The Journey is Long and Our Wounds are Deep

A Jarlemis FanFiction by MaeTyme

((The author would like to note before the beginning of the fic that she does not own any of the Forbidden Realms series characters. They are all R. A. Salvatore's. HOWEVER she does Roleplay as Jarlaxle on tumblr, so some of the events are from that version of him, meaning the Jarlaxle and Artemis in this fic can sometimes be more often like Arte-mun's and her versions of them. The OOC-ness will hopefully be kept to a minimum. Arte-mun sort of beta'd for this as well. The author hopes you enjoy!))


Jarlaxle's world was constructed upon the art of coersion, on lies and half-truths and, when necessary, even telling the truth. A world built upon the foundation of language, like music with its rests of omission, sometimes staccato, sometimes lagotto, forte and pianisimo, a marching waltz of letters strung to form the elusive art of conversation. His world was made up of Words. Words that cut, words that bound, words that healed, that lost, that found. He spoke them, twisting them with his easy and light candor, a charmingly disarming nature and wit, twisting them just as skillfully as the finest with a blade, and often just as fatally.

Artemis used his blade more often, for that finest swordsman needed not the words Jarlaxle loved so, just the steely glint of his eyes and a hand on his hilt. Artemis's world was the flash of steel in the hot Calimshite sun, the tear of dagger and sword through skin and muscle and tendon, the splintering of bone and gush of hot red blood. Wounds made up Artemis's world-inflicting them more often then recieving them. Seldom was it that a swordsman-or woman-matched his skill, slicing him open less than the normal nicks and cuts from parrys. Wounds filled his time, however, wounds of all varieties. Wounds of the body, mind, spirit, heart-the latter three often having more of a drastic effect on him than the mere pain of a bodily injury.

Speech and Steel.

Coersion and Combat.

Words and Wounds.

How, then, were the two so very alike, when the foundations of their very beings were so far apart, let alone their heritages? How, then, had their destinies and their souls so entertwined that the entirety of the surface world of Faerun could not think of one without thoughts of the other chasing not far behind?

The journey begins with trust. A trust that is irrational, and takes years to develop. While the trust is being established, the wary pair embark on a strange friendship. Once the trust is fully there, they become very good friends indeed. Lust also lines the path, curiousity fueling one man's and the other's laced with deep shame. Finally, after so many years and so many tumultuous emotions, there is love.

But is that love too late?