Author's Note: Thank you so much to all of my reviewers, particularily Yulandia (formerly san-san) and A Ninny Mouse! You are all fabulous, and I'm not exaggerating when I say you are what keeps me writing. Without your encouragement and suggestions, I never would have gotten over my writer's block. Please keep telling me what you think!
Sorry about the false alert. Got a bit of cold feet over this chapter. Not sure if it speeds things up too much or not...please let me know, okay? I'll repost it if it needs to be fixed. :)
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 5
Revealing Dreams
Tonight, Kimmuriel had perplexing dreams. It was rare that the drow dreamt at all; he sought sleep simply because he needed it; he took no enjoyment in sleeping. When he did dream, it was short, disconnected fragments, summoned from the trauma surrounding the events of the night his family had perished, or when he had a large problem he was working on. They certainly were not so long, so real, so overpowering as this dream was.
He saw it clearly: Nadina's black skin gleaming with sweat, her bare chest heaving, her ivory hair strewn across the pillow, her eyes clouded with lust for him and him alone, wanting him, and he could feel her under him, the softness of her skin under his lips, the taste of her sweat—he woke suddenly, panting and sweaty, heated all over and shaking, desires he had not felt in Lolth-knows-how-long pounding through him. His eyes were drawn to her form where she lay on her side, her back to him, blithely unaware of his problems, and oh, how the covers outlined the slimness of her waist—
The drow sat up abruptly, turning away from her, berating himself harshly in his mind for losing control. He heaved himself to his feet and dressed hurriedly. He needed to get out of this stuffy room, away from her; he needed to walk, to move. The dream had clouded all of his normally attuned senses; he had no idea how long he had slept, but as he stepped into the hallway, he realized only an hour had passed as he lay asleep. Knowing that, he knew he needed to sleep, or be too tired to be of any use the next day, but the sheer thought of going back into bed with her sent a shiver up his spine and a spasm of heat through his belly.
The drow walked through the tunnels for seemingly hours before finally settling at the table in the room containing Jarlaxle's throne, where he set his elbows on the wood and his head in his hands. The walking had helped little; the intensity of the dream still clung to him like lightning. Her scent followed him, it seemed, driving him mad. He slammed a fist into the table. How could he lose such control, at a time like this? He, who always had such discipline, and now he couldn't stop his thoughts from slipping back to the velvet softness of her skin, the way her hair flowed, the look in her eyes—he growled and leaped from his chair, pacing the room violently. What was wrong with him? Was this some trick of Jarlaxle's, some side effect of the spell he had woven around them? He wished that was the case, but he doubted it. And he knew why he couldn't squash his desires.
He stared at the wall. He did not like intense emotion, because it took over him, clouded his judgment, made him feel like he was not him. His previous experiences with the few drow females who had requested his presence had been, while not unpleasant—oh no, not unpleasant at all—but he had never truly experienced them to their fullest. He had seen it as a test, to keep his wits about him, to not lose control. Why were his feelings, his desires, so much more intense now? Because of the dream? Because of the length of time he had gone without bedding a woman? Or was there something deeper at work—was it because she was a human female, not a drow woman, and he could take charge this time, instead of being subjugated to a woman's will, fearing punishment if he did not perform to expectations?
That was the other problem—she was human. He had spent so much of his life looking down on humans in disdain. How could he see her as a partner now? It rebelled against his nature. Yes, Jarlaxle used humans to settle his own needs—but Kimmuriel was not willing to sink to the same depths. In truth, he felt that the mercenary leader was a bit too inconstant for his own good, but that was Jarlaxle. Then again, if Nadina was his only partner—he won't be like Jarlaxle were that the case. And her skin was black, like his, making her seem more drow than human. It had certainly been enough for him in his dream earlier, he scoffed. As for others talking about him, well, they already were. And he had no family left to disgrace. And the mercenaries still followed Jarlaxle willingly enough—but Jarlaxle was Jarlaxle, and a lot of rules seemed to not apply to him.
Unbidden, Nadina's thoughts from earlier rose in his mind. He had purposely shoved the idea of half-drow children from his mind, unwilling to confront it then. Now, it came back, and he let it, though he winced. Still, Kimmuriel was logical, and it was a fact that had to be confronted. He knew it was possible for a human woman to conceive children spawned by a drow father. Children were not something he would ever be able to deal with, not here, not in this life. Then again, if one bore his own psionic powers, it could be helpful to the mercenary party, he realized with a start. And why couldn't he raise children here? Nadina had nothing else to do anyway, and the thought of his family's name continuing, despite the attempts of Menzoberranzan to eradicate it, was very pleasing to him, a sort of personal revenge and triumph. The drow lieutenant sank down into the chair again with a barely audible sigh. He was beginning to calm, much to his relief, such that he considered returning to his room. He really did need to sleep. Besides, he needed to prove to himself that he remained in control. Perhaps—just perhaps—he could indeed enjoy the human as Jarlaxle had no doubt intended for him to. And perhaps it would be wise for him to fulfill that intention while Jarlaxle was gone and escape his taunts for a few days. But not tonight; the hour was late, and he required sleep.
His walk back through the corridors to his quarters was slow, every step deliberate. He was surprised that it had gotten so late while he paced and thought. He would only have a few hours of sleep before he had to rise and begin his duties for the day. He only hoped vehemently that he did not have another such dream.
He opened the door to his room slowly and stepped inside, instinctively quiet, though he knew he wouldn't wake her. The drow didn't need a light to see her form still in the bed—now facing him, still asleep. Quietly, he removed his tunic and shirt and slipped back into bed, lying on his side, his back to her. But he was wide awake, every nerve focused on control, his keen ears picking up every soft breath that came from between her lips. He eventually drifted off into a light sleep listening to her.
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Jarlaxle and the soldiers he had taken with him to complete Bregan D'aerthe's current mission would be gone from their headquarters near Menzoberranzan for a tenday, if not a few days more. Even though they were deep in the Underdark, it did not take the drow as long to travel through the maze of tunnels as it did the other races. The first days would be spent in transit. After that, they would emerge on the surface at night, and begin their work. The majority of the planning had been between Jarlaxle and Rai-guy Bondalek, his other lieutenant, but Kimmuriel knew the majority of the mission: a drow family in Menzoberranzan had contracted the mercenary group to deal a blow to a mining operation that had begun shorting them when it came to paying their dues, and the drow were making it known that the miners were very much at the mercy of the drow.
It was Kimmuriel's job to ensure that operations at their headquarters continued running smoothly. His first day's task was to insure that a shipment of weapons and equipment from traveling gray dwarf merchants was delivered and stored, and he had to bargain with them, as they wanted more than the first set price, thanks to some dangers they had encountered on the way. Secondly he had to meet with any representatives of drow families who wanted to engage Bregan D'aerthe. And he was responsible for making sure the perimeter guards in the tunnels reported in on time, and that the defenses remained secure in case of an attack—or if any of their prisoners tried to escape.
He let Nadina come with him. Without Jarlaxle to make underhanded comments at the sight of her, or the majority of the other drow present to threaten her, he thought it was a good time to let her out and get some exercise. She was certainly relieved, from what he read in her mind. And at least, if she was with him, she would not be drawing any more sketches of him, or let her thoughts wander in dangerous directions. In fact, she proved very useful. She was a very quick learner, and figured out quickly which scrolls of parchment he needed and when he needed them, several times she supplied him with things he had misplaced, and when he bargained with the dwarves, they were a bit more cooperative than usual at the sight of what they undoubtedly assumed to be one of the feared drow females.
In short, the first day Jarlaxle was gone passed very quickly, and then it ended with a meal in the mess hall, which was quite empty, both because of the lack of inhabitants present and because they ate rather late. But Nadina never once complained or attempted to escape; in fact, she even smiled at him once, the first time she had even done such a thing. Of course, it was also after the first time he thanked her for something…
That event bewildered him. He had shoved all thought of it out of his mind, as he was very busy at the time, but now he let it come back. She had handed him a scroll he had been searching for while recording the equipment the gray dwarves had brought, and the expression of gratitude had sprang to his lips instinctually. It was an odd feeling, but he had to admit, they had made a very good team. It had seemed so natural to work together, to be close to her all day. He wondered if she knew of the effect her appearance had had on the gray dwarves.
They walked silently through quiet corridors back to Kimmuriel's quarters, each in their own thoughts, the comfortable silence broken only by the sound of their feet, Nadina's louder than Kimmuriel's, however hard she tried to match his. He stole a glance at her. Now, alone with her for the first time today, it was as if her presence burned; he could almost feel heat coming from her beside him in the dark. He was both relieved and filled with dread when they reached his rooms.
She entered first, clearly exhausted after a long day and glad to be able to sleep, he followed her, his attitude a bit more subdued. He locked and secured the door, as he always did, and slowly moved to his side of the bed, where he pulled his tunic and shirt over his head and folded them over the back of their usual chair. He turned to find Nadina already curled up in bed. He sent her sleep, and then climbed into the bed himself. But he was envious of her, wishing he himself had someone to send him to sleep. Instead, he lay on his back in the dark, staring up at the ceiling and listening to her every slight sound long into the night.
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Thankfully, Kimmuriel did not dream again that night as he had feared, but his sleep was far from restful and not deep: he tossed and turned and woke much earlier than he usually did. He lay for a moment, feeling almost as exhausted as the night before, then heaved a sigh and sat up, bringing his knees up and resting his forearms across them. There was no point in continuing to sleep, he knew. It would be a waste of time; he would not rest, and Kimmuriel Oblodra did not waste time. But the list of tasks waiting for him to accomplish today made him wish he could sink into sleep, and he allowed himself a moment of stillness before plunging into them.
The psionic drow turned his head to his left, where Nadina slept on. She was curled delicately on her right side, facing him. He watched her peaceful face for a moment and then reached out and took a lock of her silky hair in his hand, letting it run through his fingers. It was an oddly comforting and relaxing gesture, he discovered, rolling the ends around his fingers. With her hair covering her round human ears, she looked completely drow. Her ribs rose and fell slowly, slightly, as she breathed, her lips just barely parted. The picture was beautiful, he found himself thinking. His eyes fastened on her full lips, remembering the softness of her skin in his dream, and, very slowly, he leaned down, slipped one hand under her chin to turn her face upwards, and gently pressed his lips to hers.
His mouth met hers perfectly, as if the two were made for each other, her lips as soft as he thought they would be, and a wave of heat and desire twisted his gut, making sweat break out on his back and arms, and he surprised himself by groaning against her mouth. Gently, he pulled back, breathing quickly, his limbs shaking. The drow rose from his bed and made his way into the smaller attached room, where he took a very long, very cold bath.
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An hour later, he was again looking down at his sleeping bed mate, but now he was fully dressed and feeling much more in control of himself. Very quickly, he laid his deft fingers on her forehead and woke her up, and then he moved away and headed out the door before she was fully aware of her surroundings.
His long bath had made his exit from his room at his usual time, despite his abnormal waking hour, and he met the usual faces as he made his way to Jarlaxle's throne room to begin the day's duties. He worked nonstop all morning, finishing the supply inventory turning away another group of gray dwarves who wanted to sell them supplies and slaves, as they were fully stocked of the former and had no need of the latter. If a drow warrior wanted to stay in Bregan D'arthe, he was required to pull his own weight.
Finally, lack of food made him stop. He had not eaten breakfast this morning, the idea of food making him slightly sick to his stomach, after affects of his cold bath and desires, but now hunger gnawed at him. First he headed back to his quarters, however.
Nadina was fully dressed, wearing comfortably-fitting shirt, tunic, trousers, and boots. She was seated at the table, that book again in front of her, but she had obviously not been working very long, judging by how blank the parchment was, and she instantly looked up as he entered. He held the door open and jerked his head towards the hallway behind him. She smiled softly and immediately came to her feet, closing the book. They ate and then returned to Kimmuriel's duties, and she was as helpful as the day before.
The day passed marvelously; Kimmuriel accomplished more than necessary, and so was able to start on the project that had been nagging him for months: organizing the store rooms. Jarlaxle, while he made sure everything was documented and put away, was not the best of organizers, and the disarray of the store rooms had been a thorn in Kimmuriel's side for months. Late in the afternoon, he led Nadina and handful of workers down to the lowest level of Breagn D'arthe's headquarters, and, selecting one key from a ring containing many, unlocked the first door. He mentally winced at the mess within, and giving sharp orders, began the process of cleaning it.
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"Where do you want these?"
Kimmuriel glanced up from making careful, neat notes on a piece of parchment. They had made good progress on getting the room organized, and as it was now late evening, he had sent the others to dinner and their beds, leaving only himself and Nadina to finish. She was holding a box of whet stones for sharpening blades; they had found four half-full boxes of the useful tool in varying sizes and had carefully sorted them. Much to Kimmuriel's chagrin, they had also found several boxes of supplies which had grown moldy or had something chew on them and had to be thrown out.
"Over there," he answered, pointing to a back corner and making another mark on the parchment as she sidled past him and placed it where he had indicated. To his relief, she had a knack for organization to; by skimming her thoughts he had learned that she was as annoyed at the clutter as he was. That done, he rolled the scroll up and set it in a box to finish tomorrow, moving that box to the side as well, and turned to see where Nadina was. She was looking curiously at a greave she had pulled out of a crate beside the one she had set down, holding the forearm armor up and turning it from side to side, admiring the delicate carvings in the metal.
"This is beautiful work," she commented quietly, and he came up next to her and lifted one out himself.
"These were made by the gray dwarves," he explained, running a thumb over the one he held. "And yes, they are clever metalworkers." He traced the patterns in the metal absentmindedly, watching her intent face. As he did, he suddenly realized how close to her he stood; before, he had been too intent on the greaves to notice how close he stood to her: any closer, and they would be touching shoulders. Now, he not only noticed that, but also how little room there was in the store room at all, and that they were not only alone in the room, but probably also on the entire lower level as well. And he noticed the way her lips were pressed together as she studied the metal, and he wondered what it would have felt like if she had been awake this morning when he kissed her, how her lips would feel moving on his instead of being inert. He felt some of the heat that plagued him begin to turn in his gut again, and quietly replaced the greave he had taken back in the box without taking his eyes off her face. Nadina put the greave she had been examining back in the crate as well and took a moment to straighten the stacks of them, and then she turned to look him—and he saw on her face, without needing to read her thoughts, that she was surprised at how close he was, but more at the look in his eyes. Her gaze flickered across his face, unable to hold his, and her cheeks flushed. She took a slight step backwards, but that was all she could do: the drow was between her and the door.
Kimmuriel couldn't help feel a bit of satisfaction at knowing that he confused her as much as she confused him, and the corner of his mouth drew up in the tiniest of smiles. He lifted a hand and slid it under her chin, turning her face up to him. She fought it for a fraction of a second, and then gave in, letting him lift her face to look up at him. Kimmuriel studied her face for the barest of moments, and then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers for a second time that day.
As before, he had the impression of their lips fitting together perfectly, a sealed seam. And that dreaded heat that burst out in the bottom of his belly again wasn't really so dreaded. Nadina had gone absolutely still as soon as he leaned down, closing her eyes, and she still didn't move. He held the kiss a bit longer, relishing in the taste of her and how soft her mouth was and how it conformed to his, and then he pulled back, dropping her chin.
The human opened her eyes again and lowered her face, swallowing. He skimmed her thoughts: confusion was rampant among them. She took a deep breath through her nose before she spoke. "I thought you hated humans," she said quietly, breathlessly, and by pressing into her thoughts even more, he discovered that some of the heat in his gut had also been ignited in hers.
But she asked a valid question. "It has been a long time since I spent any length of time with a drow female," he explained, brutally honest. "Just as you noted the other day that your own males would reject you because of your new skin tones, my female brethren will not allow one of a dead house to be in their presence."
She still wasn't looking at him, but looking down and to her left. He saw her stiffen as she realized by his last statement that he had been prying into her thoughts again, and her head snapped up, true anger in her eyes for the first time. "You were reading my mind again," she snapped. "I never spoke of that—I was alone in your room. How did you hear that?" Underlying her anger, he saw, was fear—what else had he heard while listening to her thoughts?
Kimmuriel did not try to escape her accusation. "Yes, I heard your thoughts the other day. When I am gone, I sometimes reach out to you to be sure that you remain in my quarters and don't try to destroy anything. As for how, my abilities extend quite some distance. I don't need to be in the same room as you to hear your thoughts."
She swallowed, looking away again, fighting her anger and fear and a new wave of despair—would she never be safe from him?—that rolled through her. When she spoke again, it was in a resigned, quiet voice. "Are we going to go eat?"
Kimmuriel gave one nod and turned, leading her to the door and then holding it open for her to exit before locking it again. All in all, he thought as he followed her back to the mess hall, that had gone well.