Making Things Right
Lilithia stood on the porch of the small cottage, looking out over the grassy yard with tears rimming her eyes. She shut them against the playful giggles of an elven girl, the blond hair and shimmering green eyes lively as she and her friend had watched and planned their demise from beyond a bush. She watched the little girl's shock at seeing her, her dying screams when the bolt blasted a hole through the youngster's chest.
And the root of her pain - Lilithia had smiled and laughed at the entire scene as the lights left the girl's eyes, and her blood pooled in the dirt.
She felt one tear streak down her cheek and opened her eyes, looking around to ensure her father had not been watching. She wished, though, that he would come to her now and hold her body in his arms and whisper things that only he could into her ear, to make the pain go away. She ran a hand up her left arm, gripping her elbow and looking down to the hilts of her gift scimitars.
She looked to the wing tip just below, of her dark purple wing, drooping low now that it had been released from her straight jacket type body armor. She hated those wings, the curse she had been born with. She had not been slain then for her mother's naive assumption the girl could prove to be powerful enough to raise the house to 'great heights', she could remember her mother saying. But for all she was worth, that woman wasn't her mother, only by blood. Even if she thought Drizzt held contempt for siring such a filthy beast, he did not. He loved her more than anyone could, and although she understood everyone had reasons to avoid being alone with her, it stung as clearly as any sword.
Yet she knew she had earned that treatment.
She didn't understand why she had wings, other than her family's strange like of demons. She knew there was demonic blood in her heritage, her magical ability hadn't waned as she reached the surface. Somewhere, but not by any plan, was dragon blood. A very weak strain from a magically transformed dragon that had sired her grandmother, she knew. Rakingclaw, she had heard the whispers.
A hand on her shoulder brought her gaze up from the floor, sweeping over to the owner of the hand with a sad smile.
"How did I know you'd be here? Come now, why is my beautiful daughter crying?" Drizzt asked, stepping forward to wipe the tear off her chin and wrap the shorter girl into a comforting hug. He understood fully what Lilithia was going through, he himself had fought the same fights all through his life. But now, watching his sweet daughter in pain was almost too much to bear, but knowing he could not remove that pain with any amount of words, weaponry or magic cut the deepest pains. Knowing he had missed a greater part of her young life, and had not been there, been able to stave off the darkness of the drow's lies.
"Father... have you ever felt that you made a mistake? I mean... I know how you dislike killing the innocent... but..." She stammered, at a loss. She couldn't bring words to explain her pain at killing that one elf girl.
Drizzt nodded and kissed her forehead, wrapping his finger into a curly lock of her snowy white hair on the back of her neck as he rubbed her shoulder. He gave her a kind smile, still young for his years.
"It was long ago, before I brought your heart to the light. Now, forget the old Lilithia. Let her die deep down in the damnded tunnels of the underdark, and give birth to a new Lilithia." He said, lifting her chin as she dropped her gaze to the floor again. he moved his head far enough to the left to look straight into her striking lavender and gold flecked eyes. She smiled, hugging his waist tighter and forcing his hearty laugh out.
"You are not going to be a grandfather yet." She told him jokingly, laughing and sneakily unclasping his weapons belt. As she heard it clang to the floor, she kicked it away, but as she reached for her own scimitars, he waved the belt above her head and grinned. She folded her arms, once more having been out-done by her father. She bit her lip, his now fading smile driving her on as she launched at him, arms wide. She knocked the belt away and pinned him down, her hair whipping forward. But Drizzt, knowing well her intentions, grabbed her sides and wiggled his fingers through her light armor, laughing as she started to giggle wildly.
"S... sstop!" She squealed, writhing and trying to get away as she fell sideways off of him. He followed, pulling his hands away to tap her nose before standing. He gathered both belts up, handing hers to her as she joined him.
"Father, I need... I need to go to Riverdale and accept my punishment from Aya's family. I... her family called out her name as we were leaving." She gasped as she tried to catch her breath. It had been more than a call. The playful moment dimmed greatly when she remembered the agonized wails of the girl's kinfolk as they discovered the girl dead. Drizzt nodded, opening the door to reveal two full packs and two full water skins beside them.
"I planned to go that way anyways." He responded, drawing a smile back to her lips, though it wasn't sincere.
"Where, if not Riverdale?" Lilithia questioned, glancing at the packs again.
"Mithral Hall. I believe that you should spend some time with the dwarves." He said, shouldering his pack and handing her the other. "They have much for you to learn."
Lilithia nodded and adjusted the pack, strapping her weapons back on. Sometimes the man puzzled her but her love for him never waned. Even on the day he swore to kill her if she did not yeild. The day she had been broken by those vicious blades and rebuilt by the gentle hands that held them. Indeed, he had nearly killed her, but her own stubbornness was responsible. She had lived up her father's reputation well, as well with fighting as she did for what she believed in.
As if timed, her thoughts came to an end and Drizzt called to her, now standing beyond the yard. He had settled this secluded house just for her, as she spent time healing from the many injuries he had given her, and healing her mind. He wanted her to know peace as she came to terms with the many changes. She skipped down the steps and joined him, almost missing her pet, Dir. But Dir was slain, he refused to obey a goodly master.
Lilithia knew she would have to explain to that family why she had killed their daughter. Though an apology would not be enough, she would not promise to suffer eternally. No, she knew that the gift she would offer would be great enough. After all, she had promised when she stepped into the sunlight, to right all the wrongs her mother had created. Two hundred years worth of bad deeds. But Lilithia was stout and young, barely sixty three years in drow.
She had yet to know if the elves would accept her offer, if she allowed them to rid her of weapons and everything they deemed a threat, or if they would turn her away. Perhaps they'd kill her, but the few elven folk she did know were kind, if it was only enough so not to shove her aside as they passed, but she accepted every tidbit gracefully. With eyes out on the tree lined horizon, the drow maiden set out on the long and steady path just ahead of her father, her steps bouncing along with the low sun. She would make things right.
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