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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
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- 3
- 4
Chapter 3

AN: Okay, those of you who have read this before will find this a slightly more R rated version of the original chapter. If reading about sex offends you in any way, don''t read this, though this is really pretty mild compared to some I''ve read…
Chapter 3.
Aramys lay on Jarlaxle’s large bed with one of the many books the drow kept in his quarters. He watched her surreptitiously from his doorway. She had made herself comfortable while waiting for him, he noted. Her boots and piwafwi lay on his floor, her weapons and the light leather armor she wore beside them. She was clad only in her loose-fitting linen shirt and suede pants, her long hair, perhaps her only vanity, flowed loose around her. The tenderness he felt for the young woman was strange to him. He had grown up in a world where love didn’t exist and sex was only about lust and power, and up to now he had played that game with the best of them. What hlt flt for Aramys was something completely different, though, beyond his experience. This is not the place for her, the drow thought to himself. She deserves so much more than this life!
A disturbing image came to him then, the first time he had ever seen her. She had been little more than a child, barely clinging to survival from the vicious treatment of the household where she was a slave. She was an orphan by that time as well; her golden elf mother had breathed her last on some altar of Lloth’s. Such a mixed breed girl-child made a perfect target for males who wanted to take out their frustrations on a female. He had been spying for another drow noble at the time in the house, and had come upon the child unexpectedly. When he had seen her situation, he had nearly taken out his dagger and ended her suffering. Something in her eyes had stayed his hand, though, and he had done something utterly foreign to drow nature. He stole the child and took her with him. She had been beside him ever since, and Jarlaxle had done his best to give her tools for survival in his brutal society.
He wondered now whether the price she paid had been worth it. Those beautiful eyes that had so moved him held a strange void, as if her soul were slowly being taken from her. Jarlaxle hated the growing emptiness he saw there, but didn’t know what to do to remedy it. He shook the troubling thoughts away and walked into the room smiling.
"So, what do you think of master Entreri?" Aramys lifted her eyes from the book at the sound of his familiar voice.
"He’s interesting, I suppose." She said. "He looks at me oddly. Different from the others." The girl wrinkled her nose. "What’s that about?" she asked.
Jalraxle took off his hat and sat on the bed beside her. He laughed softly, "He looks at you that way because he thinks you’re stunning. Which is what I’ve been telling you all along." The drow smiled and lifted one hand to brush a strand of hair away from her face. His light eyes held an intensity that belied his casual tone.
Aramys met his gaze and then faltered and looked down. What she had seen in the human’s eyes had indeed resembled what she saw in Jarlaxle’s now, and it left her feeling strangely confused. "I don’t know about that." She whispered.
"You might be surprised by him,"
Aramys gazed at him questioningly. "So I fear."
The drow smiled at her, he was the only one who had ever smiled at her so. "Not everything unexpected is bad. ".
Aramys laughed shortly; "One would hope so, considering everything I do expect is."
"It won''t always be so" Jarlaxle promised cryptically. "But forget him tonight, I have better things for you to concentrate on."
The elven girl took the meaning in his eyes, and wondered briefly at the complexities of her relationship with the drow. She knew she was not the only lover he had, indeed, far from it. Pleasing females in numerous ways was something drow males were taught to be adept at, and of which Jarlaxle was a master. Oddly, it seemed his only purpose in being with her at all was to give her pleasure, he asked for little else from her. She didn’t understand his reasons, but felt no need question them either. He was many things to her: employer, mentor, father figure, lover, and most importantly, source of the only comfort and guidance she had ever known.
Jarlaxle shook his head, dismissing thoughts of Entreri and the confusing surge of emotion he had any time he was near this girl. He wasn’t by nature an introspective person, and had no desire to consider his motives at the moment. They would keep well enough for later. Tonight he would think only of her, expressing what he felt for her with only his touch: for after all, the drow language had invented no words for it.
Gently, he pulled Aramys’s face close to his, kissing her lightly. She sighed softly at the touch of his lips. The light kiss became deeper as he pulled her down beside him on the bed. He lifted his lips from hers, watching her face closely as his graceful, black hands traveled from her face downward, lightly stroking her slender throat before continuing lower. They came to rest at the drawstring neck of her overlarge shirt. He toyed with it, smiling mischievously into her purple eyes for a moment before deftly loosening it. The lace relaxed and he slid the cloth downward and away, exposing her soft breasts to his view. His eyes dropped briefly and when they returned to hers something in them had intensified. Then his mouth was on hers again, hot and wet unr unrelenting, his hands moving over her breasts, skillful fingers teasing the nipples into hard peaks. Aramys moaned softly into his mouth as his tongue stroked hers, his hands sending jolts of heat into the core of her body. Then he moved his mouth downward, gently sucking at her lower lip and traveling to her throat. Gently, he lapped at one at one rosy breast, pausing to blow on it lightly before taking the sensitized point into his mouth to suckle greedily. The unendurable sensitivity shot straight from her breasts into her womb, and the girl couldn’t help but cry out and arch her body against him, clutching his shoulders and twining one leg around him to draw him nearer.
Jarlaxle immediately pulled away from her, his breath coming in ragged gusts. Gently, he disengaged her hands from his shoulders, pushing her on to her back. He paused to kiss her palms and fingertips, watching as even these small attentions caused her eyelids to droop with pleasure. Then, with a look into her eyes almost of sadness, he firmly placed her slim arms above her head, the unspoken command between them understood. Aramys closed her eyes as he moved away from her, listening to the rustle of cloth and the two light thumps that told her he had removed his shirt and boots. The bed shifted and she opened her eyes to see him kneeling beside her. Lightly, he brought one hand to trace the features of her face before stroking downward over her body. The touch was feather light as his fingertips continued their journey between her breasts and over the bunched shirt, down to her sth toh to rest there briefly. Then both hands moved to the waistband of her pants and undid the fastenings. She shifted to help him as he slid them down over her hips, kicking them off and pausing to remove the rumpled shirt as well. She lay back in her passive position, watching his face as his eyes roamed over her bare body. The heat of his hands was almost searing as they closed on her breasts again, and his mouth devoured her he he pressed his body down upon her. He sucked and nipped his way to her throat, using his teeth firmly but not so much as to truly hurt. He moved lower to suckle her breast again, the hand that deserted it sliding between their bodies to her thighs. These he nudged apart with his knee and his hand moved between to stroke her gently. The drow shivered in reaction to the delicious feel of her under his fingers, and he felt her soft gasp of pleasure all the way down his spine. Vivid images of what it would feel like to be buried within her warred with his self-control, but he knew that he could not allow himself that. Instead he continued his rhythmic caress, moving back up to kiss her face and whisper soft, meaningless words into her hair. Aramys writhed beneath him, a muttered plea falling from her lips almost soundlessly, but the drow heard her. He removed his fingers and braced his lithe body over hers, his dark fingers fisted in the heavy silk of her hair. "What do you want, Sweet?" She looked up into his eyes and raised a trembling hand to his face, which he caught in his teeth and nibbled at gently. "Please…" she gasped breathlessly. She had no words to describe the aching emptiness inside her, so instead she pressed her body against him, her need for the moment overcoming her fear. Jarlaxle closed his eyes as if with pain and kissed her again deeply, his mouth ravishing hers, taking from her what otherwise her would not permit himself to. "I can''t." he whispered against her lips. ’Oh, you definitely could’, his brain whispered back at him. He was so hard it was painful, but he held himself in check with an iron will. Instead he moved abruptly down her body, hands and mouth raining fire over her skin. He kissed down her stomach and over one thigh, then with a ruthless tenderness he spread them wide. She cried aloud as his fingers again stroked her, lingering only briefly before they thrust inside her. She thought frantically that she could not endure this, that she would die of the terrible tension he was building inside her and then she felt the warmth of his breath and his mouth closed on the powerfully sensitive part his fingers had vacated. Aramys couldn’t control her thrashing, but Jarlaxle pushed her back with his free arm and continued the torment. The pressure built unbearably within her, and still the drow did not relent, his wet tongue stroking her, his long fingers moving inside her. It continued to grow, and then, like a dam breaking, ecstasy crashed through her body like a flood.
It was a long moment before Aramys began to think coherently again. Her first thought was that she wished she could touch jarlaxle as he touched her, but this he had never allowed. Her second was to wonder how soon he would leave her tonight, which was followed by a bitter sadness and quickly pushed aside. That didn’t mater, she told herself, the drow was much more to her than a lover, and the concept of fidelity was almost unknown in Meeraneranzan. Jarlaxle, she realized was beside her now holding her tightly, his face buried in her hair. His own breathing sounded uneven. When she stirred, he lifted his head and looked at her. His expression was at it commonly was at such moments, carefully guarded and unreadable, but with something almost frightened lurking in the depths of his eyes. She didn’t know what it meant, what any of this meant, but only that before him, she had thought that the whole of life was torment, and that touch could only bring pain.
Jarlaxle looked down into her eyes and wondered for the thousandth time what was happening to him. . He had no means to interpret the emotions he was feeling. This joy he felt at her closeness was different from the hedonistic pleasure he found with his drow lovers. He reveled in her innocent abandon, feeling her pleasure as keenly as if it were his own. He made love to her, but had never sought his own release: instinctively he felt he must shield her from the part of himself that was purely drow, which would take anvourvour and revel in her corruption. That would come later, elsewhere, in the violent and skillful arms of some matron mother. He didn’t try to decipher his reasons for never completing the act with Aramys; it was another subject left for another time. He cared only for her pleasure, and gave it selflessly, as he had never done with any other.
Later, he lay and watched her as she slept, the candlelight playing softly on her delicate features. She had survived the horrors of her youth and had grown strong, and Jarlaxle couldn’t regret giving her her life. Nonetheless, he realized that her existence was but a pale reflection of her potential. In Menzoberanzan, she would never be more than the Iblith the drow saw her as, no matter how apparent her merits were to him. The only small bit of recognition she had ever received was for killing, and that was born of rightful fear. He had bound her to him too much already, he realized, a trace of melancholy playing across his features. Quietly, he slipped out of the bed, silently donning his clothing once more. With a last look at the sleeping girl, he shut the door softly and headed for the city.
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Servant of Shadow