Salvatore owns all the characters, places, etc. English is not my first language so cut me some slack ok? The next chapter is coming soon (I hope). Uh, enjoy. . .

RESURRECTION

Jarlaxle inwardly congratulated himself at sight of the matron mother's faint smile as he stood before her massive throne, dwarfed by vastness of Baenre family chapel. It was the closest thing to praise one could get from the withered female but ensuring enough that once again he had fulfilled his task as ordered and, more importantly, met her high expectations. The male bowed slightly, expressing gratitude as an answer to her silent approval, before every trace of his usually worn smug grin disappeared and was replaced by a sober expression of purpose. And today the mercenary walked in the majestic Baenre compound with a specific purpose indeed.

"If the matron mother would be so kind. . ." - he started politely but the old female silenced him with a single, dismissing flick of a thin wrist. Her dark ever scheming-never sleeping mind was already somewhere else, plotting new ways to appease the Spider Queen and secure the supreme dominance of her house. After all, it was all that mattered. Achieved goals, however great, were already a thing of past and past, not only didn't matter, but literally didn't exist in Menzoberranzan, the tumultuous city of dark elves.

"Yes, the matter of your payment." She half-turned in the black sapphire throne and, without taking wary eyes off the mercenary, reached for a nearby table. On it lied an obviously pre-arranged pouch of gold coins - his usual payment, as well as a long sacrificial knife with blade resembling a serpent's body, its eyes two red rubies. Although Jarlaxle in one quick, trained glance recognized the knife as an object of great value, he doubted matron mother Baenre ever intended to give it away as a reward. It was more likely that disappointing this ancient one meant getting the blade, in the name of Lloth and all her glory, straight through you heart. The male quietly sighed in relief, blessing his good fortune so far. The old female's hand with gold was already halfway between the table and eccentric mercenary when he finally mustered boldness to speak.

"Great matron. . ." - Jarlaxle bowed very low, even taking off the wide- rimmed hat and exposing his bald head together with deceptively vulnerable neck to her, ignoring his reward. The female examined him with growing interest; although he was a mere male, it was not a common sight to see this one so genuinely humble. Knowing him, she concluded he must need something really bad to act like this. The old drow brought a bony hand to her thin mouth and grinned venomously but regained aloof posture and cold expression before Jarlaxle could notice the slip of her emotional discipline. She had wanted to see him subservient like this for a long time now but never dared to actually use common methods or traditional tools for teaching overly arrogant males their place in the Underdark on him; the mercenary was simply too precious to be wasted. Also, there was a sordid fact that matron Baenre never explicitly admitted, not even to herself; deep, deep inside she feared this mysterious character for he was not all he seemed and certainly more than just an overly arrogant male. This one - in spite of his ridiculous appearance, low station and inadequate behavior - still had the power that even she, head of the most powerful house in the city of assassins, had to recognize and respect.

The worst thing about it was he knew it also.

"What it is?" - she asked in half-bored half-annoyed voice, slamming the pouch pointedly down on table. "Your appetite for gold has grown since our last meeting?"

Jarlaxle chose to ignore the jagged, dangerous undertone of her words. Wisely deciding he'll appear less brash with the colorful hat in hands, instead of returning the feathery hallmark of his eccentricity on head, he kept it down while speaking.

"I wouldn't dream of showing such insolent greed; the matron mother is very generous as it is." She instantly frowned at his habitual cockiness. Her face and body may be worn and wrinkled, but pair of very lucid eyes lurked underneath heavy lids like hidden predators ready to go for a kill at any given moment. Jarlaxle cleverly decided to control his sarcastic tongue and not push his luck, at least not today, not with this much at stake. . .

"It is the nature of reward, great matron. . ." - he hesitated - "If I have served you well, I would like to take the liberty of demanding a different kind of payment this time." The mercenary finished with a slight bow of his clean-shaved head, having no idea what kind of reaction to expect from the withered female. She could be outraged by his bold proposal or become amused by the unexpected request. Either way, she'll try to make him feel as inferior as possible for it was he who asked her for something this time, unlike the usual vice versa scenario, and she'll make sure he remembers it.

Indeed the female, self-contently sitting in her throne took time to answer, watching the male before her with a glare that was impossible to read but showed she was obviously relishing the present situation. Jarlaxle impassively stood and waited, reminding himself that enduring this unhidden mocking won't kill his pride and was, in the end, a small price to pay for what he could gain, if he only played all the cards right.

"So. . ." - she lazily started when finally deciding to speak, absolutely nothing in her voice or body language revealing how she felt about the male's unexpected idea - ". . . you want something else. My gold isn't good enough anymore for a homeless rogue male?"

The last word was dripping with contempt, a sharp reminder on who was who in the drow society. Jarlaxle could only bow again at this and he did, but not without an inward grin. He has dealt with the old female long enough to know when she's being calm before the real storm of fury and when she's just toying with somebody unfortunate enough to draw her attention. Although decades, maybe even hundreds of years younger, he certainly wasn't a novice in this cat-and-mouse game; he knew for sure she had taken the bait. Curiosity prevailed over wrath for now, but the experienced mercenary was well aware he'd need a lot of luck and skill to get what he came for today.

And Jarlaxle's order of the day is bound to be a bit. . . on the exotic side, just like himself.