Forsaken by Shadows 23: Answers

To Patrick, who faithfully provides feedback on every chapter he reads, as well as pointing out those typos that I missed in editing. As someone who lives on positive feedback like plants live by photosynthesizing, I really, really appreciate it. Thank you Patrick for all of your encouragement!

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Previously, from Mazira’s point of view…

I know we’re supposed to be “saved” and “rescued,” but I’m really struggling to accept it. When we arrive on the deck of the Songbreeze, the tiefling woman asks Rismyn to assist Beltel with hoisting an anchor. I am bid to sit and rest, and I’m quite okay with that. In the presence of so many strangers, most of them drow, I just want to curl up and hide.

Once the boat gets moving, the scary one, Torafein, calls everyone to assemble. And of course, they assemble around me. Rismyn stands behind me, his hand on my shoulder, in a way that tells me I’m protected, even if I don’t think either of us would stand a chance if this situation turns on us.

We are introduced to our benefactors: Solaurin, the cleric who healed Rismyn. Beltel and Belnir, twin warriors who are identical in face but different in posture. Lina is said to be unable to speak, and I wonder about what tragedy rendered her voiceless. Styx is our tiefling captain, and of course, Torafein, the commander.

Then they ask for our names, and Rismyn gives his own. But when I summon the courage to give my name away for the first time, of my own choice, it fails me. What if I give it to them and they take it away, as Toloruel took it away?

But I am told my name is a choice I am free to make. So I decide to take that word on faith. I give them my name, my full name, Mazira Zylvaris.

And then the circle is over, and we are shunted into Styx’s cabin and told to eat and rest. I can tell Rismyn doesn’t like this, but thankfully he doesn’t test the patience of these strangers by arguing.

And then we’re alone, feasting on horrible little seeds from a pomegranate. Rismyn bids me sit in a chair, but I struggle to accept I’ve really been offered the privilege of furniture. It belongs to my betters. We sit on the floor together and discuss the likelihood of our impending doom. He’s convinced we’re safe, I still have my reservations, despite his compelling argument. It’s just too good to be true.

And then I want to sleep. But Rismyn won’t let me sleep on the floor. He scoops me up (quite against my will I might add) and forces me to use the bed Styx supposedly offered. He traps me between himself and the wall, and I’m so furious with him I actually let my temper show.

But I can’t get away, so I do my best to make do. But the bed is so soft, I can’t get comfortable.

And then Rismyn does the worst thing he could possibly do. He replaces the pillow with himself, laying my head in my lap as if we were innocent little kids again, not understanding why proximity yields comfort.

Worse, it actually works. I’m able to relax, as he strokes my hair. I know I should protest, that I shouldn’t let him touch me, but it feels good, and if it pleases him, well, maybe it’s okay. It’s just hair.

Before I fall asleep, however, I ask a question that’s been plaguing me: If Solaurin was able to heal Rismyn without taking the scar away, could he possibly heal the scars that mar my body?

Unfortunately, Rismyn doesn’t know, and I am too afraid to ask the cleric myself.

~8. Answers~

Mazira

The scent of sweet hotcakes and sugary syrup wafted over Mazira like a gentle embrace. Strong as it was, though, it couldn’t quite overpower the fragrant wood her family’s wagon was made from, the mingling aromas performing a sort of dance for prominence. Warmth spread over her skin as sunlight spilled through the colored window panes set high in the arch above the door. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, Mazira could imagine the dazzling array of colors that stained the surfaces of her home every morning.  

She was impossibly warm and comfortable, snuggled under the patchwork quilt her mother had helped her make. Really, the patchwork quilt her mother had made and let Mazira pretend to help with. Her hands were still too little to hold all the blocks together and stitch them into place. A cat curled up on her belly, and the fact that she never once had a cat in her life didn’t bother her whatsoever. It was heavy and pleasant, purring a little as it kneaded her tummy with its front paws. 

And then there was a man’s voice singing over her. Her papa’s voice. He sang a few words, then paused. A quill scratched over parchment, and then he sang again.

“...Radiant in violet...no…” he broke off once more, and the quill scratched the word out. “Violet is too difficult to rhyme...but she was wearing violet, it’s essential to the character...Aelrie, my love, what rhymes with violet?” 

“‘Radiant in violet, gold as sky lit,” Mama sang, and Papa clapped his hands together. 

“Brilliant! You’re a genius, my very own Calliope!”  

Mazira giggled because Calliope sounded like a funny word. She opened her eyes and looked up at Papa’s worn, smiling face. Only she couldn’t quite see it clearly. She knew it was him, could see the dark brown of his hair and the twinkling in his eyes, but the fine details were obscured by the sunlight through the stained glass. 

“Did I wake you?” he asked, in a voice that was no longer his. It was low and gravelly. It was–

–

“No,” Rismyn’s voice answered, jarring Mazira from the depths of sleep. “I was just resting.” 

She lay very still as the sound of footsteps drew nearer. It took her a moment to remember where she was and what had happened. She was still impossibly warm and comfortable, but she didn’t like it. The mattress beneath her body was too soft, too unstable. Like it was going to swallow her at any moment were it not for the person beneath her anchoring her there. 

But that person was not her father, and the voice had not been his voice, because it couldn’t be. He was dead, and she wasn’t a child anymore. 

It had been a long time since she had dreamed of her previous life. Worse than any of her nightmares. She would have groaned, or maybe even let out the sob that was building in her throat, but she was acutely aware that she was no longer alone with Rismyn. Fear of the unknown kept her eyes sealed shut, her breath even as she pretended to stay asleep. 

“We should talk,” came Torafein’s voice. The voice that had been inserted where her father’s should have been. Beneath her cheek, Rismyn’s muscles tense, but Torafein said, “Stay there. Don’t wake her.”

But Rismyn’s body didn’t relax. Wood scraped against wood, and Mazira risked letting her eyes slide halfway open. The former teacher dragged a chair from Styx’s table to the side of the bed. Mazira snapped her eyes closed before he could notice her watching him. 

Rismyn’s hand lay on her shoulder, and as the master approached, the pressure of his grip increased ever so slightly. 

“We are nearing our destination,” the master said. “It’s been nearly a full cycle–that is, a day since we found you. How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Rismyn said, and there was wariness in his tone. 

A full day? Had it only been a full day? It felt like an eternity since she stood on the precipice of the cavern, the river raging beneath them. How long had they drifted for? How long had they slept under the glowing crystal? How long had it really been since Rismyn’s body bled? 

“I know you have questions,” Torafein continued as he settled. “I will answer what I can. Some things are not safe to speak of yet. But first, you should know, I did everything in my power to prevent your brother from bringing Mazira to Melee-Magthere. I am sorry for what happened to her.” 

Rismyn’s fingers dug deeper into her arm, and had Mazira not been used to far more pain than this, she might have winced and revealed herself awake. Instead, she bore it, unsure of what else she should do. It was wrong to eavesdrop, but she didn’t want to intrude, either. 

“I asked you for help,” Rismyn said, slowly. “For a cleric to save her. You did nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Torafein repeated, with more of an edge to his voice than usual. “You should reconsider your words. You wouldn’t have made it out of Tier Breche alive if not for me.”

“But you could have stopped it,” Rismyn said, and Mazira was surprised by the acid in his voice. “You could have intervened before she ever got hurt.”

“And you could have kept your feelings in check so the others wouldn’t have known what she meant to you.” 

“They were tormenting her!”

“And she was protecting herself perfectly by remaining still and silent. They would have lost interest in a matter of minutes and moved on.” 

“But you–”

“Enough.” 

Torafein didn’t raise his voice, but even with her eyes shut, his presence was commanding. Rismyn fell silent, but his body was stiff and his grip still tight on her shoulder. 

“We both made poor decisions that day,” Torafein said, in a slightly softer tone. If stone could be said to be softer than iron. “I carry the regrets of my inaction with me daily, and they are not lessened now that I know she is still alive. But I cannot go back and change things, and neither can you. We can only move forward.” 

There was a beat of silence, punctuated by the thumping of the current against the hull of the boat. 

“I’m sorry,” Rismyn said finally, the tension easing out of him. “You’ve saved us twice and I haven’t shown you my gratitude.” 

“It is forgiven.” There was a note of finality in the master’s voice. “As I hope in time you and Mazira will forgive me for failing you both. I had my suspicions about you, but I had not foreseen how her presence at Melee-Magthere would affect you. I chose caution over action and it nearly cost Mazira her life.” 

“Suspicions?” Rismyn asked, more curious than hostile now. 

“Oh yes,” Torafein said in a low growl. Mazira didn’t think he meant it to sound harsh, it was just the way he spoke. “I’d had my guesses about you from the beginning. But they were only suspicions until your lady arrived and you tipped your hand. For all the tragedy it wrought, her visit accomplished one good thing.”

Rismyn’s hand twitched on her shoulder, but this time he didn’t squeeze. “And what was that?” 

“It made me sure about you, which is why we are here, having this conversation.” The chair creaked as Torafein leaned forward. “And while the whole affair was an absolute disaster, you are both still alive and recovered. That is what matters now.”  

Rismyn shifted, his hand tightening protectively on her arm again. “Who are you,” he asked. “Really?” 

“I’m exactly who I claimed to be,” Torafein said. “A somewhat unimportant child of House Xarrin, ungifted in my family’s usual magical prowess, and spared only from the altar because we had run low on soldiers the year I was tested.”

“But then why do you care what happens to me or Mazira?” 

Torafein made a sound that was almost a laugh. “You haven’t figured that out yet?” 

“I’d like to hear it from you.” 

“Because it is my job,” Torafein said, and Mazira could tell by the way Rismyn’s muscles sagged that he was disappointed in the answer. Torafein must have sensed it, too, for he continued. “I work for an organization that makes it their business to find drow and slaves like yourselves, and set them free.”

It was the same story, if different words, that he had told Mazira when they were first discovered in the cavern. And still, despite everything, she couldn’t comprehend it. It seemed too good to be true. 

Rismyn didn’t seem to have the same struggles. “So it’s true, then,” he breathed. His hand relaxed its grip completely, and he stroked his knuckles down her arm once, before returning it to rest on her shoulder. 

Mazira almost shuddered. She didn’t like how much she liked the contact. It was soothing and comforting and exhilarating all at once. 

“You really are like me,” Rismyn said. “A...deviant…”

“Dissenter,” Torafein corrected. “That is the preferred term. We do not deviate from our nature, we dissent from our society to embrace what we were made for.” 

“And…the others?”

“Are of like mind.” 

Rismyn’s breath released slowly as he took in the news. “How did it happen?” There was a note of excitement in his voice, a childish joy that Mazira hoped wouldn’t get crushed. “Were you always like this, or did something...change you?” 

Wood creaked as Torafein shifted in the chair. “Not many of us are born this way,” he said, carefully. “Or more likely, we are born this way but are taught to behave otherwise. For me, the changing factor was similar to yours. I found myself in the awkward position of falling in love with a ‘faerie.’” 

Rismyn went rigid, and his hand slipped immediately off her shoulder. “I’m not in love,” he said quickly, and the words had the most peculiar effect on Mazira. 

They hurt. Like splashing into the frigid black river all over again. 

But why should it hurt? He’d claimed to be in love with her once, and she’d felt the confession like the acid that marred her skin. His words ought to be a relief now. Instead, her chest tightened as her heart sank. 

There was more silence, and Mazira could only assume significant looks were being passed. 

“She was struggling to sleep,” Rismyn started explaining, confirming her suspicions. Torafein must have raised a questioning brow at their current position. “The pillow was too soft, and she wanted to sleep on the floor, but that’s not right, because she’s not a slave, so, I, uh, compromised with her.” 

“I see.” More silence, and Mazira risked a quick peek at the master. It didn’t tell her much. He was staring at Rismyn with his arms folded across his chest, looking rather unimpressed. “You should let her sleep where she wants. It’s not uncommon for the victims of our people to need time to readjust to freedom. Letting her make her own choices is a crucial step in the process.” 

Rismyn must have looked crestfallen because when Torafein next spoke, he actually sounded almost gentle. 

“Don’t fret over it, boy. She is asleep, which means she feels safe with you. That is what matters more. There’s a long road ahead of you both, and time to make up for the losses.”

“Right…” Rismyn said, and she could tell he wasn’t sure. 

She wasn’t so sure she believed it, either. She’d slept in the same room as a monster for years. It had taught her to sleep when she could and endure the rest. But even as she thought it, she came to a sudden realization. 

She wasn’t afraid of Rismyn anymore. At least, not at this exact moment. Somewhere, in the mad sweep of one near-death experience after the other, she’d come to cling to him again like she had before he revealed his true nature. 

No, no. She wasn’t clinging. It was natural to be less wary of him who was familiar in this strange and unforeseen twist in her life. Rismyn was her protector, the wolf she hid behind when the hounds came hunting. That was all. Nothing more. 

Nothing more.   

“Solaurin tells me he believes she would have bitten off his hand if he had tried to heal you before you woke,” the master quipped. “She thought he was intending harm rather than a blessing. She must care about you deeply.”

Blood rushed to Mazira’s cheeks, making her feel too warm. Now that was taking things a little too far. She wouldn’t have bitten anyone. She wasn’t an animal. 

And yet, she remembered the feral rage that turned her words into a snarl. She remembered the fierce desire to defend and protect Rismyn at all costs. Despite having no weapons or knowledge of how to summon those elusive spells to aid them. Yet she was certain if it had come to a fight, she’d have used every fiber of her being to keep Rismyn from the jaws of final death.

What did that say about the state of her heart? 

She didn’t want to think about it. She was not clinging. 

“Really…?” Rismyn asked, and there was something akin to delight in the word. But then, his tone darkened. “She shouldn’t have had to. I should have protected her better.” 

“You seem to care deeply for her, as well.” 

“Of course I do.” 

“But you aren’t in love with her.” 

“What? No!”

“You betrayed your home and family, murdered Gylas for wounding her, became a fugitive of Menzoberranzan, and suffered very recently at the hands of your brother for a young lady that you are not in love with.” 

“No! I mean, yes. I mean...It’s just that I...I owe her everything,” Rismyn concluded. He shifted uneasily underneath her and started rambling in the most un-Rismyn-like way. “She taught me what kindness and joy are. She taught me there is a way to live differently than the way I was raised. Her signing probably saved my life...what happened to her at the hands of my family was wrong and...and I shouldn’t have just stood by and let it happen. So I am paying back my debt. I’m going to take her back to the surface where she belongs, where she never should have been taken from in the first place.”

In the silence that followed the confession, Mazira feared her pounding heart would give her conscious state away. Was this…was this all true? Had she really had such a grand effect on his life? She’d always thought that, at best, he used her songs like he used healing balm on his lashes. Unnecessary, but pleasant in the way it removed the sting. She thought he found her stories amusing, as she painted tales of an alien world above. 

She never realized he’d been listening so closely, contemplating her philosophies and adopting them as his own. Was she really to blame for his dissenting? 

Did he really care for her so deeply? 

“And what will you do when you get her to the surface?” Torafein asked, pulling her from her marveling. 

Rismyn shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Probably go our separate ways.”

Whatever thawing had been creeping over her heart came to an abrupt halt. Go their separate ways? But he just said he cared for her. Did he really want to be rid of her that badly? 

But wasn’t that what she wanted? To be away from the Underdark and the drow? So why did sorrow slink through her veins at the thought of facing life without Rismyn by her side? He was just her protector. Nothing more. 

As if she could pretend the twelve years of stealing songs and laughter in broom closets had never actually happened. 

The cabin had been quiet for far too long. They needed to keep talking, to wash over this wretched subject of their future. She could sort through this maelstrom of emotion some other time. 

At last, Torafein spoke. “You didn’t ask about my wife.” 

Rismyn started, and Mazira was grateful for it. She had twitched, too, at the word. 

“Wife,” in the Common, not “lady” or “mistress,” as the drow-equivalent meant. Terms such as “marriage” and “spouse” existed in the drow society, but they carried such different connotations. A ‘husband’ was a favored consort, easily discarded, a ‘wife’ a word synonymous with ladyship. 

But Torafein had used the word which described a relationship like her mother and father had, a term she hadn’t expected to ever hear again.

“Your wife?” Rismyn asked.

“I told you, I fell in love with a faerie. Not all of our stories end in tragedy.” 

“Wait, so you...how?” 

“Her name is Tsaria,” Torafein said. “She is of high elven descent, from the surface, which is where I met her.” 

“You’ve been to the surface?” Rismyn’s voice was full of awe. 

But Torafein’s tone took on a darker cast. “On a raid, yes.” 

Quite suddenly, Mazira was sick. Images of her last horrible night under the stars began to play out in her mind. As if he could sense her despair, Rismyn’s hand made its way back to her shoulder, but she didn’t take quite as much comfort in it as before. 

“It is the part of my life of which I am most ashamed,” Torafein continued. “And yet out of the literal ashes I found my greatest treasure.” 

The boat creaked and rocked and the men fell silent, as though listening to the waves. Then, after a moment, Torafein went on. 

“It was my two-hundred and fiftieth year when I was given the honor of leading a team on a surface raid,” Torafein began. His mouth had twisted distastefully over honor. “All my life I was a faithful son of House Xarrin, full of zeal for faerie blood and glory.”

It was all Mazira could do not to curl up in a ball and cover her ears. But at this point, she’d been silent so long she’d probably get in trouble if she revealed herself awake now. She didn’t dare risk the commander’s ire. 

“By wonderful good fortune, things did not go the way I planned,” Torafein said, apparently oblivious to her suffering. “A traveling ranger had seen us coming and tipped off the village we intended to raid. They had enough time to gather support and build defenses. It was a slaughter, and not for the villagers.”

Although Torafein’s story painted a very different picture than what Mazira had experienced, the images of shadows darting into their campfire light played out before her eyes. A small moan escaped her lips, and she could practically feel their gazes fall on her. 

Rismyn brushed a hand through her hair. She wished he wouldn’t do that. It made her heart skip in ways it wasn’t meant to skip. “Zira?” he whispered, leaning close over her. 

Mazira squeezed the pillow tighter and “mm’d” in response, snuggling down more as if she was just shifting in her sleep. 

It must have worked because Rismyn’s hand returned to her shoulder and Torafein continued his tale. 

“I was gravely injured and left to die,” he said, and then added in a scoff, “Typical of drow loyalty.”

Rismyn scoffed as well, as though commiserating. Drow loyalty was a joke in every circle, even their own.

“That’s when Tsaria found me,” Torafein said. “And she had pity on me. I was not conscious for this part–she told me of it later–but she dragged me through the shadows into her father’s barn and dressed my wounds. When I woke, she was kneeling over me, singing. If I’d had the strength, I would have wrung her neck.” 

The sick feeling churned in Mazira’s gut. His words rang with cold steel, and though Mazira didn’t know this Tsaria from any other elven woman, her mind concocted the scene with more vivid detail than she would have liked.

What could have possessed the woman to bring a demon to her home? 

The chair creaked again. “But I was completely helpless. Tsaria cared for me faithfully, despite the terrible things I said to her. She ignored my threats and sang over me while she forced broth and water down my throat. It was, at the time, the most horrendous form of torture. Yet I could do nothing but depend on her.

“Fortunately for her sake, her father discovered me before I had the strength to act on my words. Naturally, he was concerned about finding a drow in his barn, even an injured and helpless wretch like me. That should have been my death. I had nothing to defend myself with but a vague will to live.” 

Torafein paused, as though overcome with emotion. But Mazira couldn’t imagine the stoic warrior emotional. It must have been something else. 

“But she protected me,” he said finally, his words just as gravelly and hard as ever. “Spread herself over me so that he couldn’t hurt me without hurting her. They argued over what to do about me, and eventually, Darlen agreed she could keep me. He fashioned restraints and strapped me to the ground. Which, admittedly, was wise. I still intended to slaughter the whole lot of them.” 

Rismyn’s hand dug a little deeper into her arm. “What changed your mind?” 

“Tsaria’s self-sacrifice,” Torafein said. “I couldn’t understand why she would have risked herself to save me. So, I asked her, the next time she came to change my bandages. It was the first civil conversation I allowed her to have, and it began the many days of long and fruitful conversation. In the end, I had an epiphany.”

“An epiphany?” Rismyn repeated. 

“Indeed. I realized it was not the surface-elves who were evil. It was the drow.” 

The statement dropped like the anchor Rismyn and Beltel had hoisted. It would’ve been vindicating if it hadn’t been said by a drow. Mazira trembled, and Rismyn’s hand stroked her arm. He fidgeted a little, then part of the blanket was tossed over her, as though he thought she was merely cold and not unraveling from the inside out. 

Nevertheless, she was grateful for the covering. It reminded her of the scratchy blanket that Toloruel had given her, though this was softer by far. Still, a blanket was the only form of protection she’d ever had in the Underdark, and it was comforting even now.  

“Once I understood that,” Torafein continued, “it was like seeing for the first time. Everything I’d been taught to believe was gutted before me. I was a child all over again, re-learning things that should have been common knowledge. But the most startling revelation of all came when I found myself victim to the sickness we dark elves hold in deepest derision. I was in love, and rather than make me weak, it gave me strength.”    

Rismyn made a sound, one that sounded almost pained. When Torafein didn’t go on, Mazira imagined he was waiting for Rismyn to interject. 

After a moment, in which his hand found her arm again beneath the coverlet, Rismyn said, in such a small voice that it cut Mazira’s heart, “So, then we can love? We’re…capable of it?” 

He sounded so hopeful, yet so unsure, as though he were a flickering candle flame dancing precariously in the breeze. 

And was it not her fault? Hadn’t she been the one to tell him he wasn’t capable of it? Her face burned, and beneath the blanket, she clutched the pillow until she feared she might shred it. 

But she had been right, right? What he’d felt for her wasn’t real love. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t have done what he did if he loved her. Love was patient and kind, not fervent and demanding. Love didn’t strike you when you denied it. 

Love didn’t leave you behind. 

Right?

“Yes,” said Torafein, and his answer left no room for argument. There was no shame or mocking in his tone. It was as though Rismyn’s question was entirely valid, something he could have been taught anywhere, and not at the hands of a girl he once stole kisses from. “We are quite able to love when given the opportunity.”   

Rismyn released a breath. “How can you tell the difference between love and...desire?” 

Now Mazira blushed for a different reason. Rismyn substituted the Common ‘love’ for the Undercommon equivalent, and all the connotations that word carried. Were they really going to talk about this? Maybe now was a good time to wake up. 

Torafein was silent so long that Mazira thought she might be spared. But then he said, “That might be a better question for Solaurin.”

“Has he been in love, too?” Rismyn asked, uncertainly. “Is it common for dissenters?” 

“His story isn’t mine to tell,” Torafein said. “But he is a philosopher of sorts, and as frustrating as he can be at times, he is one of the wisest men I have ever met. He is better suited for this discussion.” 

“Oh,” Rismyn said. Mazira couldn’t tell what he meant by it. 

“But I will say this,” Torafein added, “I’ve desired many women before I met Tsaria.” There was that brutal honesty again. Mazira was glad for the blanket that obscured her face. “Desire is a part of love. But only one part. The women I desired were women I wanted to consume, just as they desired to consume me. But Tsaria is different. I do not want to take her for myself, I want to give her space to flourish, to grow. Her joy is my chief concern, above all others. She’s the only woman who has made me feel that.”

Silence fell heavy, and Mazira tried to absorb the magnitude of what he had said. He sounded earnest and genuine. Like he really loved this Tsaria. The concept seemed so foreign to her, a drow in love. A drow, yearning for someone’s good above their own. She couldn’t understand it, and yet…

It made sense. 

Rismyn had made it make sense. Because hadn’t that been what he’d been trying to do for her all along? Even if she was just an obligation, a debt to be repaid, he’d given up his whole world to see her freed. He’d taken a beating and bore a scar on his face because he refused to surrender her when it could have saved his life. Rismyn bled for her, broke his bones for her.

But he said he didn’t love her. So what did that make them? 

“What happened next?” Rismyn asked, after a moment.  

Torafein laughed hollowly. “Once I was stronger, Darlen had me moved into the cellar, which he turned into a sort of dungeon. I was well cared for, but I wasn’t free. Though that hardly mattered to me anymore. I felt it was a fitting punishment for the crimes I had committed in my life. I offered myself as slave labor for their farm, but Darlen didn’t trust that I had changed and wouldn’t release me. I don’t hold it against him.” 

The boat rocked, and Rismyn’s hand ran down her arm again. She was starting to think it was an involuntary action. “But eventually he believed you?” 

“Eventually I proved my loyalty. During the second raid.” Torafein’s words turned into a growl. “Almost two years to the day I led my failed raid, the drow returned. This time, it didn’t go so well for the villagers. I could hear the battle and smell the smoke of the fires, but I could do nothing.”

Again, the memories poured into Mazira’s mind, and she hunkered down under the blanket. 

“They came to Darlen’s farm. A few stayed upstairs to torment Tsaria and her family while the others fanned out to loot the property.” Even with her eyes shut, Mazira could hear the wolfish smile on the master’s lips. “I don’t think any of them were expecting to find me in the cellar. They unlocked the cage, stepped inside, and...” There was the sound of a fist smacking an open palm. “I hid in the light of the door they left open. They never saw me coming.”  

Mazira shuddered, and she was certain she had given herself away, but the men didn’t seem to notice. Torafein never missed a beat of his story. 

“I made it upstairs in time to save Tsaria and her parents. Then I intended to meet my end by taking as many of the raiders back to Lolth with me as I could. But Darlen wouldn’t let me go alone. He did a fair bit of adventuring in his younger days and was handy with a blade. Together, we defended what we could, and he defended me from the other villagers. It was a long night. A brutal night. But by morning, I had found my new family.” 

His words should have been moving, and if the recent dream of her own family hadn’t been so fresh in her mind, Mazira might have been moved. Instead, she tasted only bitterness. Torafein had gone to kill and destroy, and claimed to find love and family instead. Mazira had once had love and family, and it had been killed and destroyed. It wasn’t fair, and she couldn’t keep the tears from leaking through her lashes. 

Which meant she would be discovered soon. 

“So you lived on the surface,” Rismyn said, not noticing her hot tears pooling on his clothing yet. “They…accepted you?”

“Not quite accepted,” Torafein admitted. “At least, not by everyone. But I seldom had a need to leave the farm, where I was accepted. After the night raid, Darlen welcomed me into his home as a guest, though I still had much to learn about my new culture. I sought his blessing more than once to marry his daughter, but he wouldn’t give it until I proved I could be fit as a husband.”

Mazira thought of the hardened warrior, with his dangerous eyes and deadly presence. Even when he insisted he wanted to help, he radiated hostility. How anyone could look at him and decide he was fit to wed their daughter was a concept she didn’t think she’d ever wrap her mind around. 

Rismyn must have looked confused as well, but Torafein read a different meaning.

“Surface traditions are not like our own,” he said. “It is often the father who leads the family, not the mother, and it’s considered polite to obtain his blessing before uniting. I was determined to honor Tsaria by following the traditions of her people.”

“Right, I think I remember Mazira telling me about that, once,” Rismyn said, and she was at least a little pleased that he remembered her lessons in surface life. “How long did it take to convince him to give you his blessing?” 

“Another year. But it felt as days to me. I do not resent him for it. Darlen only wanted to be sure I wouldn’t revert to my heritage and hurt Tsaria.”  

“But now you’re here. Why did you leave that world behind?”  

Torafein grunted. “Because my sister found me. In the fifteenth year of our marriage.”

Beneath the covers, Rismyn squeezed Mazira’s shoulder, as though gripped by a premonition of dread. One that Mazira shared as well. 

“There had been other raids over the years,” Torafein said, “and rumors of a drow guarding the village made it back to her. She didn’t know it was me, but she was glad when she learned it. As it turned out, she, too, had dissented. Long before I had.”

Rismyn let out a breath and relaxed his grip. Mazira wasn’t quite so optimistic. 

“She had come as an emissary,” Torafein explained. “Looking to recruit the ‘surface drow’ to her cause. She is one of the founding members of the organization I work for now. After discussing it, Tsaria and I agreed to come. My sister arranged for me to be reconnected with the Xarrin family to establish a cover and we have been a part of the mission ever since.” 

“Wait, we?” Rismyn gasped. “You mean she’s here? Your wife? In the Underdark?” 

“Did you think I left her?” There was a wry twist to Torafein’s words.

“I...don’t know. I guess, maybe? Why would she consent to live down here?” 

It was a good question, one Mazira was glad Rismyn asked because she wanted to ask it, too.

“Because there is more to the Underdark than monsters and drow,” Torafein said, a little sharply. Though what he meant, Mazira couldn’t guess. She knew only of monsters and drow. “And some things are worth leaving comfort for.”

Rismyn didn’t seem to share her thoughts this time. Instead of clarification, he asked, “So...she loves you?” 

“Since long before I loved her,” the master said. “Undeserved though it may be, she has been my bliss for nearly two hundred years.” 

“But...how do you know?” 

“You’re awfully curious about love for an elf who claims not to be in it.” 

Rismyn jerked his hand from beneath the covers, as though he could sever contact when she was using him for a pillow. Mercy, she told him they weren’t kids anymore. Why didn’t ever listen to her? 

“Well, you know...perhaps someday…” Rismyn stammered.

“Perhaps indeed,” Torafein agreed dryly. “If the question you are truly fishing for an answer for is, ‘can a surface-elf, or a half-surface-elf, ever love a dark-elf’ then the answer is unequivocally yes. It is possible, and there are many examples where we are going to prove it. If you are looking for more specific answers, you will have to ask yourself. And perhaps your lady.”

Mazira was suddenly light-headed. What was that supposed to mean?

Again, Rismyn’s whole body tensed. “That’s not...I was just–”

A knock on the door interrupted them, and then it opened. Mazira couldn’t help but look as the resonant song of the cleric entered the room. Something about the tune, though it was completely foreign, called to her. 

Solaurin stood in the door, not missing a note, as his hands flashed, ‘We’ve reached the Split.’ Then the door shut and he was gone, taking his music with him. 

Torafein turned back to Rismyn. “Not far now.” 

“Why does he do that?” Rismyn asked, his gaze trailing after the cleric. It was only then that Mazira remembered she was supposed to be feigning sleep and squeezed her eyes shut. 

Torafein grunted again. “The singing? Get used to it. Where we are going, everyone sings.”

Within the turbulent swirling of her confused emotions, excitement trilled through her. The first in a long while. She might not have believed Torafein’s claim, except she had noticed the cleric sang often, and no one objected like they objected to her songs. Even though he was a drow, his voice and music were beautiful, and if everyone sang, maybe they wouldn’t object to her singing, too. 

“Why?”

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

Mazira expected Rismyn to protest, or give some sign of frustration at being put off, but he didn’t. Instead, he accepted Torafein’s answers and said, “I have another question. When I was speaking with Beltel and Belnir earlier, they said that we were lucky, that you don’t normally run missions like this.”

“They’re not wrong.” 

“They said our story was ‘famous’ where we are going, which was why you came for us. Is that...true?” 

The floorboards creak as Torafein stood. “Your story is famous everywhere, by now,” he said, sardonically. “You made such a spectacular show out of dissenting, they’ll probably hear about it on the surface soon.” 

Though his footsteps made no noise, Mazira could tell he was pacing by the way his voice changed as he spoke. 

“Normally,” the master explained, “we try to be more subtle. The Guides, as we are called, establish a cover in one of the drow cities, find marks, and arrange for ‘accidents.’”

Rismyn twitched, and Mazira imagined he made a face. 

“Not real accidents,” Torafein said. “But enough of one to make anyone interested believe their son, daughter, or slave, to be dead. It keeps the matrons and the mercenaries at bay. But you.” Torafein stopped his pacing. “You managed to piss off your own House Tear, Dreder’s House Ti’glath, and Gylas’ House Grer’ym. Not to mention catching the eye of Bregan D’Aerthe, who will find a way to keep using you even when you think you’ve concluded your business with them. Oh, and former instructor Enelel Quen’zi would like to wring your neck for getting him dismissed from the Academy. And that’s just the ones who have a right to want your head.” 

Rismyn physically winced with each name Torafein spat at him. She didn’t blame him. Her own sense of dread rose when she realized how hated they must be. Toloruel was awful enough. How could they ever hope to escape alive? 

“I had convinced Kalos Seabane that Mazira was dead,” Torafein said, “that no one would survive what Gylas did to her. It wasn’t hard to believe, she shouldn’t have survived. But I hear you handed that secret right over to him. He’s peddled it for a fat purse of gold.” 

Rismyn groaned. “It was an accident,” he began, but Torafein cut him off. 

“It was stupidity,” he snarled. Then, he took a breath. “But it’s done.” There was another pause, and then Torafein’s tone softened. “I looked for you, but you were gone from the cavern I sent you to. I don’t blame you for wanting to move on as fast as you could, but if you had waited–never mind. It is done.” 

The regret faded from his voice, and Torafein continued. “With my allegedly shameful dismissal from the Academy, I couldn’t stay in Menzoberranzan. There were still three years left on my tour, so naturally, there were some questions when I returned home. Not to House Xarrin. To my real home, where we are going now.” 

“I’m sorry,” Rismyn said, and he sounded stricken. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything. But...I don’t regret my actions. They were hurting Mazira. I couldn’t stand aside anymore. I should have left sooner, and taken her with me.” 

“Probably,” Torafein agreed, and Rismyn winced again. “But you would have both died if you had, untrained and unknown to us. You’re lucky you’re not dead anyway. Not many could survive alone in the Wilds for so long, no matter how skilled they are. It’s as much a game of chance as it is slaying threats. It’s why we don’t run rescue ops–we don’t have enough soldiers to risk losing them to the Dark.”

“But you came for us.” 

“Yes,” was all Torafein said. “We did.” 

Silence stretched, and Mazira wondered if the master had left, when Rismyn said, tentatively, “You said you had your suspicions about me from the beginning. But honestly, until I saw Mazira again, I’m not sure I knew I was different. How did you know?” 

Torafein came back to the chair, but it sounded more like he leaned on the back of it rather than sit again. “Do you remember the first words you ever said to me?” 

Silence.

“It was the second tenday,” the master said. “You’d hardly spoken a word to anyone–not that that ever changed. Another detail that caught my eye. Anyway, I corrected your grip on the naginata, and you thanked me for it.”

Rismyn tensed ever so slightly. “I don’t remember that.”

“Of course not,” Torafein agreed. “Because you’re naturally polite. It didn’t strike you as an odd thing to say. But I have corrected hundreds of students in my years of training, and it is not often that any of them thank me for it.” 

“It seems like such a small thing,” Rismyn said, doubtfully. 

“It is the small things that give us away. You hid your differences well, but nature can only be held at bay for so long.” 

More silence, and Mazira wished more than ever she could see Rismyn’s face. She wondered what he was thinking, how he was taking these revelations. Finally, she felt him take a breath, felt the vibration of his words beginning in his chest.
 

And then, before anything else could be said, the boat suddenly lurched with a thunderous crash. 

Forsaken by Shadows is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.