Recursive fanfic: Forgotten Realms
Sep. 6th, 2023 03:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
somarielFrying Pan; Fire; Freedom and Family (3372 words) by Somariel
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Drizzt Do'Urden, Original Elf Character(s)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ensemble Cast
Summary:
For a single disorienting moment, Sharr could hear and see and smell again... and then everything went black.
When his senses returned, the first thing he noticed was the throbbing ache at his temple. The second thing was that he was lying on his side in the dirt, with his hands bound behind his back. And the third was voices speaking in Common.
"...with armor that fancy, there's pretty much guaranteed to be someone who'll be willing to pay for him," one of them was saying.
"We have no idea how long he was trapped like that, though," another said.
"So?" said a third. "Elves have long lives and longer memories. There's bound to at least be some people who know of him."
Suddenly, there was a loud 'pop' from the fire he could smell the smoke of, and Sharr did his best to not react to it, hoping to hear more.
"All of you need to shut up!" snapped a fourth voice. "He's awake."
"His eyes are still closed," the second voice protested.
"He's a warrior," said the fourth voice. "It'd be instinct for him to take stock of his senses before giving any sign he's aware.
"But his breathing has changed, and he twitched when the fire popped."
Apparently, he hadn't stifled his reaction as well as he had thought.
But given what he had heard before that, Sharr knew it would be to his advantage if these people thought he didn't speak Common, so he kept his eyes closed anyways.
"Bind his feet, move his hands in front of him, and then tie him to that tree," the fourth voice continued, tone full of confidence that he would be obeyed.
And it was not proven wrong, as it was not long before Sharr found himself seated on the ground with his hands bound in front of him, his legs stretched out before him, and his back pressed to a tree trunk by ropes tightly wound over his chest, around his arms, and then around the tree.
Having used the manhandling needed to accomplish the shift as a reason for him to stop shamming unconsciousness, he started to look around the camp with an assessing eye.
But before he could do more than confirm, based on the appearance of the men and their gear, that his captors were indeed bandits, one of them came over to stand at his feet.
And after studying him for a few moments, the bandit spoke, revealing himself to be the owner of the fourth voice.
"What's your name, elf?"
Sharr gave the man a coolly dismissive look and, in Sylvan, responded with "What did you say?"
The man stared at Sharr suspiciously for a moment before drawing a well-made knife. Then, twirling the knife between his fingers in an obvious threat, he repeated his question.
Sharr's only reply was a confused expression, and after locking gazes with him for a moment, the bandit cursed, put away the knife, and started pacing in a circle.
"What's wrong?" a man on the far side of the camp—not one of the other three Sharr had heard speaking—called.
"He doesn't speak Common," the one near Sharr—who was probably the leader—answered.
"Try Goblin or Orc," another new voice suggested, from off to Sharr's left.
"If he doesn't know Common, what the fuck makes you think he'd know those?" the leader snarled.
"Practicality," came the reply. "Knowing an enemy's language can help in fighting them."
The leader stopped pacing, and after a clear moment of thought, he turned to face Sharr and said, in Goblin, "What name, elf?"
Sharr wrinkled his nose, as if he found the language distasteful, and replied, as haughtily as he could manage, "What name, human?"
The ringing slap wasn't truly surprising, given the "arrogant and superior elf" act he was putting on, but the speed with which it had happened was.
And by the time his head had stopped spinning, the leader had knelt beside him, yanked his head around to face the man with a grip on his chin, and locked eyes with him from just a foot away.
"Give name or suffer," the man said, in a coldly threatening tone.
Sharr took a very brief moment to weigh things, and chose to resort to an old dodge. "Name Liir," he said.
Seven days after their arrival at the half-ruined small keep that the bandits used as a hideout—and ten after he had awoken as their prisoner—Sharr heard an odd commotion coming down the hall towards the room—which had clearly been used for such a purpose before—that the bandits had imprisoned him in.
The sound of something scraping along the floor was the primary component, but there were also frequent sounds of flesh hitting stone or other flesh, which were invariably followed by cursing.
And although he knew better than to let any sign of it escape, he could not help but be amused by the fact that whoever this new prisoner was, it was taking at least six of the bandits to wrangle them.
But when he heard the bandit that he had labeled 'the protester' say "Are you really sure this beast is going to be worth the trouble?", he grew concerned. How could he, unarmed as he was, defend himself from something that was giving the bandits so much trouble?
"Positive. We'll get more for it than we could ever hope to get for the elf," the leader replied.
"With Stedd and Malcer killed by the adults, and not a one of us without injuries, you'd better be right," the protester grumbled.
And then the door opened and Sharr found himself staring in horror as a yearling pegasus was dragged into the room.
Besides the rope around... her, he decided... neck, her wings were all but invisible under a coil of rope binding them to her body, her mouth was tied shut, and both her front and back legs were hobbled so tightly he wasn't sure she'd actually be able to take even the smallest of steps.
As the six bandits wrangling the filly brought her further into the room, more entered, bringing a barrow full of straw, a trough, and several obviously full buckets.
Soon enough, a corner of the room was set up as a makeshift stall, the rope around the filly's neck was removed, and the bandits began to leave the room.
When the leader was the only bandit remaining, Sharr prepared to ask how the filly was expected to eat and drink with the rope still around her mouth, but the leader spoke first.
Pinning Sharr with a fierce glare and patting his dagger in implicit threat, the man said, "Free mouth only."
Sharr returned the glare, but when the man made to actually draw the dagger, he gave a reluctant nod.
Not that he was actually going to hold to it completely, as leaving her wings bound like that ran the risk of doing permanent damage to her ability to fly.
But it was enough for the leader to leave, bolting the door behind him.
As Drizzt rushed down the slope leading to the river's edge, he suddenly realized why the pull he had started feeling almost two full days ago was so strong.
One of the pegasi ahead of him was very clearly dead, but the other was, somehow, still alive despite significant injuries.
Approaching the pegasus very, very carefully, he leaned into his ability to sense an animal's mind—heart of a ranger echoed in his head—as hard as he could, and set to work convincing... her, he could see now... to let him tend her wounds.
It took longer than he liked, but eventually the mare allowed him close enough, and he got to work.
Once he was satisfied that he had done all he could to treat the injuries—and he dearly hoped that the splints he had managed for the broken wing would be sufficient—he started a small fire, well away from the mare, and set a pot of mash to cooking.
By the time it was ready, the sun had started to set, and the scent of the cooking mash had drawn the mare closer.
And when he scooped the mash into his bowl and put it down in front of her, there was no hesitation at all before she began eating.
Once she was done, he cleaned pot and bowl both, put out the fire, and then settled himself in a spot where he had an excellent view of their surroundings.
An inquisitive nicker from the mare prompted a smile, and he told her, "I will guard you until you have recovered enough to defend yourself, lady.
"You may sleep as deeply and long as you need with no fear of any threat."
The mare gave him a considering look, then snorted and settled herself onto the ground not far from him, tucking her head under her unbroken wing.
The night was as peaceful as Drizzt could possibly have wished for, but when morning came, he discovered that the mare herself had no desire to take the rest that she needed to recover from her injuries.
Hoping that if he knew why, he would be able to persuade her to let him take care of it, he carefully placed a hand on her neck, leaned into his sense of her mind, and asked, "What is it that keeps you from taking the rest that you need?"
The protective fury of a parent that washed over him was almost overwhelming, but he truly could not blame her for that.
"I will help you to save your child, lady," he said, "or I will die trying."
Five days after the bandits had brought in the pegasus filly, Sharr noticed that they were beginning to act a little jumpy, casting furtive looks at both of them during the daily delivery of food, water, and fresh straw for the filly's bedding.
On the sixth day, the looks were openly suspicious, not furtive, and on the seventh, there were three of them for the delivery, not two. Additionally, all three of them stood with their weapons drawn while he exchanged the soiled straw for fresh, even though the only tool he was allowed for the task was a broom.
On the eighth day, he was hauled in front of the leader, and subjected to as thorough an interrogation as the use of Goblin allowed.
When it ended, he felt nearly as shaken as the bandits clearly were, but once he had been returned to the prison, he allowed himself a small smile.
Unlike the bandits, he did not believe that the sightings of an injured pegasus wreathed in purple flames were actually the ghosts of the filly's parents.
Nor did he believe that the bandits who had been found with their throats torn out after each sighting had been the victims of the parents' vengeance.
Instead, he suspected that one of the parents had survived somehow, and a druid—or maybe a ranger—was working on whittling down the bandits' numbers to a level that one person could handle alone.
Two more days passed with the bandits growing ever more jumpy, and then, on the tenth night since the filly had been brought in, things came to a head.
Sharr was woken by the sound of footsteps running down the corridor towards the prison. A low growl just outside the door of the prison brought them to an abrupt halt, however. Then there was a yelp, a thud, a scream that turned into a gurgle, and a second thud.
After that, there was only silence for what felt like an eternity. But eventually, Sharr heard another set of footsteps—ones soft enough to be an elf’s—coming down the corridor.
The footsteps stopped just short of the door, and Sharr heard a voice say, in slightly accented Common, "Thank you, Guen." The rumbling half-purr of the big cats came in response, and then the door opened.
The first to enter was what seemed to be a large shadow, but as the owner of the voice entered, the light from their lantern let Sharr see that the shadow was actually a panther twice the size of any normal one.
Then he looked to see who was carrying the lantern, and froze in shock at seeing a drow.
But when the drow placed a sword on the floor, kicked it towards him, and then started removing the hobbles on the filly, Sharr's mind reengaged.
The drow's gear was clearly of Surface make, and he spoke Common, both of which indicated that he must have left the Underdark some time ago.
When you added the facts that he had found a way to give Sharr a weapon without having to approach him, and that the pegasus filly was happily snuffling his hair as he removed the front hobbles, well... it definitely wouldn't be the worst idea to leave in his company.
And upon seeing the joyous reunion between the filly and an adult pegasus with a splinted wing and other treated injuries, once they had exited the keep, Sharr knew that this drow was someone he could trust fully.
Not even in her wildest imaginings had it occurred to Alustriel that the elf of the elf-and-drow pair who had arrived in Silverymoon that morning—with a pair of pegasi, even—might be Sharrevaliir.
So now that Niska had confirmed that it truly was him, and he was free of any curses or traps, she wrapped an arm around him, and prompted him to begin what was sure to be an interesting tale.
"You said earlier that Drizzt rescued you from the bandits who had found you. Do you know how the bandits came to find you?"
"It was rather awkward to get the ideas across in Goblin, but yes, I do."
Alustriel put her curiosity as to why he'd been using Goblin to communicate with the bandits aside for later, and said, "Well?"
Sharr smiled softly at her. "They were fighting an orc lich, and smashed my soul trap as a possible anchor."
"I can see how that would have required some creativity to get across in Goblin," Alustriel said.
Then, leaning forward in her seat, Niska said, "Forgive my curiosity, but why were you communicating in Goblin?"
"Nothing to forgive," Sharr said. "As for why, the bandits' immediate reaction to me being freed from the soul trap was to knock me out.
"When I regained consciousness, my hands were bound behind my back, and I could hear them discussing the likelihood, based on how fancy my armor was, of finding someone who would pay them for me."
"Ah," Niska said. "It was the tactical advantage of being believed to not speak Common."
"Exactly."
Turning her attention to Sharr's rescuer, Alustriel said, "Saer Do'Urden? Will you share with us how you came to be involved in things?
"As, no offense intended, I find it doubtful that you were actually seeking to rescue Sharr."
"None taken," Drizzt said. "And you are quite correct that that was an unexpected benefit of my true purpose."
He shifted, squaring his shoulders, and then began a patrol-professional account of his side of things.
Since thoroughly questioning Sharr as to the probable location of the orc lich's lair had allowed Drizzt to determine that the bandits must have succeeded in destroying the anchor—given that he had not felt a pull to deal with anything when he had passed through the area not long before the pull to help the pegasus mare started—he remained in Silverymoon until spring.
Nor did he have trouble finding things to occupy himself with during that time. Indeed, between lessons in pegasus care—and riding, once the mare's wing was deemed recovered enough—from Sharr, reading in both the Palace library and the Vault of the Sages, sparring with Korvallen and Kolarven, teaching other Knights and squires, and furthering his ranger studies at the Glade, he had a great deal to fill his days.
Once spring arrived, however, he locked up his room in the Palace, and headed out with Amilimm—as he had decided to call the mother pegasus, after she chose to bond to him—to explore this new region.
Between the unexpected desire for potent restorative and healing spells when she had held her sunrise vigil, and the feeling that she should spend time in the Glade that came over her after she had broken her fast, Tathana was certain that someone was going to be arriving in poor shape today.
Absent any idea of when, however, all she could do for now was to find things to occupy herself with in the Glade.
Tending the berry bushes had eaten up a significant chunk of time, and discreetly checking on the nests, burrows, and dens of those animals that lived in the Glade consumed more, but it was still only mid-morning when she found herself a quiet spot near the center of the Glade and settled down to meditate.
Some time later, she was startled out of her peaceful reverie by a loud neigh from the center of the Glade.
Certainty that this was what she had been waiting for washed over her as she got up, and she swiftly went to see who needed her aid.
Seeing a pegasus standing in the center of the Glade was only surprising for the brief moment before she noticed the rider sagged against the mare's neck.
"Drizzt!" she cried, rushing over to help the ashen-looking drow dismount in a controlled manner. "What happened to you?"
But it wasn't until after she had gotten him down and both of them were settled on the ground, with Amilimm laying where she could watch him, that he managed to respond.
"Shades," he said.
"Must have been quite a few of them," Tathana said, even as she prepared to cast the first of the restorative spells. "Or else you spent far too long in their territory."
"Both, I think," was the last thing she heard before she dove into repairing the damage done by the shades.
When she came back up from the near-trance she had fallen into, she was relieved to notice that Drizzt was soundly asleep, since it had become clear, as she worked, that it had been far too long since he last had any true rest.
A quiet nicker drew her attention further out, and she was pleased to see that someone had removed the riding straps from Amilimm, and brought her food and water.
"Leaf Tathana?" said a quiet voice from off to her right.
Tathana turned towards the voice and saw one of the older acolytes sitting just far enough away to not impinge on her awareness.
"What is it, Rowan?" she asked, after taking a brief moment to recall the acolyte's name.
"Is there anything else I can do to help you and Ranger Do'Urden?"
"Yes," Tathana replied. "A messenger needs to be sent to the Palace to inform the Lady that Ranger Do'Urden has returned with significant damage from shades, and will be staying in the Glade for a few days.
"And then I need assistance in setting up a pavilion for him in a quiet spot near the altar."
Drizzt's report on what he had discovered—once it was deemed safe for him to leave the Glade—set off quite a furor.
However, he had very little involvement with what was being done, at least until the following year, when a previously unknown remnant of Clan Battlehammer—led by the heir to Mithral Hall—returned to the region because of the Hall's rediscovery.
Amilimm's presence had done much to ease the way for him with Bruenor, the Battlehammer heir, and after he had guided them to the ruins of Settlestone, Drizzt brought him into the Hall via the fissure.
That scouting had gone well, and within a few months, the Hall had been successfully reclaimed, though Drizzt had once again needed to spend time in the Glade to recover from the magical damage he had taken while fighting the shadow dragon.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Drizzt Do'Urden, Original Elf Character(s)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ensemble Cast
Summary:
In a variation on senmut's fic Soul Trap Undone, it is not Drizzt who breaks Sharr's soul trap while fighting the orc lich, but a group of bandits.
Frying Pan; Fire; Freedom and Family
For a single disorienting moment, Sharr could hear and see and smell again... and then everything went black.
When his senses returned, the first thing he noticed was the throbbing ache at his temple. The second thing was that he was lying on his side in the dirt, with his hands bound behind his back. And the third was voices speaking in Common.
"...with armor that fancy, there's pretty much guaranteed to be someone who'll be willing to pay for him," one of them was saying.
"We have no idea how long he was trapped like that, though," another said.
"So?" said a third. "Elves have long lives and longer memories. There's bound to at least be some people who know of him."
Suddenly, there was a loud 'pop' from the fire he could smell the smoke of, and Sharr did his best to not react to it, hoping to hear more.
"All of you need to shut up!" snapped a fourth voice. "He's awake."
"His eyes are still closed," the second voice protested.
"He's a warrior," said the fourth voice. "It'd be instinct for him to take stock of his senses before giving any sign he's aware.
"But his breathing has changed, and he twitched when the fire popped."
Apparently, he hadn't stifled his reaction as well as he had thought.
But given what he had heard before that, Sharr knew it would be to his advantage if these people thought he didn't speak Common, so he kept his eyes closed anyways.
"Bind his feet, move his hands in front of him, and then tie him to that tree," the fourth voice continued, tone full of confidence that he would be obeyed.
And it was not proven wrong, as it was not long before Sharr found himself seated on the ground with his hands bound in front of him, his legs stretched out before him, and his back pressed to a tree trunk by ropes tightly wound over his chest, around his arms, and then around the tree.
Having used the manhandling needed to accomplish the shift as a reason for him to stop shamming unconsciousness, he started to look around the camp with an assessing eye.
But before he could do more than confirm, based on the appearance of the men and their gear, that his captors were indeed bandits, one of them came over to stand at his feet.
And after studying him for a few moments, the bandit spoke, revealing himself to be the owner of the fourth voice.
"What's your name, elf?"
Sharr gave the man a coolly dismissive look and, in Sylvan, responded with "What did you say?"
The man stared at Sharr suspiciously for a moment before drawing a well-made knife. Then, twirling the knife between his fingers in an obvious threat, he repeated his question.
Sharr's only reply was a confused expression, and after locking gazes with him for a moment, the bandit cursed, put away the knife, and started pacing in a circle.
"What's wrong?" a man on the far side of the camp—not one of the other three Sharr had heard speaking—called.
"He doesn't speak Common," the one near Sharr—who was probably the leader—answered.
"Try Goblin or Orc," another new voice suggested, from off to Sharr's left.
"If he doesn't know Common, what the fuck makes you think he'd know those?" the leader snarled.
"Practicality," came the reply. "Knowing an enemy's language can help in fighting them."
The leader stopped pacing, and after a clear moment of thought, he turned to face Sharr and said, in Goblin, "What name, elf?"
Sharr wrinkled his nose, as if he found the language distasteful, and replied, as haughtily as he could manage, "What name, human?"
The ringing slap wasn't truly surprising, given the "arrogant and superior elf" act he was putting on, but the speed with which it had happened was.
And by the time his head had stopped spinning, the leader had knelt beside him, yanked his head around to face the man with a grip on his chin, and locked eyes with him from just a foot away.
"Give name or suffer," the man said, in a coldly threatening tone.
Sharr took a very brief moment to weigh things, and chose to resort to an old dodge. "Name Liir," he said.
Seven days after their arrival at the half-ruined small keep that the bandits used as a hideout—and ten after he had awoken as their prisoner—Sharr heard an odd commotion coming down the hall towards the room—which had clearly been used for such a purpose before—that the bandits had imprisoned him in.
The sound of something scraping along the floor was the primary component, but there were also frequent sounds of flesh hitting stone or other flesh, which were invariably followed by cursing.
And although he knew better than to let any sign of it escape, he could not help but be amused by the fact that whoever this new prisoner was, it was taking at least six of the bandits to wrangle them.
But when he heard the bandit that he had labeled 'the protester' say "Are you really sure this beast is going to be worth the trouble?", he grew concerned. How could he, unarmed as he was, defend himself from something that was giving the bandits so much trouble?
"Positive. We'll get more for it than we could ever hope to get for the elf," the leader replied.
"With Stedd and Malcer killed by the adults, and not a one of us without injuries, you'd better be right," the protester grumbled.
And then the door opened and Sharr found himself staring in horror as a yearling pegasus was dragged into the room.
Besides the rope around... her, he decided... neck, her wings were all but invisible under a coil of rope binding them to her body, her mouth was tied shut, and both her front and back legs were hobbled so tightly he wasn't sure she'd actually be able to take even the smallest of steps.
As the six bandits wrangling the filly brought her further into the room, more entered, bringing a barrow full of straw, a trough, and several obviously full buckets.
Soon enough, a corner of the room was set up as a makeshift stall, the rope around the filly's neck was removed, and the bandits began to leave the room.
When the leader was the only bandit remaining, Sharr prepared to ask how the filly was expected to eat and drink with the rope still around her mouth, but the leader spoke first.
Pinning Sharr with a fierce glare and patting his dagger in implicit threat, the man said, "Free mouth only."
Sharr returned the glare, but when the man made to actually draw the dagger, he gave a reluctant nod.
Not that he was actually going to hold to it completely, as leaving her wings bound like that ran the risk of doing permanent damage to her ability to fly.
But it was enough for the leader to leave, bolting the door behind him.
As Drizzt rushed down the slope leading to the river's edge, he suddenly realized why the pull he had started feeling almost two full days ago was so strong.
One of the pegasi ahead of him was very clearly dead, but the other was, somehow, still alive despite significant injuries.
Approaching the pegasus very, very carefully, he leaned into his ability to sense an animal's mind—heart of a ranger echoed in his head—as hard as he could, and set to work convincing... her, he could see now... to let him tend her wounds.
It took longer than he liked, but eventually the mare allowed him close enough, and he got to work.
Once he was satisfied that he had done all he could to treat the injuries—and he dearly hoped that the splints he had managed for the broken wing would be sufficient—he started a small fire, well away from the mare, and set a pot of mash to cooking.
By the time it was ready, the sun had started to set, and the scent of the cooking mash had drawn the mare closer.
And when he scooped the mash into his bowl and put it down in front of her, there was no hesitation at all before she began eating.
Once she was done, he cleaned pot and bowl both, put out the fire, and then settled himself in a spot where he had an excellent view of their surroundings.
An inquisitive nicker from the mare prompted a smile, and he told her, "I will guard you until you have recovered enough to defend yourself, lady.
"You may sleep as deeply and long as you need with no fear of any threat."
The mare gave him a considering look, then snorted and settled herself onto the ground not far from him, tucking her head under her unbroken wing.
The night was as peaceful as Drizzt could possibly have wished for, but when morning came, he discovered that the mare herself had no desire to take the rest that she needed to recover from her injuries.
Hoping that if he knew why, he would be able to persuade her to let him take care of it, he carefully placed a hand on her neck, leaned into his sense of her mind, and asked, "What is it that keeps you from taking the rest that you need?"
The protective fury of a parent that washed over him was almost overwhelming, but he truly could not blame her for that.
"I will help you to save your child, lady," he said, "or I will die trying."
Five days after the bandits had brought in the pegasus filly, Sharr noticed that they were beginning to act a little jumpy, casting furtive looks at both of them during the daily delivery of food, water, and fresh straw for the filly's bedding.
On the sixth day, the looks were openly suspicious, not furtive, and on the seventh, there were three of them for the delivery, not two. Additionally, all three of them stood with their weapons drawn while he exchanged the soiled straw for fresh, even though the only tool he was allowed for the task was a broom.
On the eighth day, he was hauled in front of the leader, and subjected to as thorough an interrogation as the use of Goblin allowed.
When it ended, he felt nearly as shaken as the bandits clearly were, but once he had been returned to the prison, he allowed himself a small smile.
Unlike the bandits, he did not believe that the sightings of an injured pegasus wreathed in purple flames were actually the ghosts of the filly's parents.
Nor did he believe that the bandits who had been found with their throats torn out after each sighting had been the victims of the parents' vengeance.
Instead, he suspected that one of the parents had survived somehow, and a druid—or maybe a ranger—was working on whittling down the bandits' numbers to a level that one person could handle alone.
Two more days passed with the bandits growing ever more jumpy, and then, on the tenth night since the filly had been brought in, things came to a head.
Sharr was woken by the sound of footsteps running down the corridor towards the prison. A low growl just outside the door of the prison brought them to an abrupt halt, however. Then there was a yelp, a thud, a scream that turned into a gurgle, and a second thud.
After that, there was only silence for what felt like an eternity. But eventually, Sharr heard another set of footsteps—ones soft enough to be an elf’s—coming down the corridor.
The footsteps stopped just short of the door, and Sharr heard a voice say, in slightly accented Common, "Thank you, Guen." The rumbling half-purr of the big cats came in response, and then the door opened.
The first to enter was what seemed to be a large shadow, but as the owner of the voice entered, the light from their lantern let Sharr see that the shadow was actually a panther twice the size of any normal one.
Then he looked to see who was carrying the lantern, and froze in shock at seeing a drow.
But when the drow placed a sword on the floor, kicked it towards him, and then started removing the hobbles on the filly, Sharr's mind reengaged.
The drow's gear was clearly of Surface make, and he spoke Common, both of which indicated that he must have left the Underdark some time ago.
When you added the facts that he had found a way to give Sharr a weapon without having to approach him, and that the pegasus filly was happily snuffling his hair as he removed the front hobbles, well... it definitely wouldn't be the worst idea to leave in his company.
And upon seeing the joyous reunion between the filly and an adult pegasus with a splinted wing and other treated injuries, once they had exited the keep, Sharr knew that this drow was someone he could trust fully.
Not even in her wildest imaginings had it occurred to Alustriel that the elf of the elf-and-drow pair who had arrived in Silverymoon that morning—with a pair of pegasi, even—might be Sharrevaliir.
So now that Niska had confirmed that it truly was him, and he was free of any curses or traps, she wrapped an arm around him, and prompted him to begin what was sure to be an interesting tale.
"You said earlier that Drizzt rescued you from the bandits who had found you. Do you know how the bandits came to find you?"
"It was rather awkward to get the ideas across in Goblin, but yes, I do."
Alustriel put her curiosity as to why he'd been using Goblin to communicate with the bandits aside for later, and said, "Well?"
Sharr smiled softly at her. "They were fighting an orc lich, and smashed my soul trap as a possible anchor."
"I can see how that would have required some creativity to get across in Goblin," Alustriel said.
Then, leaning forward in her seat, Niska said, "Forgive my curiosity, but why were you communicating in Goblin?"
"Nothing to forgive," Sharr said. "As for why, the bandits' immediate reaction to me being freed from the soul trap was to knock me out.
"When I regained consciousness, my hands were bound behind my back, and I could hear them discussing the likelihood, based on how fancy my armor was, of finding someone who would pay them for me."
"Ah," Niska said. "It was the tactical advantage of being believed to not speak Common."
"Exactly."
Turning her attention to Sharr's rescuer, Alustriel said, "Saer Do'Urden? Will you share with us how you came to be involved in things?
"As, no offense intended, I find it doubtful that you were actually seeking to rescue Sharr."
"None taken," Drizzt said. "And you are quite correct that that was an unexpected benefit of my true purpose."
He shifted, squaring his shoulders, and then began a patrol-professional account of his side of things.
Since thoroughly questioning Sharr as to the probable location of the orc lich's lair had allowed Drizzt to determine that the bandits must have succeeded in destroying the anchor—given that he had not felt a pull to deal with anything when he had passed through the area not long before the pull to help the pegasus mare started—he remained in Silverymoon until spring.
Nor did he have trouble finding things to occupy himself with during that time. Indeed, between lessons in pegasus care—and riding, once the mare's wing was deemed recovered enough—from Sharr, reading in both the Palace library and the Vault of the Sages, sparring with Korvallen and Kolarven, teaching other Knights and squires, and furthering his ranger studies at the Glade, he had a great deal to fill his days.
Once spring arrived, however, he locked up his room in the Palace, and headed out with Amilimm—as he had decided to call the mother pegasus, after she chose to bond to him—to explore this new region.
Between the unexpected desire for potent restorative and healing spells when she had held her sunrise vigil, and the feeling that she should spend time in the Glade that came over her after she had broken her fast, Tathana was certain that someone was going to be arriving in poor shape today.
Absent any idea of when, however, all she could do for now was to find things to occupy herself with in the Glade.
Tending the berry bushes had eaten up a significant chunk of time, and discreetly checking on the nests, burrows, and dens of those animals that lived in the Glade consumed more, but it was still only mid-morning when she found herself a quiet spot near the center of the Glade and settled down to meditate.
Some time later, she was startled out of her peaceful reverie by a loud neigh from the center of the Glade.
Certainty that this was what she had been waiting for washed over her as she got up, and she swiftly went to see who needed her aid.
Seeing a pegasus standing in the center of the Glade was only surprising for the brief moment before she noticed the rider sagged against the mare's neck.
"Drizzt!" she cried, rushing over to help the ashen-looking drow dismount in a controlled manner. "What happened to you?"
But it wasn't until after she had gotten him down and both of them were settled on the ground, with Amilimm laying where she could watch him, that he managed to respond.
"Shades," he said.
"Must have been quite a few of them," Tathana said, even as she prepared to cast the first of the restorative spells. "Or else you spent far too long in their territory."
"Both, I think," was the last thing she heard before she dove into repairing the damage done by the shades.
When she came back up from the near-trance she had fallen into, she was relieved to notice that Drizzt was soundly asleep, since it had become clear, as she worked, that it had been far too long since he last had any true rest.
A quiet nicker drew her attention further out, and she was pleased to see that someone had removed the riding straps from Amilimm, and brought her food and water.
"Leaf Tathana?" said a quiet voice from off to her right.
Tathana turned towards the voice and saw one of the older acolytes sitting just far enough away to not impinge on her awareness.
"What is it, Rowan?" she asked, after taking a brief moment to recall the acolyte's name.
"Is there anything else I can do to help you and Ranger Do'Urden?"
"Yes," Tathana replied. "A messenger needs to be sent to the Palace to inform the Lady that Ranger Do'Urden has returned with significant damage from shades, and will be staying in the Glade for a few days.
"And then I need assistance in setting up a pavilion for him in a quiet spot near the altar."
Drizzt's report on what he had discovered—once it was deemed safe for him to leave the Glade—set off quite a furor.
However, he had very little involvement with what was being done, at least until the following year, when a previously unknown remnant of Clan Battlehammer—led by the heir to Mithral Hall—returned to the region because of the Hall's rediscovery.
Amilimm's presence had done much to ease the way for him with Bruenor, the Battlehammer heir, and after he had guided them to the ruins of Settlestone, Drizzt brought him into the Hall via the fissure.
That scouting had gone well, and within a few months, the Hall had been successfully reclaimed, though Drizzt had once again needed to spend time in the Glade to recover from the magical damage he had taken while fighting the shadow dragon.
