The Do'Urden Brothers

Chapter Five

Warning: this chapter contains torture and implied sexual assault.

Note: I want to mention that I am one chapter away from catching up to my other two Drizzt crossover fics. Once I do catch up, I will begin alternating between them.

Drizzt groaned as he hung from the iron shackles. He was tired of screaming; he didn't think he could scream anymore. His throat was sore, both from screaming and from Vendes shoving acid and other burning substances down his throat. He was sure he had coughed up his entire respiratory system and his desperate gasps of air only came up as gurgles as he choked on his own blood.

But of course, Vendes wouldn't allow him to die. She would bring him to the brink of death repeatedly and then she would force healing potions down his throat, healing him to full health. She called him her inspiration, her work of art and she enjoyed healing him so she could have a 'fresh canvas' the next time. In those terrible moments, Drizzt had never wished for death more. Every time he closed his eyes, he wished he could just give in to the promise of death and a release from the torment.

But the worst pain was seeing the elf suffer alongside him. Vendes took turns between them, she would often leave Drizzt hanging on the wall while she tortured the elf and the ranger was forced to hear the pitiful screams and the whimpers and moans, and of course, there was always Vendes's ramblings and delighted laughter.

At night, the two would hang in the dungeon alone in the dark. It was during those hours of reprieve from their torment that the two of them could seek comfort from one another. They hung from opposite walls and every night, Drizzt spoke, trying to comfort and reassure the elf and always apologizing for all the evil deeds of his own people. All he could think about was how he must be to blame for all of this. It was all his fault that they were both in this predicament. He was the renegade, the traitor and they were unleashing their wrath upon him and anyone associated with him, and the idea that other people would suffer for his deeds was perhaps the worst torment of all.

Drizzt wanted to take the past 30 years back. If he had known that this day would come, he never would have left home. He would have accepted his fate as Malice's puppet and allowed the darkness of Menzoberranzan to claim him, then at least, no matter what happened to him, Breunor, Catti-Brie, Regis, and Wulfgar, poor lost Wulfgar, would all be alive and well.

Drizzt listened to Legolas, the elf every night. He told the ranger his unfortunate story during those silent hours. He had come to Faerun from a faraway land to the east, looking for his father.

"I found a few leads," Legolas had explained as Drizzt's heat seeing eyes noted the angry hot patches all over his skin from the countless cuts, bruises, burns, and blisters. "My sources told me that my father was being held in a stronghold of dark elves, so I found my way here and was caught by whatever soldiers brought me here."

Drizzt could only offer his sympathies, as hollow as they sounded in his mouth. He had no way of knowing if Legolas's father was in Menzoberranzan, or if he was even alive. If he was caught by House Baenres, he certainly would have been here in the dungeon, suffering alongside them. But another house could have caught him. And it was that sorrow that Drizzt had trouble moving past. If he thought Zaknafein was alive and being held captive somewhere, he would search to the ends of the earth to find him.

But right now, there was nothing they could do for their absent fathers. In these terrible moments, they were both forced to consider their own suffering. Drizzt wasn't even sure how long they had been hanging in that dungeon. He had lost all concept of time. He only counted the days by how often Vendes left them alone in the dark. And by the hour that she returned.