Author's Note: This story is now dedeicated to the reviewer identified only as san-san, because their reviews are what got me over my horrible writer's block to bring you this update, which is a few pages longer than usual as a special treat for waiting so long for it! As such, many of the ideas in this chapter were given to me by san-san, and they were just so fabulous that I could not refuse to use them! So thank you so much, san-san, and I hope you don't mind that I took your words to heart. And please forgive me (and correct me) if I totally messed up Bregan D'aerthe's headquarters. I couldn't remember many of the details. _
Disclaimer: Nadina Nemiah is my own original character, please PM me or ask in a review if you would like to request to use her somewhere. Everything else belongs to RA Salvatore.
Chapter 4
Confusing Desires
It was the summer she had turned twelve. She had already started her training to be the queen's bodyguard, but the training had not yet reached an intensive pitch, when there was plenty of time for two imaginative girls to be dreamers.
Serenade had not been the first in line for the throne of Armadan. Back then, she had been eleven, rebellious of her mother's wishes that her second daughter act like a lady, and an adventurer at heart. The day was like all lazy summer days; the heat had settled over the land, causing heat waves to create mirages that looked like the creatures they concocted to fight, or noble princes coming to help them save the kingdom. In the midst of hiding from the queen, they usually stole away through the bushes at the back of the palace wall, where they had long ago discovered there was a short tunnel under the wall, where one of the stones had cracked, and they had shimmied through it and out of the bushes that hid it on the other side.
Freedom was a glorious thing. On this day, they stayed near a creek that flowed behind the palace, wading in it often to keep the heat at bay and the sweat out of their eyes. Eventually, being adventurers, they had to explore, and it was natural for them to follow the weaving line of the creek up stream, climbing steadily towards the mountains that rose out of the land not far from the palace and formed one side of the valley the city resided in, splashing and clambering over rocks. They had never followed the creek to its' source before, but this day they did. They found that it bubbled out of a crevice in the rocks at the base of the mountains. The princess had insisted on going into the darkness first. Nadina remembered waiting anxious for her, slightly scared of the unknown but not wanting to be left out of the fun. Finally, she crawled through after Serenade, barely fitting through the opening, but she soon found herself in a small circular cave, the spring forming a pool in the middle.
Neither of the two girls had spoken as they looked around the magical space, their mouths agape as their eyes met. It was their secret from that day until this, their own secret place to run away too, where they shared secrets and hid their treasures. Whenever one of them could not find the other, they immediately went to their place. As they got older and it was harder for them to sneak out of the queen's sight together, they would make their way there separately, until the day they had outgrown the tiny opening, and Serenade's older sister had disappeared, and Nadina's training had intensified. Visiting their cave was forgotten, but every now and then, when they were talking at night, they would speak of their memories in whispers. Remember when...? Remember how...?
Caves had never bothered Nadina. As she grew older and her life became more complicated, she found herself wishing more and more that she could retreat into that secret place again and hide from everything. The stone tunnels she was now walking down had a very different feeling from that magical cave that so much of her childhood had revolved around. Their cave had glowed with life and love, but both were absence from this place. These walls were cold and forbidding, like rigid sentinels, not kind protectors. This was no shelter, no haven, but a prison instead.
Nadina was thankful for the infrared vision her eyes now possessed. There was no light in this lifeless place. She was amazed at the detail that could be conveyed even by only seeing the infrared. She could see the undulations in the wall, the odd, uneven places underfoot—not that there were many, however, because this was a obviously a well-traveled tunnel, as she could see a warmer, flatter strip down the middle of the corridor, loose stones on the fringes. And it was indeed a corridor. Not long after leaving Kimmuriel's quarters, they had passed an intersection with another corridor, and many doors had appeared in the rock walls as they walked. They had yet to see any other drow, however. Nadina supposed they were all out raiding and plundering somewhere, torturing unfortunate citizens.
"Hardly," Kimmuriel said, speaking for the first time since they left, the intrusion of his voice into the silence causing her to jump. "Drow possess no laziness, unlike your human counterparts. Even though Narbondel has only been lit for a few hours, they are awake and working. Most are probably on the training courts, or eating a meal. We have no jobs lined up for another tenday."
It took Nadina a moment to realize he had read her thoughts, and she bristled at the realization, but stayed silent.
"What is Narbondel?" she asked instead after a moment.
"Our way of keeping track of time," he answered matter-of-factly, not breaking stride or looking at her. "It is relit everyday at your midnight. When the sun is highest in the sky on the surface, Narbondel burns the brightest, at its' peak."
Nadina considered this as Kimmuriel led her out of the tunnel and into a rather large (to her; Kimmuriel, having lived in Menzoberranzan, considered it tiny) cavern. They came out about halfway up the wall, and Nadina could see many other tunnels through which drow were entering or leaving the cavern. Below them were what must have been the training courts. She wished she still had her dagger. She, used to sparring everyday, had felt the days of sitting bored in the same room very acutely.
Kimmuriel led her to the left, along the edge of the wall, which had paths running up and down the sides of it, criss-crossing at regular intervals. Their path angled downwards, cut smoothly out of the stone. Probably by magic, she mused.
"Gray dwarves," Kimmurial corrected her, having read her thoughts again. "Quite a few of them work with Bregan D'aerthe." Nadina couldn't resist turning to glare at the drow walking beside her, but he took her arm in a firm grip and roughly turned her into another tunnel. This area was much more traveled. They passed two drow walking in the direction they had come from, and soon the tunnel opened into another cavern, this one only room size. Three or four other tunnels were connected to it as well, but Kimmuriel turned her to the left again and pushed open a door set in the exact middle of the wall with his free hand.
Nadina blinked as the door opened to reveal a throne room of sorts. It was long and narrow, and at the end precisely opposite of them was a stone chair in which Jarlaxle himself lounged, seated sideways, legs over one arm, digging under his nails with a knife point. His hat was draped over the top of the chair. In front on him was an entourage of gray dwarves. Nadina couldn't understand what was being said as Kimmuriel led her to one side of the room, but the mercenary leader appeared to be immensely enjoying himself, and the dwarves appeared to be very upset, or at least annoyed.
Jarlaxle caught sight of them after a moment, and he immediately sat upright and finished his business with the dwarves, who finally looked satisfied as they left the room. Jarlaxle vacated his throne in one smooth maneuver, lithely coming to his feet.
"Here she is!" he exclaimed, coming over to them as Kimmuriel brought her forward, grinning widely—and almost predatorily—down at Nadina. "Well my dear, you look very well indeed." He took her chin in one hand and tilted her head from side to side. "Yes, very pretty. See, I told you black skin and white hair look better. Well? Have you nothing to say at all? Your husband has treated you well, yes?" He laughed at something he found funny. Kimmuriel shifted behind her.
Nadina glared at him. Odd, Jarlaxle was the mercenary leader, and Kimmuriel only a lieutenant, but she could hold Jarlaxle's gaze easily, while Kimmuriel's unnerved her. Maybe it had something to do with his mind reading abilities?
"He isn't my husband," she retorted, voice quiet. Jarlaxle went off into gales of laughter again, walking back to his throne and seating himself languidly, one leg over the arm. He put his arms behind his head and watched her. Kimmuriel moved away from her as well, going to a table on one side of the room and bending over a few books and scrolls. Nadina wasn't sure what she was supposed to do, so she stayed where she was.
"He isn't your husband," Jarlaxle repeated, as if the idea was preposterous. "Really, the poor man spends a tenday caring for you—which he really doesn't want to do, mind you—and he has done quite an extraordinary job of it, I might add, and all you can do is deny him his title?" Nadina glanced at Kimmuriel, but the drow was ignoring the conversation, intent on whatever he was writing. She looked back at Jarlaxle.
"If he really was my husband, he would have not been reluctant to take care of me," she shot back, taking a few steps to her left to face Jarlaxle more fully.
The mercenary leader pulled one corner of his mouth up in a wicked smile. "Oh, would he?" he came to his feet again, stalking towards her, and draped an arm around her shoulders, dragging her against him and turning so they both faced Kimmuriel, moving faster than she could react. "You forget several things when you make such statements, I am afraid. No, no, my dear, you are indeed very well cared for, and I am immensely pleased. See now, perhaps your new vision had let you forget the color of his skin—"
"Not likely," Nadina cut in, and Jarlaxle grinned down at her.
"No," he agreed. "But Kimmuriel is indeed a drow, and one of my best, and one of my most ruthless. Drow excel at killing fragile surface things, but keeping them alive—that is much harder. So the fact that Kimmuriel is keeping you in excellent health is extremely pleasing to me—whether or not he wants to is completely irrelevant, you see. I know Kimmuriel quite a bit better than you, my dear." He gestured to his lieutenant. "See, someone like myself would use you for his own purposes and grow tired of you extremely quickly—nothing personal, you understand." He patted her cheek. "You really are very lucky, you just don't know it yet." He hugged her tighter, and then released her. Nadina certainly didn't feel particularly special as Jarlaxle walked back to his throne.
Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel spoke of other things for a few minutes, and then Kimmuriel led her out of the throne room. Jarlaxle watched them leave with a wide smile on his face. He was pleased, oh so very pleased, with the way his plans were turning out.
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Kimmuriel didn't take her with him the next day. Nadina was once again left to her own devices. She stared boredom straight in the eye and met it head on. Her activity yesterday and seeing the practice courts had strengthened her resolve to not let her carefully trained physique fade away. She moved the table and chairs, pushing them to one side of the room to give herself space. Taking off her cloak and thick tunic so she stood in her trousers, shirt and boots, she stood in the middle of the space and resumed the ready position her teacher had drilled into her mind. She held it for a moment before slowly starting the form shifting exercises designed to work on balance and strength.
The first took her almost ten minutes to complete. She stood to catch her breath for a moment, and then she started in on another practice manuever, a faster one. By the time she finished her workout, she was satisfied. She moved the table and chairs back and then bathed in the room off to one side, the door closed. Kimmuriel shouldn't be back for a while yet, but she didn't want to take any chances.
After her captor delivered her lunch and disappeared, Nadina again felt boredom reaching out to catch her. Defiantly, she rose from her chair and moved over to the bookshelves, retrieving the book she had found the diagrams in, and carried it to the table to study the drow script again. She paused, an idea occurring to her, and went to Kimmuriel's desk. She hadn't ever touched it before, worried that he would have placed some sort of nasty protective spell over it. Taking a risk, she reached out and opened a drawer. It opened easily, with no flashes or bangs, and she saw what she was looking for: clean sheets of parchment. She lifted one from the top of the stack and closed the drawer and picked up a piece of charcoal from the top of his desk before going back to the table, sitting down and beginning to practice drawing the characters.
The script was curvy and elegant, and she enjoyed drawing it, adding her own embellishments and flair, enjoying herself immensely. A long time ago, she had enjoyed art and taken to sketching quite frequently. She was told that her sketches were good, but she herself felt they were a bit mediocre. Still, she enjoyed studying trees and birds and people and putting it down on paper. Speaking of people, a face had emerged in her doodles, and she blinked in surprise as Kimmuriel's face stared back at her out of the lines on the parchment. He really did have a handsome face, she decided, but she hadn't quite gotten his jaw quite right. Determined, she moved to a blank spot on the parchment and began drawing again, frowning in concentration as she shaped the drow's face with her charcoal.
Without warning, she heard the door starting to open, and she shoved the parchment into the book and slammed it shut, jumping up and returning it to its' spot on the shelf. She had just turned from setting the charcoal back on the desk when he entered the room.
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Nadina's second tenday in the care of the dark elves passed without any further events. She continued her practice moves daily, though she wished she had her dagger back. She continued studying the drow letters, but without knowing the sounds, she had no way to string them together into words, and after she drew them all several times, her lines dissolved into doodles and sketches. She drew a deal of things from the surface, things that she missed—trees, animals, Serenade, waterfalls, mountains, the palace and city—but time and again Kimmuriel's face emerged on the parchment as well. She was simply fascinated with the drow's face, and no matter how hard she tried, every one of her drawings was lacking in some regard. For all intents and purposes, they looked like Kimmuriel—but something was missing from them, and she could not figure out what. She kept the drawings in the book. She had no where else to put them, after all, and she hadn't ever seen him use that particular book, as it was on the top shelf and dusty, and she figured it was about the safest place.
Thinking about the future was another thing she did. What Jarlaxle had told her weighed heavily on her mind. She had no love for the drow, but she despised Kimmuriel slightly less knowing that he was somewhat trapped, as she was. Not much, after all it could be a drow trick, but a little all the same. Honestly, Jarlaxle was right. She was receiving better treatment than she had ever thought she would, and she supposed she had to be thankful for that. She shivered at the thought of being in Jarlaxle's clutches. He seemed like the merciless type.
The gravity of her situation was finally beginning to sink into her. Not only would it be nigh impossible to slip away from and escape a drow who possessed mind reading abilities, but she had no idea how to get to the surface from here, and even if she did, she looked like one of the devils now. There was no way she could back to her former life, not like this.
Overcome with hopelessness, Nadina threw herself down on the floor, sitting with her back against the bed. The drow were a cruel, hardened, well-oiled machine. How could one lone human do anything against so powerful a foe? There was a reason the drow were so feared on the surface. But the thought of not seeing the sun and stars, and trees, animals, her home again dropped such an ache on her heart that she felt her throat tighten, and her breathing paused before she broke down, hiding her face in her knees as she sobbed for the first time in a very, very long time, silent but shaking.
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Kimmuriel's patience was being sorely tested this tenday. He had successfully ignored the conversation Jarlaxle had had with Nadina the day he had brought her with him, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard it. Jarlaxle had been merciless since then, asking all sorts of things. Kimmuriel knew the tactic after spending so much time with the mercenary leader: Jarlaxle was trying to figure out what he was thinking. The lieutenant was stoically denying him any information. Much of working with Jarlaxle involved simply grinning-and-bearing it.
Kimmuriel himself had no true feelings on the matter of his roommate, either. Sure, she took up space, but she wasn't a madwoman, and he never spent much time in his quarters anyway. She would probably wither soon from being in the Underdark, cut off from the sun, anyway. Humans were such pathetically fragile creatures. He would humor Jarlaxle; it would make his relationship with the mercenary leader easier in the future. And that was what was important.
With the mercenary party's next job coming up, Kimmuriel was very busy—in part because Jarlaxle was leaving him here, to watch over things while he was gone. Kimmuriel knew the real reason was Nadina, however. Jarlaxle was leaving him here with her. Honestly, Kimmuriel had no feelings about that, either. He did not mind staying; his quarters were more comfortable than anything on the road. Still, he would have gone to get rid of Jarlaxle's snarky comments about him waiting until the mercenary leader was gone to "have fun" with his human bride and shooting him knowing, sidelong glances and putting innuendos in their conversations with the other soldiers that left Jarlaxle laughing and everyone else confused. Jarlaxle insisted on calling her his "bride". He seemed quite taken with the human idea, for some reason. Part of Kimmuriel was convinced that Jarlaxle had concocted this idea just for creating confusion and mayhem within the mercenary party. Kimmuriel won't put it past him, and he knew from skimming the thoughts of others that rumors of the human captive were certainly flying, and while some of them made Kimmuriel snort at the stupidity, some were certainly dark and private in nature. Still, Kimmuriel was not the type to be affected by rumors. He observed them circling, but let them continue circling.
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The day that Jarlaxle and the majority of the soldiers were to leave, Kimmuriel rose earlier than usual. His mind milling with thoughts, things that he had to accomplish in a short time, he rose from the bed and dressed. One of these was checking up on an obscure human custom. Moving to his bookshelf, he reached up and deftly plucked a book off the top shelf, surprised at how little dust it had accumulated on the binding. It was been quite a while since he had needed this particular tome. Supporting the binding with a hand, he flipped it open, and started flipping through the pages, looking for a certain passage. To his surprise, several sheets of parchment fell out from a page detailing the differences in drow and human script, scattering on the floor. With a frown of bewilderment, the drow knelt down, collecting them up. He stopped.
Across each page, drow script flowed in neat, even lines, but it was illegible, like that of a child practicing the letters. Towards the bottom of the pages, the lines of writing dissolved into sketches and drawings. Kimmuriel had not been caught off-guard by anything in a very long time, but seeing his own face looking back at himself caused him to physically rear back from the page—not in revulsion; the image was actually surprisingly accurate and detailed, and Kimmuriel had no problems with his appearance, but in genuine surprise. Still holding the sheets, he turned, his eyes falling on the figure curled in his bed, asleep. He had thought that she hated him. Why, by Lolth, was she drawing pictures of him? Sure, he was not the only thing she had drawn—and she had quite a deal of talent—but he was the only drow, and he was the only thing drawn on all of the pages, sometimes multiple times. Kimmuriel could find no logical reason for her to do such a thing, and if there was one thing he could not stand, it was lacking a valid answer to a conundrum. He stared at the human, as if looking at the artist would make her intent appear, and cursed inwardly that he had no time to explore the problem right now. He put the parchment pages in the desk drawer and looked through the book to find the answer he needed, and then set that on the desk too, pulled his cloak on and woke his human guest, and walked out the door to attend to his myriad tasks.
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Jarlaxle noted Kimmuriel's distraction almost immediately, and triumphantly pounced on it, hopeful that the change in his lieutenant's mood meant that he had finally gotten to know all of the human. All of his questioning was fruitless, however, and from the general uptightness of the other dark elf, Jarlaxle concluded that no, he hadn't, and he was saddened and slightly frustrated. Why was Kimmuriel taking his time? He would have already enjoyed her presence immensely, if he had kept her for himself. Jarlaxle had sought a release for his desires long ago; surely Kimmuriel knew that he would never be able to be with a drow female again? Jarlaxle had given him as close a substitute as possible. He shook his head. Today was not the day to pry into the other's business. He had no choice but to keep his fingers crossed that Kimmuriel would be much more relaxed when he returned and concentrate on their task today.
Kimmuriel worked diligently, going over the lists of supplies one last time, checking that all the necessary soldiers were present and accounted for, and the hundreds of other odds and ends he was responsible for as a lieutenant. But Nadina was in the back of his thoughts the whole while he worked. Several times, he briefly paused and reached out to his quarters, curious to see if his guest had gone to draw him again. The third time he checked, it appeared that she had, and was quite distraught about the fact that he had discovered her secret. He stepped into a vacant supply room for a moment and closed his eyes, concentrating more fully on her thoughts, taking a sort of morbid fascination from the fact that she was as confused by it as he was.
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Nadina blinked as she woke up, and, still not being able to see, closed her eyes and shifted her eyes to see in infrared vision again. They sometimes switched while she slept, she had noticed. That done, she sat up, stretching, as Kimmuriel left, shutting the door behind him, and yawned. She shook her hair, and reached up to comb her fingers through it with a grimace at the tangles. She turned, moving to stand up.
She didn't notice until she went to retrieve the tome and resume her writing and drawing from the day before. She reached up to grab the book and found nothing but an empty space where it had been. Heart in her throat, she turned to look around the room, her eyes alighting on it on the desk. She hurried over, immediately flipping the book open to the place where she had left the parchment. It was gone, and she cursed out loud. Kimmuriel had found it, obviously. Groaning, she closed the book and hid her face in her hands in embarrassment. How could she face him again? Yes, she had admitted to herself that the drow had physical qualities that made him attractive to most human women. But for him to know that was completely different. Besides, he was a drow! What was she thinking, letting any thoughts of desire even cross her mind. Unbidden, an image of his shirtless torso, the bed sheets gathered at his waist, rose in her mind, and her blush deepened as she shoved the image away. He was a drow, the enemy, she told herself firmly, but her attraction to him would not be wished away so easily. Moaning in despair, she collapsed on the bed again, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling. She lifted her hands, staring at them. Would it be so bad? she wondered. No human man would have her now, after all, not with the inkiness of her skin. At least, not easily. And there were few human men that she had even been attracted to in the first place. But what of children? She bit her lip. She knew humans and drow could have children; she had heard rumors of such things happening, though they were, of course, frowned upon. What would half-drow, half-human children look like, she wondered? Would the inky blackness of their sire win out against the milky paleness of their mother, or would they bear more evidence of their human heritage? Of course, she was no longer pale...
Wait a moment, why was she thinking about this? It was ridiculous, living underground for so long must be addling her brains. She rolled over and shoved her head under her pillow. How could she even consider consenting to live here for the rest of her life? This was a prison: she was fed like an animal, let out only at her master's discretion, and locked away from everything she loved. How she consider just sitting by and letting that become her life without fighting back? She drew a deep breath and vowed to shove any and all desires for Kimmuriel down into a very deep, very dark place and not let them surface again.
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Kimmuriel blinked as he finally pulled himself out of her thoughts, staring dumbstruck at the wall in front of him—something that did not happen very often to the competent lieutenant. Her thoughts swirled violently in his—half-drow children, confusion, consideration of the life ahead of her, anger at herself, the image of him—and served to only to raise more questions for him to answer. She was…attracted to him? The possibility had never crossed his mind, and the realization left him with a weird mix of bewilderment and…satisfaction? Triumph? She was human, something Jarlaxle was toying with, ibilith at worst, a pet at best. She was right, however, in her observation that no human man would have her now. Whatever she said, they would believe her defiled and disgraced by the drow. Still, he had to admire her determination to not remain in the Underdark forever, even if he knew it was fruitless. She was down here until she died, Jarlaxle had seen to that. Generally, once someone caught Jarlaxle's eye, they had to put up with him until they were dead—which usually wasn't very long.
Kimmuriel delayed returning to his room at the end of the day for as long as possible—not avoiding his confusing guest, but wanting to straighten out his thoughts before she tangled them even more. It was not to be, and he eventually had to resign himself to the fact that he could find nothing else to do this evening, and return to his quarters.
She was seated at the table, cheek leaning on one hand, and immediately sat up straight as he entered. He ignored her as he usually did, hanging his cloak up and crossing the room. She rose as he walked past her. He bent, undressing himself for sleep. When he turned around again, she had done the same, standing beside the bed in her loose shirt and breeches, just as they always did—odd that he considered her part of his routine. He wondered how comfortable she must be sleeping in those confining clothes. Wordlessly, she sat down on the bed, and he leaned over, setting fingers on her forehead and sending her to sleep, laying her down and covering her in the blankets. He paused, staring down at her contemplatively. No, this human Jarlaxle had given him was not ugly, he admitted that to himself as he leaned back. Very far from it, in fact. He let his gaze linger on her form a moment longer, and then he went to the other side of the bed and laid down himself, gazing at her profile. Unable to resist, he reached out and traced her profile, across her forehead, down her nose, over her lips, down her neck to the divot in her collar bone. He withdrew his hand and refused the temptation to wake her up and satisfy the need that had just coursed through his gut. He rolled over with a grunt, where he couldn't see her. Kimmuriel may have admitted that he had found attractive qualities in a human, but he was not yet comfortable enough with the idea to act on those desires. He forced her out of his mind and closed his eyes firmly.