully wear off."
Catti-brie nodded, and then turned towards Innovindil and Jarlaxle. Innovindil came to Jarlaxle's side and gave Catti-brie an encouraging nod. Jarlaxle managed to look up and flashed her a wry smirk, which she took as a gesture of understanding. Nialian gently nudged her shoulder and she turned around and walked towards the tent.
Nialian opened the flap and both walked through. His gait was calm yet Catti-brie's legs threatened to fail her. She looked at the bench where Drizzt had once lain. The green cushion was exposed, yet the bloody linens peaked out from a black sack in the corner. She flinched her gaze away and allowed Nialian to take her through another tent flap that led to a long section lined with various plush cots.
All were empty, save for one in the back corner of the room. Drizzt Do'Urden lay sleeping, his eyes closed and his face in a look of peace. She noticed his complexion was slightly grayer, though she had seen him worse.
Like that one day when she was twelve-years-old. The day before, barbarians had attacked Ten Towns, but now the battle was over. Bruenor was in the caves tending to his young captive, Wulfgar. Catti-brie had gone into Bryn Shander, blue wildflowers picked fresh from the crags of Kelvin's Cairn clutched in one hand as she ran straight for a large, white tent that had been set up on the edge of town as a healing station for the battle wounded. She slowly opened the large, burlap flap, gave a nod of greeting to one of the village healers, before making a straight path towards one cot off to the side. The cot's dark-skinned occupant was asleep, his shoulder tightly bandaged after being smashed by the hammer of the barbarian king Heafstaag. Catti-brie practically skipped over to Drizzt, ignoring all of the glares she got from the other injured soldiers, whose sour expressions would turn to the dark elf, then to the little girl who should stay away from him.
Catti-brie had reached Drizzt's side, lifting his good arm and placing the stems of the flowers in his hand. His eyelids twitched for a second, then came open to regard his little friend with a weak smile. He lifted the blue flowers to his nose, inhaled their aroma, and his smile widened; it was the greatest gift she had ever given him.
Catti-brie's recollection faded to the current scene before her now that looked all too familiar. Drizzt was once again lying unconscious before her, only now the green blanket shifted slightly to reveal a bandage wrapped around his waist. She came to her knees and took his small hand, squeezing it to let him know she was there. Her eyes savored every line in his face, every ounce of ebony flesh that belonged to the man she could have lost. He is here now, she thought, running her fingers through his thick hair.
His eyelids fluttered for a second, then fully opened; his pupils constricting to an appropriate size as he looked first at the ceiling, then at Catti-brie. His face was still, then gradually curved into a wide smile.
"I'm here, Drizzt," she said, her voice cracking, "all is well.
"I…thought you were gone," he managed to whisper.
She continued running her hand through his white hair, a hand which eventually caressed the side of his face all the while not caring that Nialian was just a few feet away.
"Drizzt I don't care about anything that happened tonight," she burst out, tears pouring down her cheeks. "All I care about is you being here with me now and getting well. I am so, so sorry about how I treated you. I don't want such stupidity to break us apart. I'm so sorry!"
She burst into tears and laid her head on his chest. He slowly lifted a hand and gently rubbed her shoulder, eventually running his thin fingers through her auburn hair. It was a perfect moment, Catti-brie thought. Drizzt was alive and here with her now; nothing else mattered.
"I love you, Catti-brie," he cooed in her ear.
"I love you to, Drizzt darling," she replied, lifting her head and kissing him.
"Did you know you smell like Innovindil's hair?" he said lazily
A chill ran down her spine. Drizzt gave a light chuckle, obviously still under the effects of the sleeping potion.
"Sorry I missed it," he said again with another loud laugh.
Catti-brie smiled and laughed along, putting a hand through his hair once more.
He was here with her now and everything would be different.