Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roddy McGristle may have been a mountain man but the peeling winds of Icewind Dale winters rendered everyone to their most vulnerable, mortal state. Roddy’s tale was now shivering on the cusp of a frozen conclusion.

Before setting off into the cold, Roddy had left his dog in the capable hands of a kindly, retired farmer where he was sure the hound would be well-loved and well-fed. He knew the path before him would have been too unpredictable and unforgiving for the old mutt and his friend deserved to live out his final years in peace. Now that Roddy sat on the edge of the world, cloaked only in his raggedy layers of leathers and furs and a growing blanket of snow, he was glad he had made that choice. His dog would survive, bringing joy to people like Roddy never could.

His eyelids began to grow heavy. He held his furs close and clenched his jaw so hard he could hear a tooth crack. Nothing for it now, he thought. Memories flashed by as he’d so often heard they would. Bounties, boons, and trophies filled his mind’s eye until his thoughts came to a cataclysmic halt. One victory had evaded him for nearly a decade. The drow still lived while Roddy sat here waiting for death.

“Bastard,” Roddy growled with a hitching breath that sent broken jets of steam into the wind.

His eyesight began to blur. Black smoke was filling his peripheral vision as the weight of unconsciousness descended upon him. Through the darkness only one sight remained: a pair of peering, pitying, purple eyes.

Drizzt Do’Urden had only seen stars for the first time relatively recently, but he felt more kinship with these celestial bodies every time he sat under them. The stars led the way for those in need, beacons in the darkness whose assistance was rarely appreciated if it was noticed at all. They did not need grandeur or gratitude, nor did they need companionship. They soared alone, unreachably far from any living soul, and their presence each night seemed like a lonely haunting to Drizzt. Their light traveled through the cosmos like silent screams and those cries echoed a longing deep within the dark elf.

A particularly cruel blast of wind brought his attention back to the present. 

He'd been performing his daily survey of the tundra that bordered Ten-towns. Nothing had disrupted the drow's rounds and the setting sun's mesmerizing hues had lulled him into a contemplative mood, but he would have to find shelter soon. He'd wandered too far to return to his makeshift lodgings before nightfall and a blizzard was approaching. Even if he started a fire, there was no way it would last more than an instant without cover.

The surrounding mountains offered several openings throughout the next few miles, but they were deceptive and perilous. Drizzt knew there was an equal chance of encountering a tribe of goblins inside as there was of finding a place to rest. As his fingers began to numb around the hilts of his scimitars, Drizzt knew that the time of considering his options had passed and made his way towards the nearest cave-mouth.

It was far off, but the dark elf’s infrared vision detected a modest opening in the black rock-face directly ahead. His pace quickened until he saw a puff of steam erupt from a small, snowy bank to his left. It can’t be, Drizzt thought, but the steam’s pattern was unmistakably a deep exhale. Someone can’t be out here.

Drizzt waited silently to confirm he hadn’t merely been seeing things. Then, while nowhere near as strong as the first, a second breath did come. Then a third, even weaker. Drizzt leapt towards the shrinking clouds, nimbly maneuvering above the snow and ice. Had his mind been less impacted by the cold, Drizzt may have considered that the source could be a yeti or a similar monstrosity, yet he barreled forward until there was no doubt: it was a man, and he was dying.

He approached the huddled form and began to shake him by the shoulders. A grunt let Drizzt know there was hope. The man’s face, like the rest of his body, was covered in a desperate pile of furs with enormous chunks of ice sticking to his eyebrows and beard. Drizzt could recognize he was a human, but could see his skin had turned a shade of blue typically reserved for drow. Drizzt found some leverage under the man’s arms and hoisted him to his feet. The human was a head taller than him and almost twice as wide, with pounds of muscle weighing him down into the snow. Drizzt refused to let any of that stop them. He pretended the man was as light as a halfling, he had to believe that, and dragged them both towards the cave.

The dark elf tore off his cloak and laid it atop the man once they had found respite from the snow, deep within the rocky tunnels, but the human remained still. Without wasting another second, Drizzt took some arrows from his quiver and set them alight with a magical blaze. As the fire grew, he rolled the man closer towards warmth and shook his shoulders once more. No response came until Drizzt finally gave the man’s back a hard smack and he heard a rasping cough.

“Bastard…” a low but fragile voice slid through the man’s lips like blood. Drizzt could barely hear that the human had spoken, let alone what had been said, but he smiled at the sign of life.

The frost that clung to the man’s face began to melt and Drizzt gently wiped it away to prevent it dripping into the human's eyes. Drizzt’s attention alternated between peering further down the tunnel with his darkvision, checking the path where they had entered, and watching the man’s face steadily reveal itself. After a few more moments of thawing, Drizzt looked back at the human and his heart nearly stopped. He knew that face.

Bruenor Battlehammer stared at Drizzt with an equal mixture of marvel and disgust.

“You want me to help you keep that son of a bitch alive?” he bellowed. “After everything he did to you? After everything he did to—” words failed him. If Bruenor were to name everyone who Roddy McGristle’s actions had harmed, he would likely talk so long he’d forget what they were debating.

Drizzt looked at the proud dwarven man opposite him. He'd waited for a lull in the storm before setting off for Ten-towns and he now stood in front of Bruenor’s home. The silent, midnight streets offered some degree of privacy. Late as it was, Drizzt was grateful the dwarf had heard him rapping at the window and he was more grateful still that Bruenor’s daughter had remained asleep.

The dark elf’s eyes gazed into the dwarf’s imploringly. Bruenor looked away, knowing he had a limited amount of time before that lilac stare softened his resolve.

“Even if he is a son of a bitch,” Drizzt countered. “What are we if we allow him to die?”

“Rational, sane people!” Bruenor’s patience was waning. He hadn’t taken his hand from the door and had half a mind to start shutting it when Drizzt gently took his other hand.

“Just one night,” he said in little more than a whisper.

Bruenor stared down at the dark fingers that held his. The gesture was one his daughter weaponized all too frequently when she had a similarly foolhardy request. He sighed and yanked his palm free. Drizzt watched with a beaming smile as the dwarf fetched his coat and boots.

“I know a spot you can dump the fucker,” he muttered before following his companion towards the tundra.

“It’s not much,” Bruenor said as they heaved Roddy into the cabin, “but it’s where a ranger friend of mine stays when he’s in the area. And if it’s good enough for a decent man like him, it’s good enough for this pile of—”

“Thank you,” Drizzt interrupted. The last thing he wanted was for the dwarf to get riled up and revoke his offer. 

The cabin was nestled on the border of a small mountain between Ten-towns and the cave where Roddy lay. The bulk of the blizzard's ire had relented so with Drizzt and Bruenor's combined efforts, lugging the human from one shelter to the other had been a relatively simple task.

Drizzt placed a hand on Bruenor’s shoulder and smiled. “I truly owe you, my friend.”

“That’s for damn sure,” the dwarf muttered. He went to the hearth and threw a few logs in, starting a far healthier fire than the one Drizzt had lit in the cave.

The three men stayed in front of the fireplace for a little while, one unconscious and two in quiet relief. Drizzt and Bruenor caught their breath and warmed themselves until the dwarf finally cleared his throat. “Well it’s almost sunrise,” he said. “I suppose I should get back before the girl wakes up and starts to worrying.”

Despite his grip on the doorknob, Bruenor hesitated.

“I can’t believe I’m leaving you alone with him,” he said quietly. Drizzt heard unfamiliar notes of worry and sadness in the dwarf’s voice.

“I’ll be fine,” the drow assured him. “If I bested him at full health in the height of his fury, don’t you think I can handle him when he’s nearly frostbitten?”

The dwarf had to admit Drizzt had a point. A naive, foolish one, but a point nonetheless. He sighed and clapped the drow firmly on the arm.

“If I don’t hear from you by noon, me and my axe are coming,” he warned.

Drizzt grinned and nodded, and Bruenor reluctantly took his leave.

A musty fog of strange aromas was the first thing Roddy noticed while his eyes remained shut. The second was the sound of kindling and the third was the feeling of utter comfort. Roddy’s whole body was relaxed and warm, surrounded by soft wool and tickled by the heat of a nearby fireplace. The wool’s touch suddenly felt too close and Roddy realized his furs and shirt had been removed. His sudden vulnerability shocked him out of his blissful dreamlike state.

Roddy took in as much of his surroundings as he could in as little time as he could spare. He was lying in the depths of a large bed and by the looks of how the blankets hugged his frame, Roddy could tell he had been tucked in with a degree of care. Around him were walls made of hewn logs, unadorned except for the pelts that covered the windows. He identified crates of ice and food, piles of twigs that would soon be arrows and a stack of logs that would warm the cabin for a few days. A ranger’s cabin, Roddy quickly realized.

His gaze moved to a table with a few weapons laid out for sharpening. Roddy’s eyes were immediately locked on the two scimitars.

Before the man had time to curse the dark elf’s name, Drizzt came through the cabin door with an armful of medicinal herbs. Upon seeing that his guest had finally woken up, the drow nearly dropped his modest harvest to the floor.

They stared in silence so pronounced that every snap of the fire carried through the cabin like the crack of a whip. The drow moved deliberately in slow, steady motions while Roddy sat perfectly still. Their eyes were locked on one another, even as Drizzt bent down to set the herbs onto the table.

Too many questions were flooding Roddy’s head at once. He tried to sit up but an overwhelming assault of aching pains sent bolts through his stomach and one of his arms.

“You were wounded,” Drizzt said softly. “I didn’t realize until I...” he paused, hesitant to voice the admission that he’d removed Roddy’s shirt despite that fact being obvious. “I was able to stop the bleeding but you shouldn’t—”

“I shouldn’t?” Roddy roared with such sudden force that Drizzt started. “I shouldn’t what?” Despite the blinding torment it caused, Roddy threw his legs over the bed and started to stand. “You can’t even muster the decency to let me die in peace, you self-righteous drow bastard!”

For an instant Drizzt was convinced Roddy meant to charge him, and the human may well have been intending to do so, but the man fell to his knees in gasping agony. The dark elf instinctively went to Roddy, kneeling beside him to help him back to bed. The human shoved him in a brutal show of force. While Roddy managed to push the drow a few feet away, a lance of pain shot up his arm as he made contact with Drizzt’s chest. Roddy was finally forced to acknowledge his situation.

He looked down and saw the bandages wrapped around his bruised and snow-penetrated body. The cold had not only seeped into his muscles, but bites and slashes had rendered large swaths of skin raw and streaked with purple veins of infection. Roddy hadn’t brought any healing supplies along in his pack, and had barely even taken any rations or water. It was then the man started to realize he’d never planned on returning from his trek into the icy expanse.

Drizzt was still on the floor and once again made to help Roddy up. This time the human did not resist.

Chapter Text

His fever came and went, rendering time a meaningless approximation. Rays of morning sun faltered at the thick pelts covering the windows so that the cabin was lit only by fire and candlelight. Drizzt preferred the dark, and Roddy was in no state to care. The human’s mind was bobbing along the currents of his subconscious, brought back to reality’s shore only by the dark elf’s medicinal meddling. Even the gentlest dabs at Roddy’s wounds provoked blinding flashes of discomfort. The next time he awoke, Roddy saw the dark elf’s face inches from his own.

“I have to replace the bandages,” Drizzt warned softly. Roddy stared at him with dull wrath but made no effort to stop the drow’s hands as they reached for the darkened strips of cloth.

For the second time since finding the man, Drizzt looked down at the intricate maze of gauges and marks that decorated Roddy’s abdomen and left arm. The split second of sympathy Drizzt’s face dared to express did not go unnoticed.

“I’ll not tolerate your pity, drow,” Roddy growled, glaring up into the dark elf’s worried eyes.

“Then tolerate my aid,” Drizzt said with the faintest hint of exasperation. He punctuated the request by applying some crushed herbs to one of the human’s deeper wounds, provoking a guttural moan but no further protest. As Drizzt cleaned the man’s skin with warm, wet cloths and placed healing salves underneath fresh bandages, Roddy’s teeth gnashed but he remained still and, more importantly to Drizzt, silent.

I never asked for your precious aid, Roddy thought, but as relief began to spread through his body he allowed the proud statement to go unsaid. His eyes began to close again until Drizzt was left to his own company in the cabin once more.

Drizzt made his way to Ten-towns as the sun approached high noon, as Bruenor had asked. The dwarf’s skepticism had only grown since learning Roddy McGristle was likely going to survive. Yet all Bruenor’s warnings and portents of doom didn’t shake the dark elf’s intentions. The two agreed that they would continue to check in with one another as their daily responsibilities and the winter’s fickle conditions allowed. Bruenor told him he would visit the cabin when he could and Drizzt promised he would send word through Guenhwyvar if he was unable to update the dwarf himself. After bidding his friend farewell, Drizzt took the opportunity to stock up on rations and healing supplies in town then he made his way back to the cabin.

As he walked along the snowy expanse, Drizzt had to ponder the same question Bruenor had posed countless times since last night. Why am I doing this? There was no lie in the reason he’d given his friend—Drizzt couldn’t allow another person to die while he had the chance to help. There was, however, more to his resolve than adhering to this simple virtue. What that deeper motivation was remained a bothersome mystery to the dark elf. He liked to think that he was more introspective than the average man, having spent years in contemplative solitude, so the notion of an unknown force compelling his actions didn’t sit right. Was he merely trying to prove a point to himself? That by healing Roddy’s body, he may also heal his soul? Drizzt sighed. Was he that incapable of accepting that some people are too lost in their own darkness to ever return? He felt these questions beginning to scratch at his greater quandary’s itch, but the full truth evaded him.

Drizzt wondered what the man had been doing out here in the first place. From the lack of supplies and equipment, the notion that a hunter as experienced as Roddy had been pursuing a bounty seemed fairly unreasonable. He had likely been taken by surprise, the drow figured. Surprised while doing what? Drizzt could only imagine. What he could guess, albeit with some uncertainty, was the nature of Roddy’s attacker. The deep claw marks and the penetrating cold damage within Roddy’s wounds indicated that he had come face to face with an ice troll or yeti. Encountering either would have been a grueling trial to a group of trained frontiersmen, and the idea of going up against one alone was unthinkable. It was nothing short of a miracle that Roddy had been left alive and in one piece.

The landscape around him was still bitterly cold, as it would be even once spring returned, but for now it was serene. There were no signs of hulking behemoths or treacherous wanderers, but Drizzt would still make his usual rounds after paying the cabin a quick visit. He picked up the pace until he was finally back inside where his co-inhabitant slept soundly.

As quietly as he could, the drow set down his pack and began preparing a meal for the two of them. The only produce that grew this time of year were hard, stubborn root vegetables and bitter greens, and Drizzt been able to haggle for a few small pieces of game. He imagined Roddy was used to larger, heartier meals but this would have to do.

“You’re not fucking feeding me,” Roddy barked as the dark elf approached the bed with a plate of food.

The drow couldn’t contain a laugh but quickly composed himself. “I have no intention of doing so."

Roddy’s eyes narrowed at what he perceived to be mockery, yet a deep growl from his empty stomach calmed his temper and he silently gestured towards the meal. Drizzt set the plate onto the table for a moment so he could help him sit up. Roddy winced as the drow lifted him, but allowed himself to be propped against the small pile of blankets and pelts that served as his pillow.

Each time the dark elf’s hands came into contact with Roddy’s bare skin, he felt a jolt more poignant than any pain his wound inspired. This forced intimacy rendered him feeling exposed and vulnerable, sensations he usually converted into defensive rage. Roddy found himself clenching throughout each instance of physical connection, but his repulsion had a more nagging origin than what he allowed himself to consider.

For such an experienced swordsman, it struck Roddy how shockingly smooth and soft the dark elf’s hands were. The last time he’d known as gentle a touch as the drow’s, he’d been a young man in the throws of puppy love with a blacksmith’s daughter. Since then, the only sensations his body had known were the blows of combat, the shredding bites of nature’s fury, and the occasional company of hired companions whose distaste for him was always quite clear.

As he wandered deeper into his thoughts, Roddy’s consciousness began to wane but he was brought back by a ginger nudge on the shoulder.

Drizzt was holding the plate for him, with patience and hope emanating from his lavender stare. The man took his food and the drow sat in a chair he’d placed at Roddy’s side. The two ate in silence until the human’s plate was empty. Drizzt offered the last bit of unfinished game on his plate, but Roddy waved it away.

With his hunger sated, Roddy’s wounds now demanded he rest and Drizzt once again aided him down onto his back. The man watched with half-shut eyes as the drow tucked him in snugly and fluffed the pelts behind his head. A corner of cloth sent a few strands of Roddy’s thick brown hair into his eyes, but Drizzt’s delicate fingers brushed them away before he felt any discomfort.

He wasn’t used to being cared for, in any sense of the word. Whether Roddy lived or died wouldn’t have made the smallest difference to anyone who knew him. If anything, he guessed his passing would have provided relief to many of them. But this drow had spared his life twice—the first time was during their battle in Montolio DeBrouchee's grove a decade ago, and now this. Roddy knew better than to question the dark elf’s motivations for such naive heroism. Despite the lies Roddy had told himself, deep-down he understood this is just who Drizzt was: someone who would put his life on the line for others, even for the most undeserving bastard he’d likely ever met.

As Roddy's fever ebbed and flowed under Drizzt’s caring touch, one thought remained insistent he couldn’t ignore it any longer: this is nice.

Drizzt’s patrol was as uneventful as the previous day’s. Such calm would normally have struck the drow as pleasant, but the serenity had begun curdling into unease. He knew something was out there—something that had almost killed a powerful, skilled fighter. Even accounting for camouflage and cunning, Drizzt knew that such a powerful creature being able to remain undetectable did not bode well. How long until it attacked again? Would it be satisfied with its hunting grounds across the tundra, or would it make its way to Ten-towns once its usual prey wore thin? It made Drizzt furious that his tracking experience and intuition were yielding nothing but silence.

It would make him more furious still to learn in a few days’ time that he had been the one being followed.

The next time Roddy came to, he was far more in control of his senses than before. He made a cautious series of movements and while his wounds were far from healed, there was significantly less pain. The man decided to make use of his newfound autonomy and tentatively put his feet on the ground as a chill started to settle throughout the cabin.

Carefully, Roddy was able to get to his feet and more carefully still was able to walk towards the stack of firewood. He tossed a log into the fireplace and watched as the flames lapped up their new fuel before an abrupt ache rang through his abdomen. It was almost enough to bring him to his knees but he knew if he allowed himself to fall, he would be stranded on the ground until the drow returned.

Mustering every bit of stubbornness and strength he could, Roddy managed to stumble towards the bed and fell onto his back just in time. As he panted, Roddy realized miserably that it would be days before he was reliably independent again. As kind-hearted as the drow was, Roddy didn’t want to assume how long Drizzt's selfless hospitality would last. He urged sleep to come so he could elude the creeping sensations of guilt and shame, but his fever had waned and he would have to wait for the relief of unconsciousness.

When Roddy heard the cabin door finally open, the drow’s presence filled him with something dangerously close to comfort. The look on Drizzt’s face was uncharacteristically grim however and the man sat up, expecting troubling news, but the drow was immediately distracted by the rejuvenated fire crackling within the hearth. He looked at Roddy with an impressed and grateful expression so sincere that it embarrassed the man.

“Thank you,” Drizzt said as he took off his cloak and gloves. Roddy shrugged, affecting an apathetic boredom. The drow approached the bed and took a seat beside him. He reached towards Roddy’s arm to examine it but the human yanked it away.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though the speed of his retraction had caused throbbing agony from his wrist to his elbow. Drizzt could see the man’s discomfort but knew Roddy’s pride was the true source of his torment and decided to let the matter go—he would check the man’s wounds once he had fallen asleep. His purple eyes took Roddy in and the man shrank under how much care and warmth he found in them.

“I’m fine!” Roddy said again, more forcefully. His bitter tone had the desired effect and Drizzt lowered his eyes. For some reason Roddy couldn't identify, the sadness that now reflected in the drow’s expression made the man backtrack. “Don’t you worry yourself about me,” he said quietly. To his surprise, the drow chuckled.

“What should I do about you then, Roddy McGristle?” he asked. His question reflected their situation’s absurdity to the point that Roddy, despite the pain it caused, had to laugh as well.

As night fell, Drizzt watched as the border between sky and ice grew indistinguishable even to his elven eyes. The atmosphere had grown slightly more comfortable between the two men but the dread Drizzt had felt during his patrol refused to subside. The drow's phases of somber unease were not difficult for Roddy to observe and he eventually asked:

“Did you see it out there?”

Drizzt turned to the man but his gaze was still fixed on the yawning tundra beyond their cabin. “Did I see what?”

“The fucker that did this to me.”

He’d told Drizzt as much as he could about what had happened but there were too many holes in Roddy’s memory for his tale to be of much use.

Roddy had set off for a day of solitude to think some things over, or so he had told the drow. He said the winds picked up suddenly and he hadn’t been able to outrun the blizzard, though Drizzt remained positive the hunter could have made it back to Ten-towns before the storm had reached its crescendo.Then what was the real reason he’d stayed out there? This was a question Drizzt hadn’t mustered the courage to ask, as he feared he knew the answer to some extent. Roddy was an outsider too. Drizzt was convinced that deep down they both longed for the same acceptance and welcome, but Roddy was surely too proud to ever admit it. Better to be the one rejecting society than to be rejected yourself, was the thought process Drizzt imagined Roddy followed.

“Did you see it?” Roddy asked again with growing impatience. "When you were out today."

Drizzt finally closed the makeshift curtain and looked at Roddy. The drow shook his head.

“I didn't see anything. I'm not even sure what I'm looking for," he admitted. The lack of his purple eyes’ usual shimmer let Roddy know there was still something wrong. "You’re sure it wasn’t an ice troll?”

“I know bloody ice trolls, drow,” Roddy said through gritted teeth. “You think I wouldn't know one of those eight-foot, icy-hearted bastards if I saw it?”

Drizzt conceded with a resigned shake of the head but Roddy’s temporary victory provided him little comfort.

“I’m telling you,” the human mumbled. “It wasn’t like anything I ever saw before. It was like it was smoke one second, then a wall of claws and teeth the next. I couldn’t see around it or through it,” his eyes shut as he revisited the memory. “I just saw two red eyes then it was like I was...gone. Inside it, somehow. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything.” Roddy risked a glance at Drizzt. “Then you came along.”

The dark elf could appreciate the unspoken gratitude in the man’s voice. A grin formed on Drizzt’s lips and his eyes finally regained their typical sparkle. Good, Roddy thought. The man couldn’t help but feel glad that he’d been the one to set that smile across Drizzt's face.

While Drizzt was making their supper, there came a bang with enough force to shake the entire cabin. Roddy felt it in his bones and threw himself out of bed, reaching for a weapon he realized was no longer strapped to his back. Drizzt tossed him one of his scimitars, taking the other as he went to the window.

Roddy watched as the drow’s face fell. Drizzt turned back to the man, as pale as his complexion would allow.

“What?” Roddy bellowed, gripping the scimitar so tightly its hilt would leave indents in his palm. “What is it?”

When the drow still did not answer, the man rushed beside him and looked for himself. The only thing visible outside the window was pure, white emptiness. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was seeing until Drizzt finally spoke.

“We’re snowed in.”

Chapter Text

“Snowed in?” Roddy balked. In an instant he could see it was true.

“Where did it all come from?” Drizzt asked, speaking more to himself than his companion. There were a few trees surrounding the cabin but their branches had been whipped bare by the wind long ago. There was no way enough snow could have accumulated above them to cause their current predicament.

“Maybe it was an avalanche,” Roddy murmured, but they both knew that from their position so near the mountains they would have heard one coming.

No matter the cause, Drizzt knew he had to carve out a tunnel for them soon, before it froze. He looked around the cabin but didn’t see anything that would be of any use until Roddy gestured to the fireplace. Drizzt, immediately on the same page, wrapped some cloth around one of his arrows. He dipped his improvised torch into the flames then walked towards the door and slowly opened it.

He held the arrow towards the white wall before him for a few seconds but to his dismay, not even the slightest bit of condensation was forming on the frosty surface, let alone any kind of dent or opening. Drizzt took a step closer and held the small torch directly against the snow but still nothing happened. His heart sank and he threw his arrow into the hearth as the realization sank in that they were trapped inside the cabin for the foreseeable future.

“Got enough rations for a while,” Roddy said after a brief glance around the cabin. Roddy was far more accustomed to the unpredictable savagery of Icewind Dale’s winters and was convinced that the ice would melt in a day or two. “Besides, you can send that damned cat of yours to get help if it doesn’t let up, can’t you?”

There was sense in Roddy’s words and his reminder about Guenhwyvar did bring the dark elf a small degree of reassurance, but the unease Drizzt had been feeling all day intensified significantly. There was no concrete evidence that the snow-in was the result of magic, but Drizzt couldn’t shake a suspicion that whatever was lurking in the tundra had a part to play in this. The drow knew if that was the case, it would mean Roddy’s attacker was far more dangerous than any troll or yeti.

Drizzt was about to voice these fears but one look at Roddy told him that such a conversation was better left for later. The human was clinging to his borrowed scimitar with a white-knuckled grip, his eyes narrowed in ready anticipation, but there was sweat pouring down his face. Drizzt gestured towards his weapon with an expression Roddy recognized as forced calm. He held onto the blade for a moment more, but quickly realized the scimitar wouldn’t do much against the wall of ice and he reluctantly gave Drizzt’s weapon back.

The drow led him to bed, fetched him some water, then dabbed at his damp forehead with a bit of cloth.

“You’ve been doing too much,” Drizzt chided kindly after Roddy drank. The man raised an eyebrow in a subtle challenge but said nothing and allowed Drizzt to continue gently patting at his temples and jaw. It took both of them until the moment Drizzt had finished drying Roddy off to realize that, even in his current state, the man would have been perfectly capable of performing this task himself. As Drizzt came to this conclusion, he nervously pulled his hand back. The two men shared a split second of loaded silence, each hoping the other didn’t notice the goosebumps that had spread across both their bodies.

“Apologies,” Drizzt said with as nonchalant and friendly a tone as he could before springing up and rushing to wring out the makeshift towel.

Once Roddy was feeling more rested, Drizzt explained his theory that an intelligent, magic-wielding predator may be biding its time in the snow. Roddy took the drow’s words in quietly with his brow furrowed.

“There’s not many things like that in these parts,” the man said, but he was clearly withholding something.

“But there are some things like that?” Drizzt pressed.

Roddy did his best to push down the shudder forming inside him. A nightmare he’d tried to forget about since he was a child was running through his mind for the first time in decades. He closed his eyes and remembered the heaps of shredded limbs and the thick, metallic stench of blood.

“I don’t suppose,” Roddy asked in a low voice, “that in your travels, you’ve heard of the Bheur Hag?”

The name meant nothing to Drizzt, and he shook his head. “What is a Bheur Hag?”

Roddy avoided Drizzt’s stare until the dark elf cautiously took Roddy’s good hand into his own. The man glanced down at where his hand lay nestled between the drow’s. His, rough and bear-like, contrasted with Drizzt’s nimble fingers in a way that made Roddy’s mouth inexplicably dry.

“Roddy,” Drizzt asked softly. The man finally met his lilac gaze. “What is a Bheur Hag?”

Roddy pulled his hand away and the two men couldn’t help notice how much chillier and emptier they felt now. They sat in a few moments of uneasy silence until Roddy cleared his throat.

“Bheur Hags feed off evil deeds,” Roddy said in such a small voice that Drizzt had to utilize his elven hearing. “Cruel or spiteful acts.” Like everything I’ve done to you, Roddy thought.

“They mostly stick to the wilderness where pickings are easier, but when they want a real feeding frenzy they’ll hunt closer to villages.” Roddy’s face was pale.

“They start by killing the livestock and destroying crops, then they let fear and hunger do the rest. By the time they’re through, there’s nothing left but a town of frozen, mutilated husks. And that’s if you’re lucky.” The man found himself subconsciously reaching for the drow but he stopped himself. “Even if they find you alone, they don’t just kill you, you know,” he said.

The dark elf had noticed the man’s gesture and he closed the gap between their hands once more. Roddy was wearing an expression Drizzt had never seen in his features before—terror. Even when he had been pinned under Drizzt in the battle at Montolio DeBrouchee’s grove with both the drow’s swords at his throat, Roddy had never shown fear. But now, as he held onto Drizzt so tightly it would leave marks across both their hands, he could barely speak.

“I saw one once,” he managed to say. “At least, I think I did.”

Their parents always warned them not to wander too far on the ice, but those nagging reminders were quickly pushed aside when Roddy overheard two fishermen in town bragging about their recent haul. It had something to do with weather patterns changing deeper into the tundra and the fish getting confused under the ice, but Roddy had stopped listening after: We have more than we can eat and even more to sell! He ran to get his friend and fishing gear without wasting another second or wondering what had caused the unusual and sudden shift in the weather.

“Alright,” Roddy announced a few hours later, after the two young boys had caught enough fish to feed their families for a week. “Let’s head back before the sun gets any lower.”

He stood a foot taller than his friend and already had the frame of a boxer at age twelve, making him the defacto leader of the pair. His friend groaned about wanting one more cast and Roddy rolled his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll start packing up,” he groaned. “But I’m not waiting for you after I’m done!” His friend waved off Roddy’s empty threat and cast his line into their hole in the ice one more time.

Roddy finished gathering the gear and looked to his friend for help with their buckets of fish, but all he saw when he turned around was an abandoned fishing pole.

“Very funny,” he called into the creeping dusk. “Hurry up and let’s get these smelly fuckers home!” Roddy waited but was answered only by the hungry winter wind. The sun had begun to set.

“Your dad’s gonna kill you if you’re late again,” he said, yet this strategy proved equally ineffective. His stomach dropped as he suddenly realized there was nowhere his friend could be hiding in the vast, darkening expanse around them.

As deep anxiety began to take hold, the air seemed to be getting thinner. Roddy’s fear grew into panic as his skin tightened and compressed while the breath was slowly ripped from his lungs. Roddy doubled over and clawed at his throat for an inhale that refused to come.

“Roddy?”

He managed to look up. He saw his friend was standing in front of him and suddenly the awful sensations constricting Roddy were gone. He gasped and scrambled to his feet as relief washed over him like a warm breeze before turning into anger.

“Where were you?” Roddy demanded furiously, taking his friend by the shoulders. Roddy glowered down at him but immediately jumped back. There was something very wrong. His friend’s skin marbled with webs of grey veins while chunks of ice circled both his eyes—eyes that were milky white and bloodshot.

“What—” Roddy struggled for words as he started to back up. “What happened to you?”

The other boy’s chapped lips cracked into an asymmetrical smile.

“I found a better place to fish,” the other boy pointed further out onto the ice without taking his gaze off Roddy. “Let me show you.”

Roddy dropped his gear and prepared to run.

As he spun on his heels, he stopped in his tracks as he was met by the sight of steaming, shredded lumps of flesh and sinew smeared across the ice around him. Fragments of bone jutted up from the ground, jagged from where they’d been snapped in two, and twitching mounds of muscle shivered with their nerve endings’ last gasps at Roddy’s feet.

He felt hollow as he collapsed to his knees, unable to vomit or think. He began hyperventilating so badly that he failed to notice the return of that same suffocation which had engulfed him before, and the fact that the last shreds of daylight were now gone.

Roddy heard the slick smacking of something’s tongue behind him and a gnarled set of cracking, crushing fingers and talon-like nails suddenly hooked into the back of his neck. He smelled blood on the heavy breath that blew across his skin—his friend’s blood. Roddy was in too much shock to try and evade this violent end, but a distant cry stayed the dripping jaws at his throat.

The light of several torches illuminated the icy horizon and soon a group of bellowing men could be seen running towards them. The grip on Roddy loosened and by the time his father and his friend’s brothers reached him, the boy was alone on a freezing coast of carnage.

As Roddy finished his tale, Drizzt’s eyes were shimmering with tears. Despite everything the dark elf had seen in the Underdark, even as a child, he’d never encountered that degree of intentional brutality. Drizzt imagined witnessing that sadistic butchery at such a young age and pieces of the Roddy McGristle puzzle began to fall into place.

Before he could listen to his better judgment, Drizzt wrapped the other man in his arms.

Roddy tensed and Drizzt immediately realized he’d overstepped. He was about to let Roddy go when he felt a shift in the human’s muscles. While Roddy never moved to return the gesture, his body had relaxed.

He’d never told anyone that story—not in its honest entirety at any rate. The version he would recount to insistent towns-people and curious rangers who bought him enough alcohol was far more heroic, but Roddy knew he didn’t need to keep anything from the drow anymore. Roddy’s face grew redder with each passing moment, but he knew the fever wasn’t to blame.

After a few more seconds, Drizzt got to his feet.

“I’m going to put in some more logs,” he said. As he walked towards the firewood however, he and Roddy simultaneously made a harrowing observation.

Roddy had been correct when he’d said they had enough food and water, but what they didn’t have was enough firewood. Their pile inside the cabin had dwindled significantly since their arrival yesterday but Drizzt had been too distracted during his patrol earlier that day to gather more.

“It’s my fault,” he said quietly with his head bowed.

Seeing the drow humbled by such a foolish error would have previously filled the man with smug satisfaction, but watching the guilt consume Drizzt’s features now only made Roddy’s chest tighten.

“We have enough wood for tonight at least,” the man tried to reassure his companion, but they both knew this was only partially true. They’d been able to maintain a steady fire over the past two days but they would only be able to use one log at a time now. They both knew that what brief bouts of comfort they could spare would need to be rationed between long periods of not burning anything at all.

“We should save the lumber for the middle of the night when we’ll really need it,” Roddy continued.

“But you really need it now,” Drizzt said miserably, his eyes hovering on the man’s bandages. “I can burn the rest of my arrows,” he said and began to reach for where his quiver lay on the table but Roddy reached out and stayed the drow’s hand.

“Save those,” he said. Drizzt started to protest but Roddy interrupted. “I’m not in such bad shape anymore and, if it comes to it, we can chop up some of the furniture.”

Drizzt nodded. He knew there was little point in pushing the issue further and the two did their best to pretend they weren’t already beginning to see their breath.

Perhaps it was the combination of nerves and their expanding conversations, but for whatever reason neither Roddy nor Drizzt wanted to go to sleep that night. It was only when Roddy began to visibly shudder that Drizzt helped him under the covers and somberly placed one of their few remaining logs into the fireplace. Within moments, its meager heat reached the bed and Roddy watched as Drizzt laid down on the floor.

“What are you doing?" Roddy asked with a raised eyebrow. Two confused, purple eyes looked up at him. “You don’t have any blankets,” Roddy commented gruffly, annoyed he had to point out the obvious. Drizzt waved him off with a smile that would have been convincing had it not been broken up by a violent shiver. Roddy clasped one of the heavier pieces of cloth covering him and tossed it down atop his companion’s slender frame.

“I appreciate the gesture,” the drow said kindly as he stood up and placed it back across Roddy’s chest. “But you need this more than I do.”

Drizzt went to sit back down on the floor but a large, firm hand took hold of his wrist. Drizzt saw Roddy staring up at him with something between frustration and warmth. He kept the man’s gaze, unable to determine its meaning, until Roddy rolled his eyes. With a curt nod of his head, Roddy motioned for Drizzt to join him.

Drizzt was sure he was misunderstanding and remained motionless until Roddy pulled him down beside him in one decisive yank.

“If I let you freeze to death,” Roddy muttered as he readjusted the blankets and furs around them, “then who’d cook for me until I’m healed up?”

Drizzt was still unable to fully process Roddy’s sudden and insistent generosity, but he smiled nonetheless. “I suppose you’d starve,” the drow teased.

“Exactly,” Roddy murmured with a sleepy grin as he began to doze off. “Selfish bastard.”

Chapter Text

As Roddy woke the next morning, he saw the faintest ray of sun had snuck through the curtains and was streaked across Drizzt’s face. Roddy peacefully took in the drow’s features for a moment then, as carefully as he could, he reached up towards the window with his good arm. He remembered dark elves were sensitive to daylight so he moved the pelts such that the sun wouldn’t cause his companion any discomfort when he woke.

When Roddy adjusted the curtains, the blankets shifted to allow in some of the cabin’s chill and a shiver ran through the drow. The man instinctively put his arm around him and held him close. He felt Drizzt relax after a few seconds and the two lied together with the dark elf’s cheek resting against Roddy’s shoulder and one hand upon the man’s chest. For the next few minutes, Roddy’s heartbeat lulled Drizzt in and out of slumber until he finally began to stir. Roddy started to move away but the drow’s half-awake mumble was crestfallen enough to make Roddy put his arm back around him, this time with a smirk. Roddy felt Drizzt’s gentle breathing as it warmed and cooled his skin and for just a moment, he allowed himself to be happy.

Drizzt stretched as he started to wake up and tried to remember the last time he had slept so well. He glanced over at Roddy to check if he was still asleep and he could have sworn that it was bashfulness he saw behind the man’s sleepy, cocky smile.

Roddy got to his feet and threw the blankets back over Drizzt. “I’ll make breakfast this time.”

“No, you should stay warm,” Drizzt protested as rubbed his eyes and sat up. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You’ve spent enough time fussing over me, drow,” the man said over his shoulder as he made for the cooking supplies.

“I think healing from a hag attack warrants a few days of being fussed over,” Drizzt retorted playfully.

Roddy stopped and turned back to the drow with a look so sour that any lingering serenity the morning previously offered was brought to a grinding halt. The conclusion they were up against the same sort of creature Roddy had faced in his youth was all but obvious to the drow, but this was not the case for Roddy himself. It can’t be, he had been telling himself since Drizzt had voiced the theory. If it truly was a Bheur Hag, Roddy would not only be forced to acknowledge his guilt from childhood but the guilt of their current situation as well.

“We don’t know it was a hag,” he said in a warning tone.

Drizzt identified the sensitivity that this topic had stirred but he couldn’t understand why the human was denying their dilemma’s most likely origin, despite the wounds it opened.

“It could have been a yeti,” Roddy muttered.

“But it wasn’t,” Drizzt said cautiously as he stood up and walked towards the man. “Roddy, we have to be realistic about this if we’re going to stand a chance.”

The man groaned and started to walk away but Drizzt quickly stepped in front of him.

“You said that Bheur Hags can summon blizzards. When you were out on the tundra, what suddenly appeared?”

Roddy again turned to go but this time Drizzt spun him back around with his full strength and held him tightly by his shoulders.

“You said that Bheur Hags attack with their talons and magic. When you got ambushed, what kind of injuries did you get?”

Roddy fumed wordlessly, refusing to concede the point, but Drizzt was determined that they would at least agree on some basic facts. He took a breath and tried again.

“You said they use hunger and fear to turn people against each other. Don’t you think that snowing us in here and freezing us to death might accomplish the same goal?”

Roddy’s jaw was clenched, his eyes little more than fiery slits, but by now he wasn’t the only one frustrated. The man’s obstinance finally allowed the drow’s temper to get the better of him.

“You said they’re drawn by spiteful deeds and selfish actions,” Drizzt began, but Roddy exploded before he could utter his comment’s devastating conclusion.

“You want to tell me anything else about them?” Roddy shouted as he shoved the drow away so hard he stumbled back a few steps.

Regret immediately filled Roddy’s stomach like he’d swallowed a bag of old nails.

He watched Drizzt right himself and the stoic detachment in the drow’s face stung more than any hag’s talons. Roddy waited for Drizzt to yell or push him back—anything to relieve the guilt occupying his every thought. Drizzt quietly smoothed his long, ivory hair and whatever he was feeling in that moment remained expertly hidden.

“All I’m saying,” Roddy said in a far softer voice that he wasn’t even sure Drizzt was listening to, “is that you could be worrying over a bunch of nothing.”

Roddy rubbed his face and sighed into his hand.

“I was stupid and didn’t pack properly for the tundra,” he explained meekly. “I got stuck in some bad weather and was freezing to death. I got attacked by a…” He searched for a reasonable explanation. “A direwolf or something,” he decided, “but my brain wasn’t working right and I started seeing things instead. Then it heard you coming and ran.” By this point, Roddy had actually managed to start convincing himself. “We had some more bad weather,” he gestured at the door, “but in a few hours, either the snow will melt or you can send your cat to go get help. Nothing to worry about.”

He didn’t bother looking to see if Drizzt believed him. Roddy knew he would see nothing but pain in those purple eyes and he was too much of a coward to bear it.

Roddy had managed to mince some dried fish, salt, and leafy greens together into what was a messy, but ultimately successful, meal. They ate in silence and each passing moment of somber, wordless quiet added another brick to the weight in Roddy’s chest.

“Not bad, was it?” he asked when Drizzt took the last forkful from his plate.

Drizzt shook his head as he finished chewing, looking at something that wasn’t there.

Roddy started to collect the dishes but then, unable to tolerate the discomfort any longer, he sat back down and cleared his throat. The hunter had no real experience with apologies but he felt compelled to try his best.

“I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that.”

He risked a glance at Drizzt, saw that he had the drow’s full attention, and nervously continued.

“You were right,” he admitted, his words coming out like boulders being pushed up a hill. “About the hag I mean. That’s what it has to be and, as likely as not, I’m the one drew it out here. With all the things I’ve done, I figure I’d make quite a snack.” But not you, he thought miserably. You wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t been trying to help me. Roddy sighed. After all these years, I’m going to end up getting Drizzt Do’Urden killed after all. Not with a blade or arrow, just by being a bastard.

Despite every bit of willpower he had, his eyes started to glisten and the drow went to touch his shoulder. Roddy jerked away to dodge his hand but Drizzt took an assertive step forward and the next time he reached for the man’s arm, his palm landed.

“What do you think you’re doing, being so kind to me?” Roddy asked quietly, unable to look at anything other than the floor. The gentleness of Drizzt’s touch only intensified the shame he felt. “I can’t deserve it.”

The man’s question forced Drizzt to reflect on the history they shared. Memories of those faraway days were dominated by near-constant competition and fear, but the drow couldn’t deny there had also been a sense of intrigue throughout the danger. Apart from his father, Drizzt had never known a more capable opponent as Roddy but despite their lives having interwoven with one another’s so tightly, he barely knew anything about the hunter. The more he thought about it, Drizzt realized nearly everyone in his life had initially been a mortal enemy.

If there was anything holding Drizzt back from fully forgiving Roddy, it was what he had done to everyone besides Drizzt during his frenzied pursuit. The stories the drow had heard during the battle at the grove had shaken him deeply, yet he had still chosen to let the man go.

The drow tried to parse his feelings about Roddy on a multiple occasions, but every thought Drizzt had about the human led him to another, contradictory one. He often wished that he could talk about the matter with Zaknafein. His father was the only other drow Drizzt had ever met who shared his surface-like morals. In their home of Menzoberranzan, concepts like “family,” “empathy,” and “love” were so foreign that their language could barely translate them, but they were values he and Zak held dear.

Everyone deserves a chance at redemption, don’t they Zak? Or am I just too broken myself to know when someone else is beyond hope? Drizzt tried to imagine what his father would say and his jaw tightened with quiet resolve.

“You do deserve it,” Drizzt said after a moment. “Everyone deserves kindness as long as they’re truly trying to grow.”

If there had been any lingering doubt as to whether the snow that boxed them in was magic, it was long gone. They had stabbed and slashed at the wall of ice for over an hour with every object they could spare but they hadn’t made so much as a scratch. The two sat on the floor to catch their breath, defeated.

“I can’t believe you thought punching it would work,” Drizzt had to chuckle as the two panted and wiped the sweat from their brows.

Despite his good arm being sore from the flurry of blows he’d expended against the snow, Roddy allowed a grin to form across his face. “Had to try it, didn’t I?”

The dark elf shook his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m not sure you did.”

Roddy gave Drizzt’s shoulder a gentle shove in a shy attempt at atonement for the morning’s physical altercation. Drizzt returned the gesture and the two men looked appreciatively into one another's eyes until their worries returned a moment later.

“Time to get your cat, drow.”

Drizzt nodded and fetched a small onyx statue from one of his pockets.

“Guenhwyvar,” the dark elf spoke softly, rubbing the sculpted panther with small and loving strokes.

Roddy nearly jumped out of his skin when, faster than he could blink, a 600-pound panther materialized in front of them. She leapt on top of Drizzt, rubbing his cheeks with her own and punctuating her thunderous purring with warm licks.

“Guenhwyvar,” Drizzt said again, once her excitement had subsided enough for him to get a word in without his mouth filling with black fur. “We need your help.”

His use of the word “we” made the cat turn her head and the next moment, Roddy found himself squarely locked in her piercing yellow stare. Roddy managed to remain still as the panther looked him over with her teeth more than slightly bared.

“Roddy’s a friend now, Guenhwyvar,” Drizzt said, petting one of her broad shoulders reassuringly.

Friend. The word hit Roddy as hard as any fist he’d ever caught in combat. Did the drow actually consider him one or was he merely placating the cat so that she wouldn’t tear Roddy limb from limb? After allowing himself the briefest instant of naive hope the man realized it had to be the latter, but he welcomed the drow’s remark regardless.

Guenhwyvar maintained a half-snarl as she took a heavy step towards where Roddy sat. He felt his heart pounding but he tried to stay calm, even as she got so close he could feel her breath on his face. The panther finally closed her jaws and took a few deep sniffs. She cocked her head, gave Drizzt one last glance, and concluded her investigation. Before Roddy could react, Guenhwyvar yawned and reclined across his lap, trapping him under her nearly half-ton frame.

Despite the involuntary sound of surprise and discomfort that burst from Roddy’s lips, it was immediately followed by a relieved laugh. When he looked at Drizzt, the drow was beaming so radiantly he couldn’t help but smile back.

Guenhwyvar clawed at the ice wall with frustrated disappointment then stared back at the men waiting behind her.

“What’s she doing?” Roddy asked. His tone was curt enough to make the panther give a low growl but Drizzt intervened with a comforting scritch behind her ears.

“Come on Guen,” the dark elf implored gently.

She tried once more to pass through the snow but even with her astral capabilities, something was keeping her as confined as the other two.

“She can’t leave either,” Drizzt finally said in little more than a whisper. Guenhwyvar confirmed his fears by hanging her head low and offering an apologetic nuzzle into his palm.

Roddy’s spirit fell. Summoning Guenhwyvar had been their last hope and the man had no idea how they would last another night in the freezing cabin. Drizzt however refused to give in to their doom. He knew there was still one more chance that they would survive.

High-noon came and went and the streets of Ten-towns carried on as usual. The only thing out of place was the dwarven man pacing in front of his home with increasing speed and volume.

“Where is he?” and other such questions repeated themselves between Bruenor Battlehammer’s lips, along with some other, more inflammatory remarks.

He had seen no sign of his friend. The friend I left to that murderer’s mercy, he thought.

Without waiting a minute more, the dwarf assembled his toughest winter gear and fetched his most trusted battle-axe.

What have you gotten yourself into, Do’Urden? he wondered as he set off for the tundra.

Chapter Text

It had stalked the human’s scents of failure, anger, and vengeance until it found him in all his delicious wickedness. The human sat alone in the snow and was unmoving but alive, for now. The hag stared with delighted anticipation—it had been a long time indeed since it had found such a bounty, and the hag would enjoy itself.

As Roddy McGristle gazed into the horizon, he saw the sky suddenly changed. The tundra’s tranquil canopy of white, streaking clouds was now forming a darkening ring directly above him. Before he could scramble to his feet, it was already too late. Snow and hail began its assault on Roddy in one brutal, inescapable column that was burying him deeper every second. He tried desperately to cover his face, gasping into the unrelenting wall of wind that stole his every breath.

“Let me in,” a voice whispered amid the howling blizzard. The human’s eyelids were growing heavy and his efforts at escape were weakening.

“Let me taste,” it said. This time, the man felt the words clawing into his chest. He felt them tearing him apart, searching fervently, until the pain reached a climax so agonizing he finally gave in.

In one terrible flash, the human’s heart offered the hag everything.

"I see," it smiled as visions of frenzy, carnage, and murder washed over the hag like the blood it would soon revel in. Roddy's body was convulsing and turning deathly pale. 

“Oh my sweet,” the hag marveled after a few more succulent moments. “You’re so much worse than I ever could have dreamed.”

A whirlwind of talons, teeth, and ice began to slash at the human’s stomach and any limbs he was foolish enough to raise against his doom. Laughter and gore filled the tundra until something in the near distance caught the hag’s attention enough for it to halt its feast.

What might you be? It peered at the approaching figure. Perhaps the human had not ventured alone. Perhaps, the hag imagined gleefully, looking down at the motionless pile of meat, there are more just like you. It decided its appetite could wait just a little longer and watched as a most unlikely creature came to the human’s rescue: a drow.

It had never tasted a dark elf before but the thought made its mouth moisten. The drow began to drag the human away towards an opening in the mountains and the hag followed silently. What unusual prey you are, it thought. More unusual still was the vignette that unfolded throughout the night as the pair were joined by a dwarf and the troupe trekked to a small cabin with the unconscious human in tow. The hag couldn’t detect in the other two anything like what it smelled within the human, whose essence had poisoned the air around him so pungently that the hag had been able to track him from miles away.

Whatever curiosity the hag felt at the unlikely trio slowly began curdling back into hunger as the dwarf left the others alone in the wilderness. The hag peered at the cabin from its invisible perch among the hills and debated the most satisfying way to conclude its hunt. Let the human take care of the drow, it finally decided with a longing lick of its jaws, and the dwarf if it comes back. After all, it recalled the human's delectable rage, killing is what you do best.

The chairs and table had come apart with relative ease, especially with Guenhwyvar’s aid. Drizzt and his companion finally had a respite from the increasing ache of the cold and they sat under the blankets in restful silence. Roddy didn’t mind the fact his lap had become the panther’s new favorite place to sit, as her massive frame and purring breaths provided enough heat for him to feel his frozen extremities again.

Drizzt had wrapped himself in a blanket and was now staring at the cabin door. They’d managed to buy themselves another day or two, but the lumber they salvaged from the furniture wouldn’t last forever. Roddy saw the gloom in the dark elf’s expression and gave his arm a flick.

“Stop your worrying,” he said. “Your Battlehammer bastard will be along soon.” Despite Roddy’s immense dislike for the dwarf, he knew the thought comforted his companion. Roddy wasn’t sure what exactly the drow thought Bruenor could do that would break them free of the hag’s spell, but Drizzt’s confidence in his friend was unshakable.

The dark elf smiled, showing his appreciation for the encouragement with a rub of Roddy's shoulder. A moment later, with his mind still only half-present, Drizzt failed to realize that his fingers were sliding down Roddy’s arm onto his hand. Roddy, however, did very much notice.

Roddy locked his eyes forward, barely daring to move. Guenhwyvar was far less oblivious to the situation than her friend and gave Drizzt’s chest a small nudge before going back to feigning disinterest. The drow looked down at where his hand had inadvertently clasped Roddy’s and felt his heartbeat quicken. Almost every impulse within the drow compelled him to break contact but his anxiety subsided when the man’s fingers gingerly interweaved between his own. Drizzt risked a glance at his companion and saw Roddy's dark eyes glimmering with an emotion that neither man could allow themselves to interpret.

In truth, Roddy had no idea what he thought he was doing, but he knew without a doubt that he wanted to keep doing it. The man’s attachment to the dark elf had been shifting at a steadfast pace into something he couldn’t yet identify. Perhaps it was a result of their forced cohabitation and reliance on one another in the face of a common threat but, Roddy permitted the thought, maybe it was something else. He knew that the true question was whether or not he was willing to find out.

Another moment of silence passed between them like lightning leaping through a summer storm before Roddy quietly asked:

“Did you mean it?” The words dried his tongue on their way to Drizzt's ears. “When you told the cat we were friends, I mean.” He couldn’t bear to see whatever truth would be revealed in the drow's purple stare and focused instead on watching Guenhwyvar sleepily lick her paws.

“Of course I did,” Drizzt replied with an equally cautious tone. “Is that alright?” he asked, anxiously preparing to release Roddy’s fingers.

The man maintained his warm, rough grip as shy smile spread across his lips.

“I reckon that’s okay with me,” he said.

As the fire crackled, it sent red and golden echoes dancing across the men's skin. They found themselves sitting even closer and Roddy risked a gentle rub of his thumb against the drow's palm.

“And,” the dark elf began, not sure he wanted to know the answer. “What do you consider me, Roddy McGristle?”

“Well, Drizzt Do’Urden,” the man said as he leaned forward. The drow had never heard Roddy use his name before and the way the syllables played across his tongue filled Drizzt with the overwhelming desire to hear him say it many more times.

Roddy’s face was now mere inches from Drizzt’s but before he could finish his admission, a rumble shook the cabin. The vibration shook them so deeply that the two would have been flung from the bed had it not been for the panther’s weight holding them down. Crackling blue sparks illuminated the windows from behind the shield of ice and it dawned on the men that their hunter had finally lost patience.

When Bruenor Battlehammer reached the small valley, he was met with the sight of an enormous blue sphere nearly twice the size of the cabin it had engulfed. The dwarf’s mightiest axe threatened to split in two each time it came crashing down against the ice. His arms shook as the clang of metal resounded throughout the empty tundra but his efforts didn’t cease until the axe’s handle started to bend.

Another morsel, the hag grinned as the dwarf’s aura of hopelessness and fury reached her nostrils. Oh my dearies, you spoil me.

Bruenor’s spirit was sinking as he desperately tried to summon another idea. He knew his friend was inside this icy prison, locked in with one of the most loathsome men Bruenor ever had the misfortune to meet, and the dwarf knew the drow’s rescue was up to him. He imagined the most effective strategy would be to return to Ten-towns and recruit the help of a magic-user, but what he couldn't ascertain was the amount of time that had already been wasted. Drizzt had missed their midday check-in, but how much longer before that had he been trapped? The question drove Bruenor further into helpless despair until he discovered, not an instant later, that the blue barrier had vanished.

Drizzt and Roddy waited for another booming, burst of light but all they heard now was prowling silence and all they saw at the windows was daylight. The eerie calm on the other side of the cabin door beckoned, daring them, but the two remained still and even Guenhwyvar looked wary. They slowly got to their feet and Drizzt motioned for the panther to stay behind them as they approached the door with weapons in their hands. The men realized they were both attempting to take the lead and Drizzt silently waved at the man’s bandages. Roddy returned the gesture with a glower and put a decisive arm in front of the drow before he reached for the doorknob.

Roddy barely managed to duck away as the dwarf’s axe cleaved the air.

“What did you do to him, you son of a bitch?” Bruenor readied another blow but before he swung, he saw his friend spring out in front of the man. The dwarf’s confusion stilled his hand but he kept his axe high.

Drizzt stepped outside the cabin and the sweetness of the fresh air was only matched by the comfort he found in his friend’s embrace. The dwarf was as perplexed as when he’d first arrived, but he couldn’t resist momentarily giving in to his relief. He squeezed Drizzt tightly to his chest before asking:

“What in the gods’ names is going on?”

Before the human or drow could reply, one final and deafening blast provided more than enough explanation. The three jumped and saw a lumbering shadow crept towards them, surrounded by a venomous-looking cloud of icy, arcane tendrils.

A voice as kind as splintering bone chuckled.

“Hello, lovelies.”

Chapter Text

The hunter was less than a day’s march away, but Drizzt knew he was doing more than marching. Montolio didn’t seem to share his apprehension, however. The ranger told him that they’d done all the preparation they could for the oncoming fight, but Drizzt remained uneasy. Something besides Roddy McGristle and the troupe of goblinoids he led was weighing on Drizzt, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Why is he doing this?” the dark elf asked Montolio.

The hunter’s unfaltering pursuit had grown far beyond mania since their first encounter and, despite countless guesses, Drizzt couldn’t fathom why the man would willingly cling to so much rage. It was proven that Drizzt hadn’t murdered that family of farmers and while he had felled one of Roddy’s dogs in self-defense, he’d done everything in his power to reach a non-violent resolution.

Montolio patted his friend’s knee and sighed in a way that let Drizzt know the answer was beyond him as well.

“I’m not even sure he knows, anymore,” the ranger said. “But that won’t stop him.” Montolio’s face hardened. “You know that, don’t you?” he asked somberly. The dark elf remained silent. “It has to be done, Drizzt.”

He knew exactly what Montolio was implying but he refused to acknowledge it. He couldn’t bring himself to believe in lost causes, no matter the evidence. No matter the risk?

Drizzt retreated once more to his thoughts. He’s hurt so many people. Surely he deserves to die as much as any giant or troll. The words running through his head made sense but they felt foreign and sour in his heart all the same.

“Something’s wrong,” Drizzt said aloud.

“Of course there is,” the ranger replied. “You’re not supposed to be here anymore.”

Drizzt turned to him and felt his heart nearly jump through his chest. Surrounding the man’s blind eyes were crusted halos of ice and his lips were stained with drooling, blue bile.

Drizzt didn’t even have time to scream before the man in front of him vanished, along with everything else.

You’re close, Roddy thought with blood on his knuckles and even more blood on his mind. The unspeakable deeds he’d committed were about to be worth it—he would have the drow. Orcs, gnolls, and even elves had suffered at the hands of his obsession. Roddy had never hunted such an elusive, capable target and every hour that passed without the drow’s capture sank him further into his irate fixation. He had to have him.

He had trekked hundreds of miles during his years of searching, but he knew his loathsome trophy was hardly a day away now. The drow’s greatest mistake had been staying in one place. The caretaker of the grove, Montolio DeBrouchee, was keeping the drow close but even with his animal conspirators and knowledge of the terrain, it wouldn’t be enough. Roddy followed a path just trodden enough to be seen while shimmering blue fireflies lined the trees in a guiding trail.

A grim smile smeared itself across Roddy’s dirty face. This time you’re mine.

There was a bitter, blue light as Roddy and Drizzt collapsed. They fell onto the snow beside one another, their weapons lying useless in their hands. The friends that their consciousnesses had left behind only had an instant before the hag readied another attack.

Bruenor knew he couldn’t allow himself to wonder if his friend was dead and he threw himself into battle. With his axe held high, the dwarf barreled at the hag. His first blow struck nothing but air while the hag seemed to disappear. Before he could turn around, he felt a blast from behind like he was being shoved by a wall of nails. Bruenor’s knees buckled but he didn’t falter. The next second, he spun low and managed to slice one of the hag’s legs. It howled in hissing anger and retaliated with a brutal swing of her talons. The hag laughed and within just a few moments its blows began landing with an ease that was almost dull.

While taking on the human and the drow would have been more than possible for the hag, managing four opponents at a time would be more effort than it cared to expend on an empty stomach. It had originally planned for the human to take care of the others, but for some reason the treachery and hatred it had been counting on never came. In fact, the hag had noticed that its strategy of trapping the two men inside the cabin had instead curdled the human’s scent significantly. The delicious aroma of all his shortcomings had been fading while something putrid had started to take its place. The stench stung the hag’s nostrils until it was unable to bear any more and decided it had waited long enough.

Meals always taste best when you prepare them yourself after all, it thought gleefully as a shard carved across the dwarf’s face on its way past his ear.

A few feet away, Guenhwyvar was nudging and clawing at Drizzt’s limp body. Her yellow eyes were torn between his face and the Bheur Hag as it pelted the dwarf’s with pikes of ice. She knew Bruenor couldn’t face the hag alone for much longer and that she would soon have to abandon her efforts at waking her friend. Mustering all the strength she could, Guenhwyvar changed strategies and swiped at Roddy’s wounded arm.

Drizzt was falling through a black, velvet-thick fog. He flailed, looking for some foothold or leverage, but his hands might as well have been grasping at ink. His lungs filled with the darkness around him and, until the moment he crashed to the ground, Drizzt wondered if he was still alive.

With a crunching thud, he found himself on his back below a snarling beast of a man. He looked up into the rabid eyes of Roddy McGristle and felt the hunter’s hands tight around his neck.

“Wait—” the dark elf tried to utter before Roddy’s grip stifled the plea back into his throat. He shifted his hips and legs to maneuver out from under the man.

In a flash, Drizzt straddled him and dug his scimitars into the ground on either side of the man’s neck. His purple eyes bore down on the hunter with disturbed confusion. Something’s wrong. The thought was repeating itself in Drizzt’s mind with growing volume and intensity.

Roddy grasped Drizzt’s blades with his bare hands and he tried to pull the scimitars closer together, apathetic to the streams of blood trickling from his palms.

“Do it,” he snarled. Roddy could feel the drow trembling slightly and he clutched the scimitars tighter. “End me already, you self-righteous bastard!“

“No!” Drizzt shouted with such force that it echoed throughout the grove.

Roddy stared up at him, unmoving. The drow kept his hands on the hilts of his scimitars but his voice softened and he looked down at the man with a familiarity he couldn’t explain.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“Why not?” Roddy’s question was draped under a heavy tone that Drizzt realized was a resigned plea.

For the briefest second, Drizzt could swear he felt his father’s reassuring hand on his shoulder as he looked down and replied:

“Everyone deserves kindness as long as they’re truly trying to grow.”

“But I’m not,” Roddy said through gritted teeth. Roddys face maintained the same blistering expression, but there was something different forming underneath. The drow’s words had struck him like a thousand fists and he clenched his eyes shut, unable to meet the lavender stare above him. “I won’t.”

“You will, Roddy McGristle.”

The origin of Drizzt’s certainty was only half-remembered but the conviction in his voice was enough to make Roddy pause. The hunter finally dared to return the drow’s gaze and something broke inside him, filling him with agonizing relief. It was like something sharp and deep had been torn free of his chest, but even more startling was the warmth that took its place as he heard the drow speak his name.

“Are you willing to take that risk, Drizzt Do’Urden?” the hunter asked, the syllables seeming to form on his tongue by themselves.

“Yes,” Drizzt answered tenderly as he returned his blades to their sheaths. “I am.”

As the panther’s claws caught his tender forearm, Roddy’s eyes shot open to see Guenhwyvar above him and Drizzt lying motionless at his side. Guenhwyvar frantically batted at Drizzt’s shoulder while sounds of metal hitting ice resounded through the air behind them. The panther looked to Roddy, helpless and desperate.

The man glanced over his shoulder to where Bruenor Battlehammer was fending off the hag with unwavering force. Roddy could tell that the dwarf would fight to the end, but it was clear that the end was fast approaching. Roddy nodded to Guenhwyvar and she gave Drizzt’s body one more nervous look before leaping into the fray. Roddy shook Drizzt’s shoulders, terrified by the lifelessness he saw in his face, but he suddenly heard Bruenor cry out and he knew there was no more time.

Roddy grabbed his axe with one hand and got to his feet. The gory tableau before him brought back visions of his childhood friend’s excruciating demise, but he furiously cast them aside. He took another few steps forward, bent down, and grabbed Bruenor’s axe in his other hand. He refused to think of anything except how good it would feel to kill the hag.

With a slash from the hag’s left arm and a blast of ice from its right, Bruenor had finally fallen. The dwarf was still breathing, but his torso and face were decorated with deep burgundy stripes. Guenhwyvar slashed at the hag’s throat with fearsome savagery, but the hag dodged her claws and summoned an enormous, lethal shard. It raised both its arms to lance Guenhwyvar’s chest and the movement was just over-confident enough to provide Roddy an opening. With a bellowing cry, the hunter slammed an axe into the hag’s stomach and Drizzt finally awoke.

The dark elf didn’t allow himself a moment’s hesitation before he grabbed his scimitars. Drizzt lunged and cut at the hag’s talons while Roddy hacked continuously at its abdomen and chest. Guenhwyvar clamped down on one of its ankles with her jaws and shook her head violently from side to side, forcing the hag to stumble. Drizzt reeled back and sliced one of the hag’s claws from its wrists, sending it flying across the snow.

The hag let out a screech so piercing her opponents almost had to cover their ears, but Guenhwyvar fought the sound. The panther continued to gnaw and gnash at the hag’s leg until what little flesh still connected its foot and calf was shredded beyond use. As the hag fell to its knees, Roddy brought the two axes crashing down into both sides of the hag’s skull.

Thick, black blood trickled off the man’s weapons while the corpse shriveled on the ice. Drizzt rushed to Bruenor and carried him into the cabin with Guenhwyvar’s help. Roddy would join them shortly but there was something that needed doing first. He hacked the hag’s chest open in one fell blow of his axe and removed the hag’s heart before ripping it in two with his bare hands. The hag’s body began to crumble while nausea-green steam belched from its wounds. Before long, all that remained of the Bheur Hag were the rags of its dress and a pile of dark blue dust that was slowly blowing away on the wind.

Roddy went back inside and saw Drizzt tending to his friend on the bed. Bruenor’s injuries were severe, but similar enough to Roddy’s that the dark elf was prepared. As Roddy closed the door behind him, Drizzt finished dressing Bruenor’s wounds and let the dwarf rest. The pair cleaned themselves up silently and sat before the fire, with Guenhwyvar lying across Roddy’s lap. The man watched Drizzt’s purple eyes glimmering in the firelight and he dared to initiate what Drizzt couldn’t bring himself to.

“Did you go back to that day too?” he asked softly. The drow nodded and Roddy sighed deeply. He knew he couldn’t divorce himself from the actions of his past. He’d been responsible for everything he’d done—he hadn’t been under any spell or compelled by any force back then except his own rage.

The man he’d been forced to re-inhabit felt like a loathsome stranger. Roddy saw the spite which had fueled him for so long and now recognized it for what it was. His anger and envy had never been fuel—they had been poison he had willingly consumed for years. He didn’t hate Drizzt; he hated what Drizzt had achieved. They were both outsiders, yet while Drizzt found family in countless folks Roddy remained alone. While Drizzt was respected for the tally of beasts he’d slain, Roddy was feared. Worst of all, despite everything that had befallen both of them, Drizzt had maintained his spirit while Roddy’s had hardened with bitterness.

“Do you really think I’m so different now?”

Drizzt looked from where Guenhwyvar lied snoring to the bed where Bruenor was doing the same.

“I do,” he said. “Are you?”

The two leaned closer and Roddy nervously placed his hand on Drizzt’s.

“I want to be.”

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, Bruenor healed enough to return home with the help of his daughter and his two allies. He had been hesitant to accept Roddy’s assistance, even in his weakened state, but he had to admit something had shifted in his perception of the man. The human had been given several opportunities to harm Drizzt, or abandon him and Bruenor to the hag’s hunger, but he’d fought honorably. The thought of Roddy wielding Bruenor’s axe also went down sour, but the dwarf could recognize admirable dual-wielding when he saw it. When he was finally brought back across his house’s threshold, Bruenor stood in the doorway for a moment with his daughter’s support.

“You did well, elf,” he said to Drizzt with as firm a pat on the arm as he could muster in his condition. The dwarf then turned to Roddy and the two stood in a reassessing silence. Bruenor looked him square in the eye and, after a moment, bestowed the greatest honor Roddy could have hoped for in that moment: a curt nod.

“Rest well, my friend,” Drizzt called after Bruenor as the dwarf’s daughter led him to bed.

The two companions exited the Battlehammer abode and stepped into the comfortable air of the small town’s streets which were bustling with families and vendors. Something heavy was keeping both men’s feet planted upon the cobblestone as the sun rose further, and this time Drizzt was the one to challenge the discomfort.

“I suppose you don’t need me to tend to you anymore,” he said with a smile he hoped wasn’t as forlorn as he felt.

Roddy stared fixedly at the horizon, back towards the tundra. “I suppose not,” he agreed after a moment. “I’ll miss—“ His words seemed to hit a wall. “I’ll miss your cooking,” he continued after clearing his throat.

“Yours certainly leaves something to be desired,” the drow teased, his voice still gentle with apprehension.

“Is that so?” Roddy gave Drizzt’s shoulder a shove and the two regarded one another in the snowy morning air.

Drizzt reached to return the gesture but Roddy caught his arm. In a flash, Drizzt found himself pulled tight against the man’s chest. The men felt their heartbeats dancing with one another’s as they dove deeply into each another’s gaze.

“Maybe we should stay in the cabin,” Drizzt began. He glanced down where he knew Roddy’s bandages were hiding beneath the man’s shirt. “Until you’re fully healed.”

Roddy smiled. “That might take a while,” he said softly. He felt the drow’s hands caressing his back and tenderly pulling him even closer.

“Through winter?” Drizzt asked, almost breathless from the ecstasy he found in their embrace.

“Oh much longer, I should think,” Roddy said with the same intoxicated tone.

The dark elf beamed brighter than the dawn and Roddy leaned down towards his face.

“You oughtta be careful, Drizzt Do’Urden,” the man warned.

“Ought I?” he grinned. “And why is that, Roddy McGristle?”

“Because if you’re not,” Roddy said with a delicate stroke along one of the drow’s pointed ears, “I might fall even more in love with you.”

Drizzt’s purple eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak but Roddy stopped it with his own.

The warmth of their kiss sent the world spinning and everything except the two of them faded into blurry insignificance. They’d never grasped on to anything as tightly as they now clung to each other. Drizzt ran his fingers through Roddy’s hair while the other man planted kisses along his neck until their lips found each other once more. The two couldn’t be close enough and clasped at each other’s bodies with delirious abandon. In one another’s kiss, the men finally discovered something they never dreamed they would find: home.

The lovers would remain in their arctic oasis well past the winter. The cabin’s prior occupant had made no efforts to reclaim the shelter and the two enjoyed one another’s company in uninterrupted bliss. Seasons came and went, and every time they came into Ten-towns, villagers were astonished by the change they saw in the two.

The dark elf’s usual shyness had blossomed into an optimistic friendliness. He greeted the townsfolk as if they were friends and, with the occasional persuasion from Roddy, many began to return the sentiment. Roddy’s transformation had been the more striking by far. The brutish glowering villagers had grown to expect and dread whenever he came to town thawed further with each visit. In a few years’ time, he’d become almost entirely detached from his prior ferocity—except in the ill-advised instance of anyone showing Drizzt disrespect.

These days, when Roddy and Drizzt visited a tavern, the other patrons’ faces didn’t hold wary glances but enthusiastic curiosity.

“Tell it again, Roddy,” they’d beg as they offered him another tankard.

“Yes,” Drizzt would often tease. “Tell it, Roddy.”

“Well, which do you wanna hear?” the man would grin as he finally accepted the brewed bribe.

The tavern would explode with loud, eager demands until Roddy quieted the clambering townsfolk. As the man recounted whatever tale had won out, Drizzt would watch his companion’s animated story-telling with a smile. The man largely stuck to the truth, but knowing Roddy like Drizzt did made identifying his embellishments rather easy. In such instances, the drow would raise a quizzical eyebrow and Roddy would reply with a smug wink.

One night as they were headed home, Drizzt squeezed Roddy’s hand.

“I’m proud of you,” the dark elf said.

Roddy laughed. “You’ve heard that story a hundred times!”

But the victory in Roddy’s story was not the one Drizzt had been referring to. The drow knew that Roddy had defeated what had truly been their most lethal opponent: the hunter was no more.

Drizzt kissed the man’s cheek, and Roddy felt his face flush with something much stronger than tavern ale.

“Could you be happy here?” Drizzt asked after a moment, gesturing back towards Ten-towns.

Roddy hugged Drizzt to his chest and said, in between the countless kisses that followed:

“I already am.”

Chapter Text

I felt that there were unexplored aspects of Roddy's character, especially his motivations. I was drawn to this pairing due to the intensity and obsession Roddy feels regarding Drizzt within the novel. Given how open-ended Roddy’s fate is, it seemed like a good opportunity to explore an alternative epilogue.

Roddy & Drizzt Spotify playlist: