Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Drizzt Do'Urden or any other characters or settings copyrighted to RA Salvatore or that is part of the Forgotten Realms. The only thing I claim ownership of is the story idea and any original characters in this story.

Credits: Nizzre belongs to me.

AN: Aha, the first chapter. It is going really fast, and the times seem iffy. Overall its alright, but it could use some work.

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Nizzre stalked through the mines, glowering at the dwarves that dared to say a word to him. He didn't care, as they looked shocked then walked off grumbling about 'unruly youths.' He knew at that very moment the Companions of the Hall were preparing to leave for their adventure in the wilds of Icewind Dale, and it only served to put him into an even more sour mood. He let his mind drift, his legs taking him wherever they willed him…

It had been several years since he had been left on the surface by the band of drow elves he had been with. He hadn't even began his training with the house Weapons Master, and when Nizzre's oldest sister mentioned it to the young elf – knowing full well how much he would fume that he couldn't go on his own travels – he had hastened to put a pack together and to follow the band. When they had caught him, they dragged him along on the raid, the priestess making sure to use her three-headed whip whenever he opened his mouth to utter a word.

On the day of the raid, he had been saved by another drow, who had been in the area at the same time – at the time, he hadn't known there were any rogue dark elves – and was taken in. Nizzre had thought he had finally gotten his chance for the adventure he wanted.

He had been wrong. The drow, Drizzt, had been on his way back to Icewind Dale with his friends – Cattie-Brie, Wulfgar, Bruenor, Regis, and a black panther – and had started training him when they got to the mines, but had refused to let him wander too far from Ten-Towns.

Once Nizzre's thoughts returned from the past to the present, his mood returned. "I want the chance. This is boring." His red eyes glittering, he ran off, bowling over a young dwarf as he went.

- - -

Drizzt let his cowl back, letting the chilled wind hit him in the face, relishing in the feeling of the open road ahead of them. They were only half a day out, but the group were already revved up for the fight awaiting them in the form of Highwaymen, and the bands of orcs and the yetis that would no doubt get in their way.

Bruenor led the charge, his one-horned helmet sitting atop his head and his axe in hand. "Ye must of done tha' boy some good. He didn' even try to follow us!" he remarked, as the drow came up to him.

"I did not. The last words I had with him were on the hill," Drizzt said, to the surprise of his friends. They picked up on the foreboding feeling that ran through, that something was amiss. Cattie-brie looked over her shoulder, back toward the invisible Ten-Towns.

"Mightin' he try to come after us?" the auburn haired woman asked. Regis looked back in the same direction, as did they all for several long minutes, before shaking his curly haired head.

"Could Nizzre manage it?" he dared to mumble. Drizzt nodded, more then confident that the young drow could at least find them before trouble found him, as he turned back to start the long trek again.

"He will know whether he is to stay or to leave."

- - -

Entreri rolled his eyes, listening to the tune deaf drow next to him, as he belted out an old sailor song about a 'beautiful mermaid' that saved a ship from its inevitable destruction. The assassin doubted the mermaid was beautiful, and that any sailor would just let her swim off after months at sea with no women within sight until then if she was. "Would you shut your mouth? You're likely to kill anyone within a two mile radius of us with that infernal noise you are making!"

Jarlaxle stopped, folding his arms and staring at the human. "Infernal noise, you say? My singing is no worse then that singer's in the last town we were in," he said, getting a scowl from Entreri.

"If you would care to look around, we are not sitting in a tavern with the drunks that would belt out any song that came to their mind without a thought." The drow looked calculatingly at him, before doing a graceful leap over a fallen log.

"By the leads from the townspeople, we shouldn't be too far off from the group that ran with this weapon," Jarlaxle commented, shifting the subject over to spare another night of being glowered at by the grim assassin. "Night is falling. We should stop for the night, so that we will be well rested to search in the morning…we are nearing the pass by the day."

Noting the humor in the dark elf's voice, Entreri looked impassive, indifferent. The pass in question led to Icewind Dale, the home of his former rival – and obsession – Drizzt Do'Urden. After his death, however, it was nothing more then a frigid land that held the cool of winter year round to the dark man. "And we are to wait, why? I was under the assumption that neither of us were wearied yet," was his reply.

Jarlaxle looked around, the scenery surrounding them only slightly new to him after being on the roads of the surface for a score of months with Artemis Entreri. "We are to wait," he started, choosing his words carefully as Entreri's cold gray eyes bore into his own red ones, "so that if we are to be ambushed, we will not be drained as swiftly as if we ran through the night."

His eyes narrowed, Entreri turned away, started through the trees again. Jarlaxle noticed immediately that their course had changed; they had been headed straight toward the area of the path, but now Entreri was leading him to the west of it. He snickered quietly, seeing that his silent friend had, without saying it, agreed.

- - -

Nizzre felt sweat trickling down his face, as he sat behind a frost-covered boulder. He felt horrible, as his body protested against the beating it had taken on an hour earlier from the battle with a yeti. The yeti hadn't actually won, but neither had the young drow; both had taken damage, however.

He shivered, standing up to continue on his way, wishing for nothing more then the warmth of a fire and the company of his adoptive family. Sluggishly, Nizzre trudged on, grinding his teeth in anger at himself for not bringing any salves for injuries. He promised to chastise himself later, once he was in the safety of a group.

"Why does he always have to be right!" Nizzre seethed, kicking with a booted foot at the ground. There was the glow of a light in the distance, silencing the raging child, and he stared incredulously at it before letting out a yell. "It's them!"

As his voice echoed from various areas, he frowned. The light was quite far for him to walk in a short amount of time. Going off it, it appeared that he had a good few hours to go, and by then it would be far into the night.

The prospect of walking, tired and sore, into the darker hours of the night didn't appeal to Nizzre at all.

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