King Varmil arrived three days later.

Iralen knew the moment the dwarven messenger ran into the Great Hall at breakfast that her father had come. Even before the dwarf had finished his report, she rose from the table and left, not needing to hear his words.

Drizzt followed her back to their chambers, neither speaking. She removed her worn and beloved fighting gear and folded it carefully before pulling on her only gown, the fine green silk dress Regis had given her so long ago during her convalescence in Lonelywood. Her hands shook when she reached for the scrimshaw comb as memories flooded her mind.

Drizzt took it from her nerveless fingers and slowly combed her hair, feeling her turbulent emotions and sending faith and love and courage back to her. Iralen took a deep breath as he twisted the dark strands into a thick braid.

"I remember the first time you did this," she whispered. "It was then I knew that I loved you."

Drizzt kissed her shoulder as he laid aside the comb. "It is not the last time I will do this, melamin," he murmured. "Do not despair, Iralen. We will not be parted. You can tell him I am your slave, that you have bewitched me so that I am not dangerous—"

Iralen shook her head violently. "I will not lie," she said firmly. She turned and looked him in the eye, and Drizzt was greatly reassured to see the fire in those jade depths once more. "You are my verno', not my slave, and I will not deny our bond!"

He pulled her into his arms for a kiss that lost none of its passion for its forced brevity. "I love you," he whispered against her lips. "No matter what happens, remember that."

He led her from their chamber then before either of them could lose their nerve. Bruenor, Regis, Catti-brie and Wulfgar awaited them at the gate. "We're coming with you," Wulfgar said, his jaw set stubbornly.

"Ye won't talk us out of it, so save yer breath," Bruenor added, seeing Iralen open her mouth to argue.

Then Regis noticed Drizzt's bare waist. "Where are your blades?" he asked, realizing he'd never seen the drow without his weapons.

But it was Iralen who answered. "This is my battle," she said, her face pale but her eyes blazing. "I will fight it alone, for both of us."

"Not alone," Drizzt murmured, squeezing her hand tightly. "We are veru'. You will not walk into danger alone," he repeated the words she'd once spoken to him.

Together the six friends left the safety of Mithril Hall to face the King of the Elves on the mountain slope. Iralen led the little band, walking a little way ahead of them. Drizzt wanted with all his heart to walk beside her but understood that she needed to do this alone. He sent a steady stream of reassurance to her, carried on a swift undercurrent of faith and love. The others flanked the drow, all uncomfortably aware of their empty hands, for following Drizzt's lead they had left their weapons behind. This was not a confrontation that would be won with hammer and bow and axe.

They saw the Elven host as soon as they left the hidden doors of Mithril Hall. It seemed to stretch for miles, a great sea of golden hair and glinting weapons. Iralen halted about halfway down the slope on a relatively level patch of ground, and a small group detached itself from the main army and approached.

Iralen's heart slowly ceased its panicked racing as they neared. This was the moment she'd dreaded for the last three years, and now it had come. No matter what happened now, it would soon be over.

Then she saw her father and her heart contracted with guilt. Tall, regal and proud, Varmil's blue eyes sought hers with unconcealed anxiety. Unlike the golden-haired soldiers surrounding him, Varmil's hair was as dark as Iralen's. But the once-sable mane was now streaked with silver, and his ever-youthful face showed the creases of much worry. "Veryien!" Varmil cried, pushing through his escort and running to his daughter, hardly seeming aware of anything but her.

Iralen went to his embrace with tears in her eyes. In her fear that she would be separated from Drizzt she had forgotten how her father must have worried about her over the years since she'd left without a word. "I'm all right," she said, unable to believe she'd feared him so much an hour ago. "I'm fine, Papa."

"You don't know what I've been through," Varmil murmured, rocking his daughter in his arms as he had from her earliest memories. "I didn't know if you were alive or dead, if you needed me! Why did you run away?"

Iralen broke away at last, remembering Amandir and Varmil's insistence on their marriage. "You know why I left," she said, a hint of reproach in her voice. "I could not wed Amandir, and you would not listen to me. He found me three years ago, Papa. He kidnapped me and beat me, and I—I killed him." Iralen did not look away as she said this, feeling Drizzt's support running through her.

But Varmil did not seem surprised. "You were right about Amandir," he said, and Iralen's eyebrows rose with shock. Seeing this, Varmil indicated one of the elves in his guard, and Iralen looked again into Norfindel's eyes. "As soon as Norfindel returned he told me about Amandir's expedition," the king said. "But you haven't told me everything, Veryien. Norfindel said you had chosen a mate. Where is he?"

And then Drizzt stepped forward from the line of companions, and Varmil's eyes bulged. "Fylnel?" he gasped, the elven word for Drow. His arms dropped from Iralen and he stumbled back in shock. "No!" he cried, and he raised a hand to point at Drizzt's heart as his archers drew their bows.

But Iralen cried out, "Tinechor vara!" even as Varmil cast his spell to obliterate Drizzt.

Fire shot from Varmil's fingertips straight at Drizzt even as many bolts of lightning slammed into the ground around the drow, vaporizing the arrows and deflecting the Elven King's fire into the heavens. The companions fell back, shielding their eyes, and when the last rolling clap of thunder died Drizzt still stood, staring in disbelief at Iralen.

Seeing her conjure flowers was one thing. He had had no idea she was this powerful!

Varmil also stared at his daughter. "You defend the fylnel?" he demanded in horrified disbelief.

Iralen ripped the sleeves of her gown away, exposing the vestamire, which again blazed with light. Drizzt pushed the sleeves of his shirt up on his forearms, revealing his matching bracers. "We are veru'," Iralen declared without hesitation or shame. "He is not like his bloodthirsty kin. I was right about Amandir, wasn't I? Believe me now, Papa!" Varmil only shook his head, speechless. Iralen stepped closer, laying a hand on her father's arm. "Are all elves good, Papa? No! You just tried to murder a living being because of the color of his skin. Yet you would have given me to Amandir despite everything you knew in your heart because his skin was light and his family was noble! Is that right? Is that good and fair?"

"He is a drow, Veryien!" Varmil hissed.

"He saved my life, Papa!" Iralen insisted. The king closed his eyes and turned his face away as if battling pain too great to bear, but she refused to give up her argument. She took hold of his other arm, too, and shook him. "Don't look away! I would have died three years ago if not for him! Is that the act of an evil monster? Would a selfish, immoral creature even enter the soul-bond with another? You are known as a wise and honorable ruler. Will you ignore all of his actions and judge him based solely on the color of his skin? If you do then I am ashamed to be your daughter!"

"For pity's sake, girl!" Varmil roared, finally opening his eyes again. "You have made your damned point!"

Iralen fell silent then, her heart pounding. She looked back at Drizzt, standing quite still within the charred circle of her spell, and drew a deep breath. Everything rested on her father's decision, for although she had come up with a powerful spell and spared Drizzt once, she knew it had been surprise more than superior skill that had truly saved him. And if Varmil destroyed Drizzt, Iralen's life would not be worth living alone.

Then Drizzt stepped forward, coming to Iralen's side. Varmil stared at him, eyes narrowing, but he did not raise his hand to blast him to oblivion as the drow bowed deeply before him.

"Majesty," Drizzt said with deepest respect, "I come before you unarmed."

Varmil held up a hand, cutting him off. "Tell me, drow," he said, his lip curling, "how many elves have you killed?"

"None," Drizzt said truthfully, holding the king's sapphire eyes with his own. "I take no pleasure in killing and do so only when there is no other choice."

"He did not even kill Amandir," Iralen added softly, taking Drizzt's hand in one of hers and her father's in the other. "I did that, Papa."

Varmil stared hard into Drizzt's lavender eyes for a long time, and the drow did not look away. At last the king sighed. "I can find no lie in your eyes," he admitted gruffly. "But the drow are notoriously skilled at deception in all its forms," he added.

"Or I might be telling the truth," Drizzt countered.

Iralen squeezed their hands. "Please," she said. "I love you both. Papa, can't you try? Let your army camp here and stay in Mithril Hall with us. Open your mind and come to know my verno'."

Varmil's jaw clenched at the sound of the word and he looked down at his daughter with obvious pain. "Veryien—"

"You thought I was dead," she whispered. "Instead I have found the other half of my soul, and his skin is dark. Is this truly so much worse?"

Varmil was silent for a long time, staring down at his daughter. She didn't look away. At last he looked again at the drow. "What is your name?" he asked, and somehow he managed to speak the words without malice.

"Drizzt Do'Urden, Sire," he replied.

The king's eyes narrowed slightly. "I have heard of a ranger by that name," he said, frowning, "but I thought he was an elf."

"Many do," Drizzt agreed. He reached into the neck of his shirt–slowly, knowing the archers still aimed for him–and pulled out a pendant carved in the likeness of a unicorn, the symbol of his goddess Mielikki. It was also his ranger mark.

Varmil looked at the pendant in surprise, glancing once at his daughter before returning his gaze to the drow. "You are that ranger?" he asked, and Drizzt nodded. "I have heard some tales," Varmil said after several moments' deep thought. "Never did they mention that you were fylnel."

"My friends tend to overlook it," Drizzt replied. He felt Iralen holding her breath beside him and wished he could send reassurance to her, but he felt the same way himself. Beneath their words a deep and treacherous current flowed, and he dared not take his mind from the play of words lest he be swept off his feet and lost.

Varmil glanced over Drizzt's shoulder and seemed to notice for the first time Bruenor, Wulfgar, Catti-brie, and Regis still standing in a line behind them. "I count two kings among those friends," he said in clear amazement. "They also stand unarmed. Why is this?"

"All know your fair-minded reputation, King Varmil," Drizzt said, choosing his words carefully, "knowing you do not strike without cause. They stand thus only to show support."

Varmil inclined his head wryly, knowing that Drizzt remembered the fiery bolts aimed at him only minutes before. "Know this, then, ranger," the king said abruptly, straightening and looking Drizzt straight in the eye. "If you ever give me cause I will indeed strike, and next time my sweet daughter will not stop me." Then he kissed Iralen on the cheek and turned back to his escort. "Go back to the main company," he commanded. "Set up camp, but do not set up my canopy. I will accept the hospitality of Mithril Hall."

Iralen went limp with relief against Drizzt and he caught her in a tight hug. Varmil watched them, satisfied that he had made Drizzt sweat sufficiently for the honor of being wed to his daughter. True, he would never have chosen a drow for Veryien, but when it came to the soul-bond there was no choice. If an elf found his soul-mate, he claimed her or lost that part of himself forever, as Varmil knew only too well. He would never forget the day Senia had died, taking half his soul with her.

Despite his initial fury and loathing at the sight of the drow, when he had seen the vestamire on Veryien's arms Varmil had entertained no further ideas of burning the drow alive. That didn't mean he was happy with the idea that his most beloved daughter's soul-mate was a drow, but he would never cause her the same pain and horrible emptiness he lived with every day by killing Drizzt once he knew they were veru'. It had brought the king considerable relief to learn that this particular drow was the famous ranger whose legend had reached even his southern kingdom.

He prodded his daughter in the back. "Come on," he said gruffly. "It's cold out here." And he followed his daughter and her husband into Mithril Hall.

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The End! Hope y'all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!