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Servant of Shadow	By : Giovanna Category: A through F > Forgotten Realms Views: 3740 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Forgotten Realms series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Chapter 14

Chapter 14.

Her mind was a perfect blank, empty except for the blind wall of fury she had raised. Aramys rushed from the city, passing through street after street until she reached the tunnels that would lead her towards home. Heedless of everything, she made no attempt to move stealthily at all. If anyone or anything had thought to hinder the young woman, they apparently thought better of it when they saw her. She didn''t understand why Artemis Entreri''s simple words offended her so deeply, but they did, and horribo. Uo. Up until this point Aramys had started to feel a certain kinship with the human, a certain measure of mutual respect that she had come to depend on. And yet, after the death of Taella, he had seemed angry with her. The man had looked at her as if somehow disappointed, as if he expected or hoped for something different of her. Why, and what?, Aramys wondered in dismay. He knew she was an assassin; they were practitioners of the same trade, by Lloth! And, more than that, she was Colnblua cra creature despised by all, just like him. What was his problem?
Somewhere within the young elf, a quiet corner of her soul whispered that this was not precisely the truth. Worse than mere Colnbluth, Aramys was a half-breed, a product of unspeakable violence, corrupt by her very nature. Perhaps a creature of the surface such as Artemis Entreri found her even more offensive than drow seemed to. Was that the source of his disdain? The thought left her feeling colder and more hopeless than she had felt in years.
Aramys was a little shocked when she arrived at the door to her own chamber; she didn’t remember the journey at all. Apparently her footsteps had lead her back automatically: where else did she have to go? The anger she had felt began to dissipate steadily, to be replaced by a leaden feeling of depression. She shut her door behind her and leaned back against it heavily, feeling suddenly too weary to stand. For the second time in her adult life, Aramys felt a burning sensation fill her eyes. The tears slid heavily down her cheeks, scattering over her hands, hot like the blood that had covered them an hour before. Giving in to a sudden great wave of despair, the girl slid down the length of her door, collag ing in a heap on the floor.
As sobs shook her entire body, Aramys was certain they would never stop. She would just lie on the ground and weep, all the anger and fear and sorrow she felt would pour out of her body like the tears did now, until there was simply nothing left of her. And she was powerless to stop it, the hard but brittle shell of control that held her together wasken ken and Aramys knew she was lost.
It was a long while later when the elf-maid became aware again of the clammy chill of the stone floor beneath her. From the formless nothing she had become thought began to take shape once more. "You will look like what you truly are inside" she heard Entreri say. I am not Drow! That thought seemed very clear in her mind. How odd that her earlier, unprecedented act of mercy towards the drow weapon master; and later, her ruthless act of violence towards Taella, were both declaons ons of the same thing. Odd, but perhaps not so, considering who and what she was.
Aramys pulled herself to a sitting position, groaning at the stiffness the cold floor had caused to seep into her muscles. She looked around her, at her room, her one true sanctuary. Not even Jarlaxle came to this place. The physical location of it may have changed from time to time with the movement of Bregan D''earth''s bases, but its nature and value to the young woman had not. Aramys'' skills had brought little in the way of worldly possessions to her; though in truth she could have asked for much more of Jarlaxle and he would have given it freely. But wealth meant nothing to her; the possessions she valued most were of a different nature. Books were scattered everywhere, on her bed, the small table beside it, on her desk. There were exotic tomes from all over the realms, some containing pictures of the surface that seemed to fantastical to credit. Then there where her own dngs,ngs, pictures rendered in charcoal that were of things she had seen or imagined. She had no clue if they were good by anyone else''s standards, she had certainly never shown them to another living soul, but nonetheless she got a great deal of pleasure from working on them. And there, lying on the end of her bed, was her most precious possession.
It was a stringed instrument, with a round curved body and a long slender neck. Aramys had bought the thing from a drow trader in Manyfolk several years earlier simply for its strangeness and it''s beauty. It came from the surface, probably taken on a raid such as the one where her mother had been captured. Aramys chose not to think of its former owner, dwelling instead on the beautiful carvings and inlay, its ivory keys, the obvious love and care it had been constructed with. She didn’t even know what it was called. Then, when she had gotten it to the privacy of her room, she had discovered another wonder: the instrument could produce a sound as silvery pure as mithril. Aramys loved that sound, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard in a land where any sound could be dangerous, and the only music allowed were hymns to the evil goddess Lloth. Though she played it by ear and was completely untutored, the young woman had considerable natural talent. She was able to pick out tunes she heard and composed her own songs, though again she had no idea if they were any good. That didn’t matter, though, they were hers, and were a means to escape the unloving world around her.
Though the arts were strongly developed among Drow, like everything else in their obsessive society they focused almost entirely on the adoration LloIt oIt occurred to Aramys that her own interests were qualities much more typical of her surface kin than of dark elves. She was not drow, at least not wholly: Artemis Entreri was wrong. Perhaps he had wanted to be, and that was why he had become so angry with her.
Aramys stood and walked to her desk. Opening a drawer, she pulled out the small mirror she used to get her long hair braided and out of her way. It was just a round piece of polished metal, which afforded a warped and imperfect view, but it was good enough for her purposes. Normally she took no pleasure from her own reflection, but now it intrigued her. Jarlaxle kept saying she was beautiful, and when he said it, she knew he believed his words. Aramys took in the blur of white skin and dark hair, completely opposite almost every beautiful person she had ever seen. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, seeming more purple as a result. She searched her own features. They were fine and regular, she supposed, with the large eyes and full mouth dominating. She didn’t see anything overtly hideous about them, but she certainly couldn’t see what it was that Jarlaxle kept going on about. Aramys sighed and put the mirror away.
There was another person who seemed to agree with Jarlaxle''s estimation of her looks, though she sensed he would rather not admit it to anyone. Aramys had caught Artemis Entreri staring at her often. The girl considered how she felt whenever she discovered his eyes on her; she could feel weight of his gaze like a caress. She thought about the man now, honestly, without any of the anger and frustration that went with much of their association. She recalled his graceful hands as he had disabled the trap, and remembered the rush of heat she had felt while watching them, the unbidden impression of what other things those hands might ble ble to accomplish. She pictured his shadowed eyes, how he kept running his long fingers through his hair when it fell across those eyes, his sure and graceful movements in their sparring matches. Even here alone, Aramys could feel the blood rush to her face as she thought about him. Jarlaxle had told her that if she wanted Entreri, she should have him. The statement had confused her, but she realized now that Jarlaxle had known more than she had at the time. She did want Artemis Entreri; the thought was suddenly clear and terrifying in her mind. This was unknown territory for the girl, somewhere between the warmth and comfort she had known with Jarlaxle, and the lust and violence she had experienced with others. What could she do?
For the first time Aramys realized that she had abandoned her charge in Menzoberanzan. Would he be able to find his way back? Worse, would he try to escape? If he attempted that it was entirely likely that he would die. The thought left her feeling suddenly cold. But no, Aramys felt certain the man w mak make his way back here on his own; he would return and drive her to new levels of distraction without a doubt. Though the human seemed oddly defenseless with his lack of magical ability and his dull senses, Aramys had seen enough of the man''s skills to know that he was anything but. His simple determination gave him an edge that others lacked. She was certain he would return.
The girl realithatthat with her recent responsibilities towards the human, she had very little time to herself, something she prized greatly. She felt a burning need for solitude- Jarlaxle could find something to occupy Entreri. Her uncomfortable feelings for the man could wait as well. Perhaps they might even fade if she spent some time away from him. Aramys got up and crawled into her bed, feeling drained and exhausted. Reaching for the instrument, she enacted the simple spell that would keep all sound from leaving her room- after all, there could never be too much security or privacy. Aramys smiled to herself when she felt the soothing sensation of its strings beneath her fingers. It had been too long.

Author''s note: Sorry about the long pause in my updates, stupid real life has been interfering with my writing. Add to that writer''s block- what a pain! Also, someone commented on my English- I guess it isn''t that bad, it''s just that I have to stop and think about the words, which interferes with my train of thought. It probably shows. Plus I get confused about tense a lot. Oh well, I can’t think of a better way to learn! Thanks for reading, and any suggestions you can add.
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Servant of Shadow