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Drizzt clutched his summons, unsure. He fidgeted with it, squeezing and relaxing the scroll in his hands.

He was unsure why the Matron had called him back. Earlier in the day he’d been declared Secondboy, now sixteen he was no longer a servant- He was an important son of the house. Drizzt had felt pride in this, his life and rearing with his sister Vierna mundane and lonely. It was standard for the second son of the house to become the house wizard, which meant he should be assigned to the Sorcere. Matron Malice and Zak had debated his placement in the world. The weapon’s master of the house, who seemed strangely affectionate towards him, had advocated for Drizzt to work with him. Now he was his apprentice, and he’d been assigned a new room, and a new place in the house, (Though sadly it seemed just as plain as his last room.) which was all very exciting. He’d just started to settle in for the night when he’d gotten the summons. Drizzt wasn’t supposed to go out past curfew, but it was an official summons from his mother. He had to go.

Drizzt walked silently to Mother Malice’s bedchamber, his foot falls silent and his movements graceful. Drizzt had always been naturally very agile. Now he lingered, taking a deep breath before finally pushing open her heavy ebony doors, engraved with spiders.

He had never seen his mother’s bedroom before, his violet eyes taking in the gorgeous, opulent  space decorated with deep rich purples and shiny blacks.

At the center of the vast chamber was an enormous bed draped in fine silks, the deep amethyst hues shimmering under the dim glow of faerie fire. Sitting atop that bed, draped in a silken robe as dark as the Underdark itself, was Matron Malice. Her presence was overwhelming, a force that seemed to press against the very air. She was beautiful in the way all drow matron mothers were—terrible and sharp, power coiling around her like a serpent poised to strike. The flickering faerie fire that lined the chamber cast eerie shadows over her high cheekbones and cruelly curved lips.

Malice regarded him with a gaze as piercing as a dagger’s edge. She studied him for a moment, her long manicured nails fingering the hookah hose she was clutching. She exhaled, a cloud of bluish smoke puffing out. The smell made his stomach hurt, and his head feel a bit foggy. After a long, deliberate silence, she placed it down, finally speaking.

“You are of age now.”

She said, her voice smooth but laced with a quiet, regal authority. 

“Your place in this house has changed.”

Drizzt nodded, though he remained wary. He had already been declared Secondboy. His path to becoming Zaknafein’s apprentice had been decided. What more was there to discuss? He forced himself to keep eye contact, remembering his mother’s threat to stick needles in his eyes if he looked down like a servant. It was hard, being a boy child. For years now he had been beaten, it drilled into him to never look house members in the eye, especially female family members. Now suddenly he was expected to shuck that conditioning.

“You have been granted a great honor.”

Malice continued, and there was something breathy in her tone. That made the unease in his stomach twist tighter.

 “One that I do not bestow lightly.”

Drizzt's violet eyes flickered with confusion. 

“Honor, Mo—-Matron?”

Another thing to get used to: He was to call his mother Matron Malice now. Not mother, or Mother Malice. Zak had beaten him for his continued, stubborn use of it as he walked him to his new quarters. He was not a child anymore, and his connection to his mother did not need to be stated. He was a noble, and his status as Secondboy was enough, there was no need to announce his relation anymore to keep soldiers away.

Malice leaned forward slightly, her crimson gaze narrowing at his correction. She laid back onto her many pillows, grabbing for the hose again. Drizzt blinked, sending a silent message of thanks to his new mentor. He didn’t want to imagine how this night would’ve went if he’d called her mother to her face.

“You’re to lay with me.”

Drizzt froze. He was not ignorant to what his mother was ordering him to do. He had seen Vierna call people up, order them to spend the night with her. Men and women, a parade of them, usually soldiers of their house. All expected to be excited to sleep with a noble. Sometimes they did look excited, sometimes they didn’t. He was always shooed away, but sometimes he’d put an ear to the door, listen to the strange sounds within. 

He knew his mother did this too. Matron Malice’s exploits with nearly every male of the Do’Urden house—and many others the seductive matron managed to sneak away from other houses—were legendary in Menzoberranzan.

Noblewomen were expected to take many, many lovers. And males were free to be used by the noblewomen of their house. Though females usually had a prime consort, (His mother’s was Rizzen, a slight man who Drizzt did not particularly like.) they could not be expected to not have a wandering eye. It was in the nature of females.

Still, Drizzt had no experience in such matters. His sister, though she had every right, had never called him to do such a thing, and when he would ask (Drizzt had always been a curious, intelligent and vocal child. Often to his detriment.) about her romantic affairs he would get her whip lovingly biting into his back.

He fidgeted.

“What should…what should I do?”

“Come to me. I will show you.”

She purred. It was the first time ever his mother sounded nice, kind. Reared entirely by his sister Vierna he spent little time with his mother. Little time with anyone besides her. He had assumed that would stay the same assigned to Zaknafein for his further education. His mother was never gentle either, so it was strange the way she pulled him into her lap, her bed. She stroked his long white hair, and for a moment things were quiet. He couldn’t help but nuzzle into her chest, and smell her elegant perfume. Flowers of the Underdark wafted from her, as well as the earthy musk of their mushrooms. She smelled delightful, and her large breasts were soft and pillowy. He knew he should not let his guard down, but this felt natural, and almost like a reward. Drizzt couldn’t deny there was something primal part of him that longed for his mother to hold him, to acknowledge him. He felt her shape nails dig into his tunic.

“Soon Zaknafein will try to sink his claws into you, you must resist him.”

She ordered, cold, but something else in her tone. More of that breathiness. Drizzt didn’t understand. He’d been ordered to learn from the weapons master. Now he was being told to resist him?

“Matron, I don’t understand….”

She cut him off with a well manicured finger.

“You don’t need to understand, you only need to follow orders. That is what a good boy does.”

He felt a dull sting. The sexism of his family he still didn’t fully understand, even with all of Vierna’s loving lessons. It felt unnatural to him that they shouldn’t treat each other as equals. Still, it had been drilled into him, and when she began to take off his tunic, he didn’t resist her.

Her cold hands ran across the muscled plan of his chest, his stomach. 

“My, you’re a strong boy. My strongest by far.” 

He flushed slightly at the compliment, as she pushed him back on the bed. 

“T-Thank you, Mo—Matron.”

He stuttered, as she smiled down at him. Her red eyes were completely dead. She kissed his cheek, and he wrinkled his nose, an uncomfortable whimper left him as she kissed the side of his mouth, his jawline, before pecking his lips.

She pulled away, taking her crown off, her many pieces of jewelry off, and depositing them all onto her bedside table. She pulled her long white hair out of its elaborate up-do, and it looked around her like a glistening snowfall. Drizzt had never seen his mother with her hair down, it almost felt wrong to see. Too ethereal, too perfect. She took her time, puffing from the hose here and there, before putting that away as well.

Malice’s fingers moved with deliberate slowness as she untied the sash of her robe, letting the dark elaborately patterned fabric slip from her shoulders. Layer after layer was peeled away. Until finally she wore only a sheer black underdress that clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination. Drizzt’s breath hitched as his eyes traced the outline of her full breasts, the dip of her waist, the wide flare of her hips. She was undeniably beautiful. Radiant in a way that was both mesmerizing and terrifying, like an exploding star.

His body reacted before his mind could catch up. A flush crept up his neck, heat pooling low in his stomach as he shifted uncomfortably. He tried to will the growing tightness in his leggings away, but the more she revealed, the harder it became. He had seen women before—Vierna had never been particularly modest, and the occasional one of her servants or lovers he had seen in half-dress, but none like this. None bearing themself so fully and openly to him. He bit his lip, crossing his legs tighter, and pointedly looking away.

She leaned over him, her white hair cascading around them like a silken curtain, hiding them away from the world. She tilted his chin up, a more familiar sharpness to her tone.

“You must look at me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He whispered, his throat dry. This all felt so confusing.

Malice’s hand returned to his chest, squeezing a pec. Her thumb slid over a nipple, causing it to pebble. Drizzt, to his shame, whimpered. 

“You’re bigger than Nalfein and Dinin were at this age. You’ll produce good heirs, with the right woman. Which one of your sisters do you favor the most?”

His face flushed at the question. Malice asked it without any pretense, her face as stoic as ever. Drizzt couldn’t imagine lying with any of his older sisters. 

“I…I hadn’t thought about it…”

Malice’s hands drifted lower, skimming his abdomen, and Drizzt tensed, his breath coming quicker.  

“Maya is closest in age…but you and Vierna already have a bond.” 

Drizzt wasn’t sure he’d call Vierna’s many beatings raising him a bond, but he didn’t protest her analysis. His mother’s touch was cold, calculated. It made their difference in experience feel all the more stark, every little touch drawing a small breath. He wanted to shift away from it, but didn’t dare. Instead, his breathing became even more uneven. Drizzt thought of Zaknafein’s ominous warnings about Matron Malice. They’d been about titles, and her nature, but perhaps there had been more to it.

“Briza and you would make fabulously strong children, but you’re both quite strong-willed. Then again, perhaps a woman breaking you would be good for you…your father always has needed a short leash.”

Drizzt’s ears perked up at the mention of his father. He didn’t know him. Lineage was always through one’s mother, she was the one to birth you. Fathers didn’t matter, but Drizzt would like to know his father. He always felt so different. Looked different too. Drizzt never felt any connection to Rizzen, he felt in his heart the slight, shrewd man was not his father. Once a passing soldier had hissed about him having darthirr blood due to his unique eye color. Vierna had had that soldier brutalized for accusing such a thing, even as idle gossip. The teen was jolted back to reality as his mother’s spindly fingers brushed the waistband of Drizzt’s leggings. He jerked slightly, his hips betraying him with an involuntary twitch.  

Malice’s lips curled in satisfaction.  

“There it is.”

She purred. 

“That fire. That hunger. That’s what makes you a man.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, her breath warm against his ear. 

“You feel it, don’t you?”  

Drizzt tried to reply, but no sound came out. He didn’t know what he was feeling. This felt wrong, but having his mother touch him with affection, for the first time since he’d been weaned, he liked it. He liked it too much, the throbbing between his legs was insistent, undeniable.  

She didn’t wait for an answer. Her hand dipped lower, fingers pressing against the growing hardness beneath the fabric.  

Drizzt gasped.  

Malice chuckled, low and throaty.  

“Oh, that’s a good boy.”

His head fell back on the pillow, eyes squeezing shut as she continued to trace his cock with her long manicured nails. He grabbed at the silken sheets, fisting them. Everything was too overwhelming.

“You’re big in this department too. Good. That’s very good.”

She chuckled, but the cold laugh died on her lips. Drizzt whined as she felt her long nails dig into the soft flesh of his inner thigh. The young drow wanted to hit her for causing him pain, push her away, but sixteen years of pure indoctrination would not allow it.

“I told you to keep your eyes on me boy. These lessons are important for a naive child like yourself.”

Purple eyes met red, and she smiled again. Humming her approval her hand slipped beneath his waistband, pulling him out of the confines of his breeches. He let out a strangled gasp as her cold hands began petting his cock, already achingly hard. Goosebumps broke out all over his body, and his stomach, already in knots started to churn as if he might vomit. This was too much, it felt too intense. His heart, his spirit, everything was telling him this was wrong.

“Moth—-I-I mean Matron—“

He clasped his hand over his mouth. Malice’s crimson eyes glimmered like rubies as she tilted forward, an amused smile on her elegant face.

“In this room, tonight-“

She murmured, leaning forward, as she began to lightly pet the shaft of his prick, her hair tickling him once more as she came almost nose to nose with him.

“-you may call me mother.”

The permission, the kindness, sent a shooting pain of hurt right through him. Drizzt had always wanted a connection with his mother, but she was like the reflections on an Underdark lake, cold and untouchable. But here she was, touching him. This was proof she was his mother, made of flesh and blood. She was not  some abstract construct, or made steel and stone. This wasn’t wrong, this was…education. An honor.

Her manicured nails wrapped around his cock, already leaking precum. His hips jerked up again, his inexperience making every touch feel so intense. Physically the touch felt so good, but he felt so bad. He’d wanted her to touch him for so long, but not like this. Again alarm bells went off in his mind. Drizzt got the urge to jerk away, run, when she started to stroke him in earnest. His head lolled, and he let out a low keen of pleasure.

“Have you ever touched yourself like this?”

She said, her voice calm, almost clinical. Drizzt’s face burned, and he was sure she could see him blushing with her superior vision. He thought about dipping down to hide it, but remembered he was supposed to keep his eyes on her. 

“No, mother.”

He replied, his shaky voice barely above a whisper. His eyes burned too, tears pricking the sides of his face.

She tutted, her thumb circling the head of his cock smearing the head of moisture that had already gathered there down the shaft, and using it to stroke him faster. His hand flew to his mouth, to stifle more whimpers. 

“You really are your father’s son. Austerity is a trait that can be admired, prudishness is not.”

Drizzt’s face was burning so badly. Why did he want to cry? His mother was finally paying attention to him. This was normal. He tried to focus on her voice, the pleasure being forced from him. He tried to ignore the buzzing in his head, the nausea in his gut.

“A male your age should know his own body.”

Her nails scraped down his shaft, it stung, but strangely this only amplified the physical pleasure. He moaned.

“You’re lucky you have your mother to educate you.”

Her voice, his whole world. He shuddered, trying to detect why he was so uneasy. He had imagined, maybe even fantasized in secret, watching Vierna’s lovers come and go. About what it might be like to be touched. Kissed and held. But not in this way. Never in this way.

Malice pressed her lips against his own, chaste and soft. They tasted funny, and the moment the kiss deepened his lips tingled.

“You’re trembling.”

She observed, sounding a bit perturbed. 

“Most men your age are quite excited at this point. Your brothers certainly were. Are you frightened?”

He swallowed hard, and their eyes met again. Malice smirked.

“Men are simple, don’t worry, those complicated feelings will be overridden.”

Her pace suddenly quickened, all while staring at him. Drizzt began to pant. He was unraveling, his body teetering on something unfamiliar, coiling hot within his core, intense and ready to crash over him like a wave-

But then Mother Malice stopped, squeezing the base of his cock just as he felt it about to wash over him.

Drizzt whined, hips bucking up uselessly. His white hair stuck to his sweaty face, and his lip trembled. It was hard to think now. His cock ached. It ached terribly. His own hands wandered downwards, but she slapped them away.

“There’s more to this than just your pleasure. In fact your pleasure should be secondary.”

She said, her voice unemotional as ever.

Before he could process her words she was tugging him off the pillows, so he was lying flat on his back. She was so petite, it was amazing she could move him so easily, real strength hidden in her thin frame.

She rolled up her sheer underdress, so the smooth expanse of her dark purple thighs were visible. Her cunt was hairless, and slick with some kind of glistening fluid. 

“Now.”

She murmured, shifting so he was beneath her. Some of the fluid from her pussy dripped onto his nose, and onto his top lip. His tongue came up, licking it. It tasted good.

“Serving a female when you lay with her, pleasing her is far more important than pleasing yourself.” 

She lowered herself onto his face, and his hands wrapped around her thighs, unsure what to do, but wanting to do as she said. His dick still pulsed between his thighs, hard and wanting attention, but he found he could think clearer. Without Malice asking, he started to lick the length of her slit. She groaned softly, head thrown back and fondling her own breasts.

“Yes boy…good, just like that…”

She whispered, breathy. Drizzt’s grip on her thighs tightened, and he ground her down into his open mouth, licking and sucking as hard as he could. Seeing Malice crack, to hear emotion in his mother’s voice was the only pleasure he needed. It felt better than her touching his cock, less confusing. Of course, that is when she leaned forward and grabbed it again, started stroking his already pulsing length.

“You really are your father’s son…”

She continued, pleasure apparent in her voice. He could only whine into her, and the vibrations against her clit seemed to please her greatly, the way she groaned in delight, rocking on his face. She tilted further forward, so she was flat against him. The softness of her stomach and breasts against his muscled torso felt so nice. And then-

She swallowed him.

Drizzt screamed.

He came within seconds of her swallowing his cock to the hilt, panting, whimpering and babbling. She sighed softly, sliding off of him.

“What a selfish, immature little boy.”

She muttered, smearing the slick already all over his face down his neck and chest.

“I told you this was about the woman’s pleasure. How will you please your future mistress if you’re cumming within seconds of being touched? How will you please her?”

“Apologies…”

He mumbled. Drizzt felt…drained. Exhausted. So when her hands went back to his cock, pulling on it aggressively, he whined, shifting uncomfortably. His hand actually wrapped around her wrist, and tried to stop her without thinking. That earned a slap and a hard look. He sat on his hands, letting her continue to molest his overstimulated body. 

With her freehand she fumbled with her bedside drawer, not really looking back. Malice pulled out a cold ring of silver, with small amethyst stones engraved on the outer sides. Drizzt flinched as the ring was slipped down his shaft, her jostling it till it was securely around the base of his now again throbbing length. 

“What is t-that?”

The curious drow stammered, his voice hoarse.

“It’s c-cold!”

Malice didn’t reply to him. Instead she shifted her weight, positioning herself once more above him, though this time she straddled his waist instead of his face. He looked up at her, he couldn’t handle much more.

“Mother?”

Her finger’s traced the outline of the ring, admiring the beautiful contrast of it against the dark skin.

“This will help you focus on pleasing me.”

She adjusted her hips, guiding him inside her as she sank down. Another shrill cry. He was sweating and trembling so badly. He grabbed at her, sitting up so his head was in her large breasts. Drizzt took one in his mouth, suckling on it, a subconscious vie for comfort. She didn’t stop him, petting his head as he got used to the sensation of being inside of her. The two embraced for the first time in at least a decade. She did smell wonderful.

The tight, wet heat encompassing him was nothing like he’d ever experienced before. Lying with a woman was too intense. Drizzt would be expected to do this often now? He was so painfully hard. He released the breast to let out another choked sob into her chest. His hips jerked up involuntarily. She pressed a hand into his stomach, forcing him to lie back again. 

“Control yourself.”

She ordered calmly. Drizzt fisted the silk sheets again, his wrists balled so tight his dark finger-tips were turning white. Every nerve in his body was on fire, every muscle was cooked too tight. His heart was a hummingbird, battering hard against his rib cage. He could feel every tiny shift she made, the way her velvet walls clenched and unclenched, milking him even as the ring denied him release.

“M-Mother please—-!”

He gasped, voice cracking with adolescent shrillness. Malice rolled his hips, slow and deliberate. She was smirking wide at his torment.

“You need to learn patience. Pacing.”

She murmured, her breath hitching slightly as she rode him. She muttered something about him being big again before projecting her voice once more.

“A male who cannot last is useless.”

Their glistening white hair was everywhere as she rode him, hers swirling around them like a snowstorm as she bounced up and down, his splayed out on the bed like a fan. It was beautiful, hazy and dreamlike in the room, the smell of sex mixing in with the smells of smoke and expensive fragrances. But Drizzt couldn’t focus on any of it. His thighs shook. The younger drow’s hands flew up to her hips, grinding her down into him aggressively. He needed relief.

More than anything.

A delighted gasp escaped her, before her face again hardened. She took his shaking hands in her own, riding him as they held hands.

“You do not touch a female unless she permits it.”

He whimpered, nodding frantically. Whatever she wanted to hear he’d say it. The teen just wanted this feeling to end. Drizzt chewed his lip, drawing blood from it as he forced himself to match her pace. The iron-like taste of his own blood grounded him to something, but not nearly enough.

Malice then began to ride him in earnest, hard and fast, her breasts bouncing up and down in a vulgar display. Every movement of her body sent a jolt of pleasure and pain through him, his abused cock throbbing in protest. He felt like he needed to pee almost, at this point. Tears started to flow down his face without him really feeling them, the younger drow panting again.

“Please m-mother I—I—-“

He sobbed, begging, for what he wasn’t sure. She leaned forward, but instead of offering relief only clamped her hand over his mouth. She ground down into him, and Drizzt spasmed.

“Match my pace, you’re losing focus.”

She ordered softly. He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d always been a quick learner, he could do this, and then it would be over and she’d let him go to bed. Drizzt focused on the rhythm of her hips, the way her body moved against his. She was using him like an object. That was an angry, foreign thought that suddenly bubbled up as she did this. He forced it down. The teen forced himself to match her pace, thrusting shallowly, but he felt like he was losing his mind.

“That’s it.”

She purred, actually sounding quite pleased. It was embarrassing how much happiness that made him feel. Her praise sent a pulse of pure pleasure through him, more than the sex could. His mother liked him, had a use for him, and was even touching him. 

“Mother…”

He sobbed, voice cracking, lip trembling.

“Good boy.”

She stroked his thumb with hers, squeezed his hands. Another sob. He wanted so badly to make her like him. So, he focused hard, on the way her breath hitched when he thrusted up at just the right angle.

Then, without warning, he felt it. The ring around his cock was gone. It felt like a rubber band snapping. Drizzt’s thrusts grew rapid quickly. His control unravelled further with every twitch of his hips. The pressure that had been building for what felt like hours finally crested, and he chased it like a hound after a fox, hard and fast.

Malice moaned, falling forward slightly, her long nails digging into his chest as she met each thrust.

“Just like your father…strong…virile…”

She panted, her filthy ramblings becoming meaningless buzzing in his ears.

He shattered. His voice was high and shrill, voice cracking as he came with a broken sob. Drizzt’s vision blurred as spilled inside of her, his hips thrusting shallowly as he shot rope after rope deep inside of her. Malice came with him, her cunt clamping down on him, cumming on his cock and milking him of everything he had.

For a moment she was laying against him, and he idly stroked her back. He could feel her silky white hair, her soft skin, both so much like his own, but different. This was better than whatever had come before, the lying. Holding his mother. feeling his mother against him, it’s what he had wanted since he was a little boy. Even if he’d never pictured her naked, and sticky fluids cooling between them. But the moment didn’t last. Within minutes she was sliding off of him, walking towards her en-suite bathroom. 

“Remember this is what you get when you side with your mother. Side with your nature as a drow. Do not let your father corrupt you.”

She said, nonchalant and cold.

He sat up. Drizzt didn’t know what she was talking about, or what he should do now. She turned, hips swiveling as she regarded him with a hand on her hip.

“You’re dismissed.”

Malice said, sharper this time, as if she could not understand why he was still there, clutching a pillow with wide eyes.

“Return to your quarters.”

With that, she disappeared into the bathroom.

Drizzt swallowed. If this was their nature, he wasn’t sure he liked it. Like many things regarding their nature. He wasn’t sure of anything, except that he felt used. The desire to cry bubbled up again.

But he didn’t.

Drizzt dressed in silence, his movements quick, efficient, borderline mechanical. The luxurious chamber that had felt so warm moments ago now seemed hollow, the air thick with the scent of spent pleasure and fading smoke. His body ached, not from any wound, but from something deeper, something he couldn’t name.  

The halls of House Do’Urden were quiet as he walked, his feet soundless against the cold stone. The flickering faerie fire cast long, wavering shadows, stretching and twisting like specters around him. He kept his eyes forward, unseeing.  

When he reached his quarters, the door was slightly ajar.  

Zaknafein sat on the edge of his bed, still as a statue, his sharp features carved in shadow. His crimson eyes lifted as Drizzt entered, and in them was an understanding so profound it cut deeper than any blade.  

Drizzt stopped.  

“You’re out past curfew.”

He said, no malice in his voice. In fact melancholy tinged the dry, plain words.

“I got a summons.”

He replied, the words like sandpaper.

“So you did.”

A long silence stretched between them, neither having any more words for the other. Drizzt tensed up when the man embraced him, and a flash of pity danced across the older drow’s face. He walked the boy to his bed. The weapons master did not speak. There were no words for this. No lessons, no wisdom, no sharp-tongued remark that could carve meaning from what had just happened. Instead, he pulled the thin blanket over Drizzt’s form, tucking it around his shoulders as if he were still a child.  He smoothed out his hair out with a gentleness Vierna had never given him. No one had. Zaknafein would not either. It was just for tonight.

Zaknafein lingered for a moment longer, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned to leave.  

A hand shot out, gripping his wrist with desperate strength.  

Drizzt didn’t look at him, but his fingers trembled, his long nails biting into Zaknafein’s flesh. Suddenly, just as quickly, he let him go. The older drow hesitated. Then, wordlessly, he sat on the edge of the bed once more.  

The bed creaked faintly as Zaknafein settled beside him. The silence between them was thick, yet somehow, it was the only comfort Drizzt could bear. If the man had spoken, he wouldn’t have been able to take it, and both of them seemed to know that.

He stared at the ceiling, his violet eyes burning, dry. The scent of his mother’s perfume still clung to his skin, mingling with sweat and salt and something bitter he couldn’t name. His body ached in ways he didn’t understand, his muscles taut as bowstrings, his stomach still churning.  

Zaknafein didn’t touch him, but his presence was a weight, solid and real, a refuge in the storm of Drizzt’s whirling thoughts.  

Minutes passed. Or hours. Time had lost meaning.  

Then, a shuddering breath. A tremor in his hands.  

And like a dam breaking, tears came.  

Silent. Relentless. Streaming down his cheeks in hot, shameful rivers.  

Zaknafein still didn’t look at him. But his hand, calloused and scarred, found Drizzt’s wrist again, fingers wrapping around it with a grip just shy of painful, and that was enough. 

The next morning, they started training. 

They never spoke of the evening previous.

Matron Malice didn’t call on him again, and Drizzt buried it, let it be swallowed like the many other unspoken secrets of Menzoberranzan. Such was the nature of drow under the Spider Queen.

And for now Drizzt was one.

For now.