Zaknafein

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"I killed her," he said, suddenly lost in the horror of it. It was as if he'd fallen down a chasm and broken every bone of his body, tearing his flesh from the inside out. He felt pain upon pain upon pain, little pains from throughout his body which piled on top of each other until he was shaking.

"Killed who?" Zaknafein said. He stared at Jarlaxle, standing there with a tense expression and his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. They were in the Weapons Master's gymnasium, surrounded by the racks of weapons against the walls and alone in the large, empty space cleared for training and sparring. He kept glancing at the windows and exits.

"Zulameza," the drow mercenary said. He squeezed the name out past a tightness in his heart.

"Oh, her," Zaknafein said. "I don't see why you didn't do it earlier. Spider wenches are all alike – sooner kill you than have sex with you. Don't even want you to do anything but lie there and wait for them to finish. Disgusting."

Jarlaxle knew that his friend had been forced into the situation of being Malice's lover, and had been lover to many members of the weapon master's own common House before that, before he'd made much of himself at the academy. When Jarlaxle had met Zaknafein, he already hated women with a passion that was indomitable. Even Jarlaxle's stories of Zulameza hadn't changed his mind.

"I can't see that it's much of a loss," Zaknafein said, breaking the silence. "After all, she'd had it coming some time. What'd she do? Piss you off?"

The drow mercenary retreated into a state of numbness gratefully, clinging to it with everything he had left. The truth then burst out of him, just when he'd thought he was calmer. "I made her commit suicide," he said, and suddenly he was crying, and wobbling, trying to make his way to Zaknafein's body as unsteadily as if there were an earthquake under his feet. Jarlaxle reached out, wanting to cling to Zaknafein for dear life and hoping it would pass.

The weapons master caught Jarlaxle by the shoulders and looked around fiercely. "We can't talk here," Zaknafein said. The fire never really left his eyes, and Jarlaxle wondered if his friend was angry at him.

Zaknafein led him across the room, down a hallway, and yanked open a door on the right side. He dove inside, pulled Jarlaxle through the door, and then shut it.

"You're lucky I'm allowed a door," Zaknafein said. He looked around, and gestured to his small bed. That was one of the only furnishings a person could sit on in this tiny room, so Jarlaxle walked the four steps from the door and sat down on it. The mattress didn't yield as much as his own, but it was surprisingly soft, for a hardened warrior like Zaknafein.

Zaknafein stayed by the door, obviously feeling that he needed to bar it from intrusion. "Why did you come here? There's no way that you're going to have more privacy here than you would in your own home." Harsh concern penetrated his angry demeanor.

Jarlaxle looked at the other drow fearfully, trembling. His own magic, carefully stored away through his body and clothing, didn't make him feel any safer. His hat was at an awkward angle, almost falling off his head. "I don't know."

He stared at Zaknafein's bare torso, his friend naked from the waist up. The weapons master's skin shone from the exertion of his work out, which Jarlaxle had undoubtedly interrupted by walking into the room unannounced. He perceived for the first time that the delicate musculature of his friend's body was oddly beautiful.

"You don't know?" Zaknafein repeated.

Jarlaxle's response showed his disorientation. "I was walking…" He didn't really know why he'd found himself walking along the familiar street that would lead to House Do'Urden, and why he didn't stop himself, or couldn't, even though he knew what he was about to do. Grief will do that to you, he thought, and that thought was outside the dream.

He reached into a secret pocket of his vest and drew out a tiny red gemstone. "This will seal the room," he said. He held it aloft, gently, by the tips of his fingers. A beam of light shot through it. "Agrrach."

Zaknafein stumbled back against the door as the red light bathed the entire room, muttering a curse and rubbing his eyes. Jarlaxle, who was used to it, didn't even blink. When the light faded, he put the gemstone away.

His gaze dropped to the black rug on the floor in front of Zaknafein's bed. He guessed that it must be there to provide some comfort to Zaknafein so that he didn't have to feel his bare feet against the icy stone floor. Such little things indicated that there was more to Zaknafein than being a warrior. These hints were things that poignantly spoke to Jarlaxle about his friend's yearning for comfort, a yearning only blooming in those who had a hope for safety, a reliance on the idea that there would be a future for them.

And he doesn't have one, Jarlaxle thought. Tears welled up and dropped from his eyes, brushing his cheeks on the way down and sinking silently into darkened spots on the sheets of Zaknafein's bed. It's my fault. I should have done something. I should have done something. I could have used my influence to help that boy, or change the direction of Matron Malice's thinking, and I could have given them an excuse not to sacrifice Zaknafein. I could have made a deal. I didn't have a family! I should have gone! An upheaval in his stomach almost made him vomit. "I don't have a family!" Jarlaxle exclaimed.

Zaknafein was at his side instantly, kneeling in front of the bed and looking up at him with one hand on his arm and the other holding his hand. The kindness and openness that only came about when one of his friends was in danger shone through on Zaknafein's face. A family. That was something he could understand. "Did you try to start one?" he asked.

"Please, I, oh…" Jarlaxle looked away and blew his nose on a black handkerchief hastily pulled from his vest pocket.

Zaknafein rose to his feet. "Move over," he said. He helped Jarlaxle slide over to the foot of the bed. Then he unlaced his boots, pulled them off, and set them beside his rug. He gratefully climbed onto the thin bed and stretched out, sinking back against his pillows with a grateful sigh. Jarlaxle didn't know what was going to happen next. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Zaknafein. He had his pillows propped against the wall, and he was reclining against them in a sitting position. He reached out and took Jarlaxle's wrist, pulling the drow mercenary towards him.

Zaknafein encircled Jarlaxle with his arms. "Now tell me about it, alright?"

Jarlaxle's heart was beating wildly in his chest. He knew what was going to happen, and he didn't want it to. He wanted to run from the room and find some way to wake up before it happened again. He didn't think he could bear it if he was forced to experience it again.

Zaknafein's hand reached up and began stroking the back of his head. His friend's expression was patient, and calm, everything he wished he was at that moment. It was just as though they were back at the academy, stealing a moment to be alone by skipping their meditation and meeting at the empty bunks where they and the rest of their peers slept at night. They'd done that so many times, talking in hushed voices and hand signals, saying things that no one else would ever dare to say. Helping each other with their problems, talking about what bothered them, even voicing doubts about teachers, priestesses, Lloth, the surface.

Against his will, he felt himself relax against Zaknafein's chest. He felt confused, as he had felt the first time, and the sensation of his skin against Zaknafein's sweat-slicked skin was new and somehow wondrous. He rested his head against Zaknafein's collarbone and began. Or, he meant to. But his throat constricted as he tried to say the words, and suddenly he was crying, sobbing. "My mother sacrificed me and now I've gone and killed the first woman who would lie with me unpaid," Jarlaxle said, shutting his eyes and hiding against Zaknafein's frame. "I don't know what to do anymore."

Zaknafein's hand stopped on the back of his neck. "Your mother…" he said.

"Wasn't Hostess Trionne of the Pain Gardens," Jarlaxle said. "I lied. Please forgive me. I lied. I lied to protect who I really am and what I really did. I'm alive because every child I will ever have will die in the sacrifice of Lloth, because the first one that lives will replace me, and I will die."

He spoke so quickly that Zaknafein didn't interrupt. He was trying to keep Zaknafein from saying anything, getting a word in edgewise.

"They're dead, all of them, children I will never have, and when I told Zulameza that we have to kill this one, too, she said no. She cried. She locked herself in her room. She wouldn't let me in. I banged and banged and she wouldn't let me in, I cried out her name, and she wouldn't let me in, and I pleaded with the door from one end of the day to the other, and she wouldn't let me in. Finally, the next morning, I found the door unlocked." Jarlaxle squeezed against Zaknafein tighter, trying not to see it in his imagination, "- and there she was – all dead – hanging from a floating chair – I couldn't stay…"

His shoulders shook weakly, and he wasn't sure if he was sobbing, or trying to laugh. No sound would come out. "I don't even know what day it is. Is it still yesterday?"

Zaknafein was silent for a long while. Then he said, "I've never heard of someone managing to escape from the Spider Queen before…even if it did cost them everything they had. She never lets go, no matter what price paid. She did for you." He looked at Jarlaxle directly. "Why?"

"I don't know," Jarlaxle said. He felt very tired. He sagged in Zaknafein's arms. "I wish that it had never happened. I should be the soul of one who has never lived. That would be better than this nonsense you people call a life." He stirred sluggishly, and sank deeper into Zaknafein's embrace. "What is a life, really? What is it but having to walk along a road with everyone mugging you, and trying to yank you off into the abyss on either side. And when you get to the end of the path, all that stands in the barren field is a sign that proclaims, 'Now, you too, mere mortal, shall die, like everyone before you and everyone after'."

Jarlaxle closed his eyes, and waited, for if this was the very end of his life, as he felt it must be, then death would fall upon him, and he would fade back into the room that haunts his nightmares. Instead, he felt life flow through his limbs, beckoning him to open his eyes again.

He looked at Zaknafein, and felt nothing but the ache of despair in his body, weighing him down. "What did I do wrong?" he asked, asking Zaknafein to judge his life, explain to him why the balance of good deeds to damning ones was so predisposed to the latter.

"Nothing," Zaknafein said. He saw the flicker of disbelief in Jarlaxle's eyes, so he said, "Nothing that could be helped." His fingers moved over the back of Jarlaxle's head, gentle, touching the drow mercenary's scalp. "That's just the way life was made." He laughed, a sharp, harsh sound that almost became a cough. "We're all sinners."

I took it to heart, Jarlaxle thought, looking at Zaknafein, trying to fix every detail in his mind, caress it, hold it and keep it safe. I don't worry so much now. Not about that, anyway…We did the best we could…

He worked himself up to what was coming next, inching himself closer to it, futilely trying to make a slow approach to a flame hurt less than a sudden plunge into the fire. "Then one more sin won't hurt the teeming cesspool that we call a society, will it."

Zaknafein rolled his eyes. "What've you done now, you sorry bastard?"

"It's not what I've done, it's what I'm about to do," Jarlaxle said. He was sorry that Zaknafein really had no idea. His fingers traced circular patterns on Zaknafein's chest. He smiled faintly, tilting his head, examining with self-deprecating amusement the look of ignorance in Zaknafein's eyes. "You see, while you've been my friend all this time, I've been lusting after you."

He shrugged, beginning to blush. "Shocking, I know, isn't it, my poor friend. Such naughty thoughts to belong to a trusted associate that you've slept with, helped survive the cannibalistic world of the fighting school, and supported through his personal crises all these years. You don't know the things that I want to do to you. If you did, no doubt you'd have me at the wrong end of a trident just to keep me a safe distance away." He smiled at Zaknafein charmingly.

"I don't believe you," the warrior said, slowly breaking into a grin and giving him a long look of disbelief. Zaknafein uttered a few confused chuckles. Jarlaxle said nothing, merely shook his head, and Zaknafein said, "Come on, you're bullshitting me."

"I'm going to seduce you," Jarlaxle said. Zaknafein gave him a look of incredulous amusement. He shifted his weight to his knees and straddled Zaknafein's legs. "Right here, on this bed." He patted it. "Right now." Zaknafein still didn't believe him. "You'll be wooed by me. You'll be begging me to stop, and then begging me to go on."

"Alright, that's enough," Zaknafein said. "I think you've breathed in some poisonous spores from some of those mushrooms right outside of town, because I'm doing no such thing. Get off my legs, and get off my bed." He put his hand on Jarlaxle's chest and gave him a half-playful shove.

Instead of leaving, Jarlaxle slipped past Zaknafein's defenses and drew close, tracing his fingers in a circle on the weapons master's bare chest and kissing his friend on the lips. There was a moment when Zaknafein tried to draw away, but Jarlaxle drew Zaknafein's mouth more fully into his own. The weapons master fell back against the pillows between him and his stone wall, chest heaving and eyes closed. Zaknafein began pushing back, his tongue moving against Jarlaxle's. He seemed to return Jarlaxle's passion almost against his own will.

The mercenary leaned in, melting against Zaknafein, and in a rare moment, he closed his own eyes. It was just the way he'd imagined it. Zaknafein…was so strong, but he was careful, reigning in a fiery, overwhelming passion that threatened to burst from him and consume Jarlaxle at any moment. So dangerous, but so intoxicating, appealing, satisfying.

He nibbled at Jarlaxle's lips, his hands clenching and then unclenching. The warrior compulsively clutched at his chest, and each time Jarlaxle's heart started beating faster, thinking that Zaknafein was going to turn the tables on the situation and force Jarlaxle into submission. His fingernails dug into Jarlaxle's skin, but then he moved his trembling fingers away, trying not to scratch his friend.

Shuddering, Zaknafein forced his arm between them and gasped, trying to get his breath back. He fell against his pillows, now lopsided and out of shape, his silvery white hair falling into his face. He looked so beautiful that Jarlaxle wanted to reach out and tough him to make sure that he was real.

"You smug bastard," Zaknafein said, his breath catching in his lungs. "You sealed this room for a reason." His eyes held some indescribable emotion so intense that it changed his entire face. "You planned to do this to me all along."

"I'm sorry," Jarlaxle said, putting his hands on the brim of his hat and to try to adjust it so that it wouldn't fall off his head. Then he decided to take it off and hold it in his hands. He looked down at it. "I'm so sorry."

They sat there in silence, listening to Zaknafein slowly regaining his breath. He lay there, propped up on one elbow, until beads of sweat stopped forming on his forehead and running down the side of his face. Then he sat up fully and said, a hard glint in his eyes, "You think it's that easy, do you? You're not getting away with this until I'm done with you." He surged forward, tackling Jarlaxle and pinning him to the bed, one arm across Jarlaxle's throat. When he pressed his full weight down on it, Jarlaxle choked.

The drow mercenary gaped helplessly, trying to breathe, his expression dazed. He struggled to sit up, and was forced back down again by Zaknafein cutting off his air completely. Spinning dizziness instantly took the strength from him. He had the sensation of falling, even though he also felt the smooth sheets of the bed against the back of his head. The dizziness left him and his vision snapped back to sharpness as Zaknafein grabbed his wrists and forced a vicious kiss upon him, biting his upper lip so fiercely that Jarlaxle tasted blood.

"I hated all those bitches you would lie with," Zaknafein said, his eyes blazing with anger reaching the snapping point after being repressed so long, held in check by morals and necessity. "Zulameza's death made you come running to me? If I'd known that this was going to happen, I would've killed her myself a long time ago."

"You mean that you…" Jarlaxle said, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Zaknafein said, snarling, "Why did you think that I stuck by you all these years? Even with our friendship, I should have been glad to part ways with you when we graduated. Our time together was over. We had no reason to need each other. But I did, damn you, and I kept hoping that you'd see it, that you'd look past your nose long enough to realize that it wasn't just you running to me all the time, that I'm here where you can find me for a reason –" He broke off, clenching his teeth and looking away, scowling at nothing.

"Zaknafein…" Jarlaxle said. He paused hesitatingly. Zaknafein reluctantly looked down at him. "Your knee is on my crotch."

Zaknafein looked down, and then shifted. "I'm sorry."

Jarlaxle winced, making a pained smile. "Quite alright. Honest mistake, I'm sure."

"Sorry." Zaknafein looked uncertain, then reached out with a hand. "Do you want me to…"

"No thank you. I do not want you to touch it yet."

Zaknafein said, "I could make it better…"

"No. Thanks all the same. At the moment, that would only cause bruising."

"Oh." Zaknafein looked down at it with a lament on his face.

"Not to worry." Jarlaxle's expression had a slight frostiness to it. "That numb feeling has to go away sometime. I'm sure I will regain circulation soon."

"Are you…?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure. Happens all the time."

"Malice has given me worse."

"I know."

"Females are bitches."

"So I've heard."

Silence.

Zaknafein looked at him with apprehensive curiosity. "Hurt, did it?"

"Incredibly."

Jarlaxle blinked and found himself looking at an unfamiliar ceiling. He shifted, and bumped against the warm, solid mass of Artemis' sleeping body. So I'm back, he thought, looking at Artemis. Feeling the heat from the other man, he shifted closer and wrapped his arms around the assassin.

Artemis' response was to murmur sleepily, then rest his head against Jarlaxle's shoulder and fall more deeply asleep again. He smelled strongly of nutmeg and something sweet.

And you're better than Zaknafein ever was, Jarlaxle thought, stroking his unruly black hair. I'll tell you in the morning.