Chapter Text
The ground was wet with spring rain, droplets reflecting the silvery light of the full moon. The world was brilliant, illuminated in a way that almost seemed otherworldly to Kellindil, despite his vast travels. Perhaps that otherworldly nature was the reason for his current actions— his curiosity that had finally overcome his good sense. Dove would be disappointed.
He had spent months with his clan, listening to the descriptions of the drow-- both of them-- until they were finally taken in by Montolio Debrouchee.
But he still had questions. They never figured out the connection between the two dark elves, much to Kellindil's frustration. It was obvious they shared one-- he doubted the woman would have rushed to stand in front of his drawn bow on that mountain side otherwise-- but everything he had been taught said that was odd. Drow were matriarchal, no woman would put herself in front of a male, no matter how injured.
Pulling his mind back to the present, Kel avoided a branch on the ground as he continued across the valley of Dead Orc Pass. He stayed well away from the orc sentries on the other side of the river, and kept carefully out sight. There was a ford up ahead— difficult to hop between the rocks for a human or orc, but easy enough for an agile elf. After crossing, he followed along the river, using the glistening water as a guide.
Kellindil knew this was wrong. Mooshie was a force to be reckoned with, and wouldn’t hesitate to kill the two drow if either of them caused another harm. It was disrespectful to be sneaking into the old Ranger's territory just to sait his curiosity, but he let his curiosity guide him closer.
If Kellindil was honest, he had felt the pull to come here growing over the last few tendays. It was as if something was guiding him here, a force beyond his understanding or ability to control. He should be more concerned about that, but Kellindil knew he could turn away at any moment. More likely than some mysterious entity was that he just wanted to solve the mystery of the two drow who seemed nothing like the stories he had heard.
He approached the treeline, slipping into the shadows cast by them. Kel stopped to unstrung his bow— there was no danger this close to Mooshie, so long as he minded the creatures of the forest. Not even the orcs dared to cross into the woods.
The stream continued north, but Kel cut from it and moved east, spotting the worn path easily enough. He had never been to the grove himself, but several of Kel's kin had, and he was an experienced enough ranger to find his way through the undergrowth.
As he moved toward his destination, Kellindil stopped. Something drew at the edge of his mind, input his brain had received and processed without Kel's conscious thought ever being made aware. Whatever set off his instincts wasn't dangerous, however. Just unusual enough to be caught before being discarded, like so much other background information.
He waited silently, breath shallow as he looked, and perhaps more importantly, listened. A light breeze rustled the branches of the tall pines, and all around him nocturnal animals went about their business. As a backdrop to it all, the river flowed.
There, to the left some ways, was movement. He couldn't catch sight of it, but whatever disturbed the subconscious pattern of the forest seemed larger than most night creatures.
Curious, Kellindil turned toward it. He let his feet carry him silently across the grass and forest debris, careful not to make himself known. Only a few animals seemed to take notice of him-- including an owl that he was fairly sure was Montolio's partner-- but they let him be as he moved.
Finally, a clearing came into view. It was circular, covered in moss and the yellow-green grass of spring. Coarse shrubbery lined the edges like parapets, giving Kel a good vantage point to crouch and watch.
The moon seemed to shine all the more radiantly in the little clearing, as if it was a spotlight from above shining down. Here, the otherworldly feeling of the night seemed almost tangible, as if he could reach out and touch the divine.
In the centre of the open ground, Kellindil saw what, or rather who, had drawn his attention to the space.
The drow woman was entirely nude, her silvery sword held in delicate hands. He could see the pile of her belongings— undergarments, clothing, and shoes-- piled neatly and out of the way. She wasn't paying attention to him, she wasn't paying attention to much of anything, really. Instead, her eyes were closed as her head tilted and moved with her body. Her dark skin seemed less shadowy in this place, and her long, white hair tumbled in gentle waves across her form, so light it almost seemed to glow.
She was stunning.
Her bare feet, graceful even in slick grass, moved with practised ease. A rhythm formed from her steps, arches, and slashes. It was a dance, Kellindil realized suddenly. The drow was dancing under the moonlight.
He could practically imagine the music, a half forgotten melody that sprung forth in his mind. Kel wasn’t sure where he had heard it, if he even had heard it. Perhaps whatever touched this place simply let the notes form unbidden in his head.
Abruptly, the gravity of the situation hit Kellindil. He shouldn’t be there. Whatever this was, it was most definitely private. He should not be watching a naked woman in the woods, regardless of his curiosity, or her beauty.
In a half formed panic, Kel took a step back. A branch snapped beneath his foot, and Kellindil cringed.
The woman stopped, her head whipping toward the noise. She turned, taking half a step back to bring up her sword and settle into a defensive crouch as her red eyes scanned the foliage.
Kel knew the moment she saw him, because her expression, previously cautious and determined, turned to one of fear.
Shit.
Of course she was afraid of him. He had hunted her and her companion for days, and across many miles. He had threatened to kill the male when he had approached the camp all those months ago, trying to make peace.
The woman didn’t move. She only watched him from where she stood, her stance solid as she bathed in the cool night air.
Kel carefully kept his eyes on her face.
Placing the unstrung bow on the ground, Kellindil stood with his hands up in the air.
“Apologies,” he told her, fully aware of how abysmal his pronunciation of her native tongue must be. “I didn’t intend to intrude.”
The woman said nothing, her red eyes boring into Kellindil. He stood still, allowing her assessment of him. It was somewhat nerwracking to be watched so intensely, even if her eyes were less uncanny than the odd lavender of her male companion.
“What are you doing here?” the woman eventually asked, her grip tightening. “Have you come to harm us? We've done nothing wrong."
Kellindil, suddenly hopeful that the drow’s panther wasn’t stalking him from the trees, shook his head. “No,” he told her, glancing to the side to avoid making eye contact. He kept her in his peripheral vision. “I know that. I only came because I was... curious.”
“Curious,” she repeated dryly, and Kel looked back to see a flat look and raised brow. It was a silent question, and Kellindil supposed that this interaction was going better than the one he had with her companion. At least neither of them had threatened murder yet. Although, the woman in front of him looked only a moment away from that.
“I’ve never heard of a drow like you,” he explained, hoping that honesty would keep her from striking. Kel wasn’t sure he could keep up against the heavy blows she was likely to deliver with that sword. “Or like your companion. When I learned that you had taken residence here, I wanted to know more.”
“We already gave you that option,” her voice was hard, and her eyes settled into something more of anger than fear. “You made it quite clear you would rather see us dead.”
Kel winced. “Yes. I must apologize for that, as well. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. It was...” he searched for the word, running his mind through the lexicon of the language. He wanted to say ‘amoral’, but he didn’t know that word for it. “Wrong,” he settled on. “It was wrong of me.”
She frowned, her delicate lips tipped downward. Kel kept his gaze easily on her face, if not her eyes. If she attacked, he would need time to retreat. It seemed unlikely now-- if she intended to harm him for his presence, she already would have.
The woman tilted her head, apparently considering his words. After a moment, she stepped out of her defensive posture. Her sword remained held in her hand, though, and pointed in his direction. With cautious steps, she moved back toward her belongings.
She crouched next to the pile, and drew up what looked like a folded dress. “If I put this on,” she asked slowly, her voice soft even in the drow language, “will you attack me?”
“No,” Kel answered immediately, and flushed. “Please. I didn’t mean to spy on you.”
“So you said,” the woman answered, but she put the sword in easy reach and quickly slipped the fabric over her head.
It wasn’t a dress, but a large green tunic, and sewn together somewhat haphazardly. Kel could tell that it was originally made for somebody much larger than her, but it covered what it needed to and ended at her knees. Picking up a belt— one which held the sheath of her sword-- she cinched it around her waist, making the tunic look less like an oversized shirt. Although, even without that, Kellindil expected this woman would look beautiful in anything she wore.
The term Veluthil came to mind-- ‘Beautiful of the Evening'. She was certainly reminiscent of that.
Once dressed, she picked up her blade again, and held it easily in her hands. If he hadn’t known that she had familiarity with the weapon, the way she gripped the hilt with practised ease would have tipped him off. She was a trained fighter, that much was clear.
It was easier to talk, now that she was clothed.
“I am Kellindil,” he said, bowing low in the style of the elves. He knew that the drow did it differently, based on his interaction with her companion, but he wasn’t about to attempt a sloppy imitation of that.
She watched him silently for a moment, taking in his movements as he straightened. It seemed to Kel that she was weighing her options.
“Vierna,” she replied at last.
“Your companion,” Kel began, hoping that mentioning the man wouldn’t be a mistake, “His name is Drizzt, is it not?” He had agonized over that conversation, picking it apart in his mind over and over for months, wondering what would have happened if he had reacted differently.
Vierna’s frown, already present on her face, deepened. “Yes.” She was quiet for a moment, and Kel let her be. “You saved him,” she then said, somewhat reluctantly. “Thank you. I’m not sure if I have the skills to help him, as your healing potion did.”
So they had used it, good. Kel had been concerned about that. At the time, it was difficult to tell what injuries the drow had taken, but they both seemed a little worse for wear by the end of the chase.
“It was the very least I could do.”
Vierna’s head tilted at that, her eyes narrowing, but whatever suspicions she had, she didn’t voice.
They stood in the clearing, an awkward silence descending upon them. Somewhere to the right, an owl hooted.
Kellindil should leave, he knew that, but this was the longest conversation he had ever had with a drow, and this one was so unique.
Finally, wetting his lips, Kel asked, “What were you doing just now?”
Tension shot through her, and he silently chided himself. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable, but he supposed that it made sense she would be. “You don’t have to answer that,” he told her. “It’s none of my business anyway.” Considering the presence of Mooshie’s owl, Kel was sure the old ranger already knew of what Vierna did out here, and was in the very least indifferent about it.
Vierna’s shoulders were tight as she watched him, obviously considering what to reply. It was something he had noticed in this conversation— every time Vierna spoke, she weighed her words carefully. It was as if she was measuring the impact and reactions to them before she ever decided to speak. How many steps ahead of him was she thinking right now?
She twisted the hilt of her sword in her hand, as if the weight didn’t bother her in the slightest. Kellindil wondered if it was a nervous habit, or if she always fidgeted when speaking. Eventually, Vierna squared her shoulders, standing up straight again. “I was dancing to my goddess,” she said. The words came slowly, but confidently. She watched him as she said it, her eyes intense on him.
A test, then. Although, Kel had no idea what response she was looking for.
“To Lolth?” he questioned, but even as he said it, it seemed wrong. Nothing about her dance, stunning beneath the soft glow of the moon, spoke of the evils of the Spider Queen. It felt good to witness, it felt right, and Kellindil was suddenly aware that the woman standing before him evoked a feeling similar to being around Dove.
Was she touched by this goddess of hers, as Dove had been chosen by Mystra and Meilikki? Judging by the otherworldly feeling still surrounding him, Kel wouldn’t be surprised. He supposed that if he were anybody else, somebody who hadn’t spent years travelling with one of the Seven Sisters, he would have noticed it sooner. He wondered if Vierna’s goddess was watching them now, but that thought only made him even more certain that the woman in front of him was not one of Lolth’s priestesses.
As if to prove his point, Vierna laughed-- rich and musical. The sound lightened the heavy atmosphere, a bright light in a darkened room. It was beautiful, like a thousand distant church bells chiming at once. She covered her mouth with her hand, but it did little to hide the smile that appeared on her lips.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her red eyes twinkled in clear amusement, as if he had told her the funniest joke. “It’s just that I didn’t think anybody could mistake me as Lolthian.”
That was fair. Lolth hated his people, and sought to slaughter every child of Corellon without discrimination. If she really was a priestess of the Spider Queen, it was unlikely they would be having this conversation.
“Then who?” He asked, thinking about it. Certainly not Mielikki, despite knowing that was who Montolio followed-- nothing about Vierna spoke of the goddess of the forest. “Sehanine Moonbow, then?”
Confusion passed over her features, and Vierna squinted. “Is that a faerie goddess?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowing for a moment before shaking her head. “I know little of your deities, but no.” She bit her lip, but continued speaking. “I follow Eilistraee.”
Kellindil wasn’t sure he had ever heard the name before, but then, few surface elves knew much about the Dark Seldarine-- other than Lolth.
“Sehanine Moonbow is the female leader of our pantheon,” he answered. “She’s the wife of Corellon Larethian, and the goddess of death, dreams, travel, and the moon. Moon elves tend to follow her.” He motioned toward the full moon, in a silent explanation as to why he had asked. “Although, I must admit, I know nothing of your goddess.”
Vierna looked a little braver, albeit still somewhat uncomfortable, after hearing about Sehanine Moonbow. “Well, I suppose that makes us even then,” she told him, dropping her hand to let him see her soft smile. “Eilistraee is the deity of the drow who yearn to escape the Spider Queen’s reach,” she glanced upward to the sky. “She is the drow goddess of the moon.”
There were a million emotions wrapped up in that information, a thousand implications that Kel didn’t know how to begin to pick apart. He could hear the longing in her voice as she spoke, and wondered how long she had lived in the underdark, how long she had dreamed to stand beneath the sun and stars. Looking at her closer, he questioned how old she even was. Age was hard to judge, even for other elves, but Vierna didn’t seem near old enough to be on her own.
It wasn’t the time to ask such questions of her, though. Not when Kel was the one who imposed on her intimate time with her deity. He had already learned more about the drow than he thought he would have, and would have to ask one of their priests about Eilistraee.
He was thinking of what to say, when a voice called out from a ways away. “Venna?”
Kellindil recognized it to be Drizzt.
Vierna glanced over her shoulder, her body tensing. “You should go,” she told him upon returning her gaze. She started fidgeting with her sword hilt again. The softness and curiosity that had appeared over the course of their conversation was gone, replaced by anxiety and agitation.
Kel wondered why, but knew better than to ask. He moved back through the shrubs to pick up his bow, and continued back the way he came. As a whole, the conversation left him with more questions than answers, and Kellindil pondered them all the way back to his clan.
Vierna sat alone in the small clearing, the one she had danced in the month previous. Once again, the moon glowed brilliantly in the sky, and she felt the presence of her goddess at her side.
She wasn’t dancing this time, although her sword still lay across her lap.
Vierna wanted to deny it, but she was curious about the elf that had found her, as much as he was about her. She hadn’t told Drizzt of the meeting, too afraid that her brother would grow excited, and forget how cautious they still needed to be.
Just because Vierna was a follower of Eilistraee didn’t mean she trusted others easily. Maya and Briza had beaten that instinct out of her young, using her trust to harm her, and Drizzt.
But Eilistraee had also never led her wrong before. It was her goddess that led them to Blingdenstone, and her holy symbol of the Dark Maiden that helped ease her way in the city, when Drizzt’s friendship with Belwar couldn’t. Her goddess had guided them to the surface, to the promise of warmth and love and safety.
Vierna knew that they were intruders here, and it was unlikely they would ever be truly welcome. Even being scorned by the surface, though, was better than the hells of Menzoberranzan.
At least here, Drizzt wasn’t viewed as her lesser. He wasn’t hurt to satisfy some sadistic desire by their Matron Mother or siblings.
Besides, Drizzt was so happy. Happier than he had been even in Blingdenstone, where he had spent many tendays recovering from the trials of their decade in the underdark. The last time she remembered that look of simple joy, it had been before attending Melee-Magthere. Back when he spent his days training alongside Zaknafein.
She sometimes wondered about their father. Would he be proud to see his children escape Lolth’s grasp? Vierna never had the chance to be close to him, not like Drizzt, but she still felt more of a connection to Zaknafein than she ever did Rizzen. Would he be angry at her for not protecting Drizzt better? She was there when Zak was given to Lolth, and still remembered the look he had given her while lying upon the altar. Was it understanding? Pity? A belief that she would one day fall to the clutches of the Spider Queen? She would never know.
At least when Matron Malice plunged that ceremonial dagger into her father’s chest, Zaknafein looked more at peace than Vierna had ever seen him. At the time, she was glad Drizzt wasn’t there to see it-- that if there was one pain he could be spared, it was Zaknafein’s dying breaths. Malice's cruelty tore that away.
It was Vierna who met Drizzt outside the chapel, her who told her brother that the most important person in his life was dead. But it was Drizzt who took her shaking hand in his, and pulled her away from all they had ever known.
As his sister, it should have been Vierna’s job to keep him safe, but they left the year after he finished at Melee-Magthere. By then, Vierna had yet to even start at Arach-Tinilith. She was glad for that, at least. Vierna wasn’t sure she could have survived so long in a school for the Priestess of Lolth. It only meant that upon venturing into the dark unknown, Drizzt was responsible for keeping them both alive.
She had to sit back during that time, the long, endless darkness, and watch as Drizzt lost more and more of himself. There were few bright points, other than the existence of each other. One was when he taught her to wield Zaknafein's sword, the one she had stolen from his rooms after his death. She would not allow Matron Malice to take everything of their father's. The blade, unlike Drizzt’s enchanted weapons, had remained whole while on the surface. Vierna kept it covered in the daylight, for fear that the weapon would break. Instead, Zaknafein's sword was the one she danced with. It only felt right to revere her goddess with the last remnant of the man who had caused her and Drizzt to be what they were.
Guenhwyvar too brought them joy in that dark time. She helped them survive, but more than that, she and Vierna kept Drizzt grounded. They shared the work of caring for the one they both loved equally.
They still did it, even on the surface. When Drizzt woke from dreams of the Hunter, or of fighting Zaknafein, or of the multitudes of sinister memories, Vierna was there. If it was too much for her alone, she would call Guenhwyvar. Her brother’s dearest friend calmed him in a way that seemed magical, laying with him until he fell back into a restless sleep. She and Guen would stay awake, watching over him until Vierna's eyes burned, and Guenhwyvar was forced to return to her home.
That was becoming less common now, under the tutorship of Montolio. Vierna had always known that Drizzt was smart, but even she was amazed at how quickly he learned the things that the old ranger had to teach him. He had managed to pick up the common tongue within weeks, while she still struggled with the pronunciation and grammatical structure.
That was okay though. Montolio wanted Drizzt, Vierna just came as part of the deal.
A sound drew her attention, and Vierna’s gaze snapped up as Kellindil entered the clearing. He had a bow on his back, but it was unstrung. Vierna could hardly blame him, she too was armed, after all.
“I wasn’t sure you would be here,” he told her, looking across the clearing to where she sat.
Vierna smiled at him, the soft sort she could never give openly in the city of her birth. It was reserved for Drizzt, then, in the dark nights of their shared childhood. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”
Kellindil coughed. “I’m not entirely sure why I did,” he admitted, although he didn’t look ashamed of that. His blue eyes burned with the same curiosity that Vierna often saw in her brother. She was a mystery to him, Vierna realized. That was alright, her whole life was puzzles, and she would solve his before he could even begin to piece together hers. Such was the way of her people.
The elf moved gracefully, stepping past the wall of shrubbery. His lean form moved easily, so much like Drizzt-- like a warrior. He settled, cross-legged, on the ground a ways away from her. Above them, the moon shone down like a blessing from the goddess herself. As far as Vierna was aware, it was. To her, it felt like Eilistraee was calling her here. She wondered briefly if Kellindil felt the same, but shook the thought aside.
“How has it been living with Montolio?” Kellindil asked at last. He seemed genuinely curious, which surprised Vierna.
A lot of the things about this surface dweller surprised her. Back in Menzoberranzan, nobody was genuinely curious about another’s life, unless it benefited them somehow. Is that what was happening here? Was this elf trying to trick her? He had given her and Drizzt the healing potion too, which may have saved Drizzt’s life if her brother's injuries had gotten infected. Vierna was still learning how to use the blessings Eilistraee had given her, and as such she was doubtful that she would have been able to properly heal Drizzt with magic. Yet Kellindil acted like it wasn’t a big deal, and that she owed him nothing for saving her only family. She was not so far removed from the lessons learned at the end if a snake headed whip to believe that.
“He has been very kind,” Vierna settled on saying, sparing a moment to think. It was vague enough that he couldn’t use the information to hurt her or Drizzt. “He’s been trying to teach us common.”
Kellindil leaned forward and set one elbow on his knee. He titled his head, resting his chin on a palm as he gazed at her. “And how is that going?”
Vierna flushed, and was glad both that it was bright enough to see without the infrared spectrum, and that her dark skin tone hid the colour.
She cleared her throat, and lay her clasped hands on top of the unsheathed blade. “Drizzt is better at it than I am.”
He nodded, but was looking at her with an intensity that made her a little uncomfortable. Nevertheless, Vierna waited out his gaze. She knew better than to let discomfort show, no matter how much she wished to twist her fingers in the hem of her makeshift dress, or bite her nails and cuticles until they bled. They were nervous habits that her wean mother had beaten out of her during her first ten years of life, but occasionally the desire still flared up. It happened to Drizzt too, albeit more rarely.
“You two seem close,” Kellindil said, pointing out the observation with great hesitancy. He relaxed his posture, letting his shoulders open back and his arm dropping from his face. His head remained cocked though. “How long have you known each other?”
Ah, so that was the question. If he knew anything about drow, then it must surely seem surprising to see Vierna so protective over a male. The thought made her want to grind her teeth.
“He is my brother,” Vierna admitted, her eyes flicking across him to gauge his reaction. “We shared a womb, and we were born minutes apart. So I have always known him.” Her eyebrows creased as she tried to recall the term. “Montolio called it something in common— the drow have no word for it.”
Kellindil's eyes went wide, and he sat up straight. “Twins,” he told her, his voice almost reverent. “I take it that multiple births aren’t common where you are from?”
“No,” Vierna shook her head. “Everybody was surprised when our Matron Mother found out she bore two children at once, even our father.” She remembered being a child, and how Zaknafein would visit her and Drizzt in the chapel, marvelling at the two of them. Now, Vierna was sure Matron Malice only allowed such visits as a way to control him.
“Matron Mother?” Kellindil questioned, his brow furrowing.
Vierna cringed, she had forgotten that they don’t have those on the surface. “The leader of our house,” she said, trying to think of a way to explain the intricacies of drow society.
It seemed that he realized they were approaching a touchy subject, though, because Kellindil easily changed topics.
"We call twins 'aia Ath dharasha ,'" he told her, his native tongue smooth like calm water. "It means two of destiny." He leaned toward her. "They are rare among our people, but considered a great gift."
Vierna frowned, the words settling in her stomach like a stone. Destiny? Blessings? She loved Drizzt, more than anything in the world, but she had always been taught that to be born alongside a male was a curse-- a sign of Lolth's disfavour upon her, but not on her family. Certainly, her birth had been celebrated like any other daughter’s, but not at all for being a twin, an 'aia Ath dharasha.'
"There are legends about twins," Kellindil told her, drawing Vierna's attention back. "It's said that aia Ath dharasha are fated to do great things. That when elven twins are born, they shape history, for better or worse."
She couldn't tell what Kellindil thought as he said it, whether he believed that she and Drizzt would follow in those footsteps. It made her uncomfortable to think about destiny, and what role the gods may have her play in it. Vierna made the decision then that she would never tell Drizzt this elven superstition. He disliked being the plaything of gods.
Back when Eilistraee first reached out to her, Drizzt had believed it was a trick. She had agreed, even though it didn't feel wrong. They were both cautious after coming from Menzoberranzan.
It had taken Eilistraee years before Vierna accepted the existence of the deity, and even longer still to accept her goddess into her life. She had hit it from Drizzt, at first, for fear that her brother, her twin, would be angry at her.
He wasn't. Drizzt was never angry at her.
"Do you follow a god?" Vierna asked Kellindil, suddenly curious.
"I do," he answered with ease. "Solonor Thelandira. He is an elven deity of archery, hunting, and survival in the wild. He watches over the borders between nature and civilization, and maintains that balance. Many rangers follow him." He reached into a pouch around his neck and removed a symbol.
It was wooden, with the image of a silver arrow with green fletching painted on it.
"That's his symbol," Kellindil said. "Although it hasn't been blessed. I am certainly no priest."
Vierna laughed, smiling at him, and was momentarily stunned when he smiled back.
Nobody but Drizzt ever smiled at her like that.
“How old are you?” Kellindil asked, two weeks later. He had come on impulse, a desire to see if perhaps Vierna would be around.
She had been dancing beneath the moonlight, as she had the first time they met, but she smiled when she saw him. Kellindil considered it a step-up, and the maple cookies he had brought to bribe her had certainly helped.
Vierna looked up, chewing the cookie as she tapped out math on her arm. “About four decades, I think?” she said after swallowing, “give or take a couple of years. Time moves rather oddly in the underdark.”
Kellindil blinked, his brain processing what she had said. Of the responses he was expecting, that wasn’t one. Vierna had stars shining right through her eyes, a youth about her that seemed to glow, but Kellindil wasn't sure whether it was her age, or the wonder of being on the surface. 0
Even if she and Drizzt were young, he had expected just under a century. By forty, most elves hadn’t even chosen their specialty, and wouldn’t be adventuring for another fifty years at least.
“Is it normal to be out on your own at that age?” he settled on asking.
“Yes,” she replied, taking another cookie from the container. “Well, not for women. We usually don’t enter Arach-Tinilith— that’s the school for priestesses— until this age, and our schooling lasts for fifty years.” Vierna shrugged, “but Drizzt attended Melee-Magthere, the fighter school, at twenty. He was finished and considered a full warrior a decade later. The wizards start their training at twenty-five, and finish after about thirty years.”
Kellindil didn’t know what to say to that. A warrior at thirty? A full wizard at fifty-five? Why the rush? Elves had centuries of time.
Vierna was watching him intently. “What is it?” she asked, drawing his attention back. Very little slipped past her notice-- Kel wondered if all drow were that way, or if it was another trait that made Vierna unique among her people. She was certainly the most beautiful woman-- drow, elf, or even human-- the Kellindil had ever seen.
He blinked, and flushed in embarrassment for getting so distracted. “Sorry,” he told her, rubbing the back of his neck. “That is just very odd for me to think about. My people aren't considered adults until they've lived for a century.”
Vierna tilted her head, her eyes downcast and her brows furrowed. "Women can only have two sons," she said, her shoulders slumping. "Perhaps that is why our boys learn to fight early. They need to prove useful, and if they die, they are replaced with little effort."
That hit Kellindil like a blow, forcing the breath from his lungs. Vierna's voice was heavy with grief and regret, and Kel wondered if she had lost a brother or friend to this horrible ideal.
"What happens if a boy is born, and there are already two?" He knew the answer, but Kellindil hoped with all the desperation he could muster that he was wrong.
She looked up, the smile on her lips bland, as if trying to soften the blow they both knew was coming. "They are given to Lolth."
There were a thousand cries in her voice, grief for the children who never got to grow up. Little boys who never laughed or cried, who never explored the world around them, or felt love or joy.
Kellindil felt sick.
"Drizzt was supposed to be one," she said, and Kel snapped his eyes toward her. She wasn't looking at him, but gazing at the sky over the treetops. "He was the third born, but our older brother-- a second born-- killed the eldest before Drizzt could be sacrificed. He only lives because of the death of another."
She was so matter of fact with her words-- the ingrained knowledge of indoctrinated children. Kellindil could see how it hurt her, though, how her words hung heavy in the air like an admission of guilt. The gratitude that Drizzt is alive, no matter the cost.
Kel was careful as he reached over. The distance between them had lessened dramatically since their first meeting, but he was always careful to give her space. Vierna was dangerous, and the knowledge never quite left Kellindil, even as he tried his best to ignore it.
Gently, he placed an arm on Vierna's sleeve.
Her eyes snapped to his hand, and her whole body tensed. He was about to pull his hand away when Vierna let out a breath, and relaxed along with it.
Had she ever shared a kind touch before? Perhaps with Drizzt, but certainly not with others. She reacted like she expected to be hurt, and it made Kellindil's blood boil.
Vierna was barely more than a child, and yet people had hurt her.
He squeezed her arm softly, and pushed his emotions away. "I can understand why you left," he told her, because comforting Vierna was more important than rage at people who could not be brought to justice.
She looked at him, her red eyes wide in the warm night. "Thank you," she said, sincerity dripping from her words.
It must have been hard, Kellindil realized, to leave everything she had ever known. He found himself thankful yet again that Dove and the rest of their friends had let these two go.