Chapter Text
“Artemis,” Jarlaxle began with his pestering, “what is that lovely building?” He extended a delicate hand as he spoke, pointing out what caught his attention. They were walking, having no horses, and were on a paved road. A stone wall lined it, keeping miles of gray sheep on one side. The other, the dead.
“That is a mausoleum.”
“And the little white stone ones around it?”
“Graves.”
Jarlaxle hummed. A very familiar hum. One where he catalogued the words into the library of information in his head. Then, he would see if he had heard anything like it before, try to rationalize it with other knowledge he had, before -
“And what is a mausoleum?”
Artemis was almost impressed at himself for understanding so well how Jarlaxle thought now. That did of course mean he had been listening to him to notice, and that was not something he wanted to celebrate.
“They put corpses in them.”
“Those small ones seem to be insufficient for a fully grown human. Are they children?”
“No. Those who are rich may afford mausoleums, and the poor purchase graves. Holes to be buried in and marked with a headstone of their family name.”
“I hadn’t seen such things in Calimshan.”
Jarlaxle, when he paused for his thoughts, made sure he thought very hard.
“The very poor can only afford a hole. They leave no name.”
“And impoverished people cannot garner enough wealth or honor to hold onto their name after death.”
Jarlaxle spoke as if he was satisfied with his conclusion. Artemis didn’t correct him. It was also impressive how after such a short time on the surface he was able to make such wild jumps and still stick the landing.
“In Menzoberranzan, there is no thing like this. All are burned. Or, the very unfavored are fed to whatever needs feeding.” Jarlaxle tucked both his hands behind his back, smiling as he continued to talk. “I quite like this idea of mausoleums and graves.”
“You would.” Artemis idily commented, and he wasn’t sure if it was meant to be an insult or simple observation.
“To be known by your name after death - that sounds very noble. It is easy, I assume, for these things to be destroyed, but it speaks of great power that these graves and mosulems remain. I think that I would like one. A much larger one, and adorned with much more gold, and with my name large enough to read from this distance - but yes, I think it would be good to have one.”
“You would be dead, what would it matter?”
“Always so negative. It would matter because it would show my influence. That I was, as you said, rich and that I am not one so insignificant as to be forgotten.”
“Yes, putting you in a hole and filling it with dirt would clearly be too insufficient.”
“Well that too surely, is an idea. Menzoberranzan has no dirt you can dig into, only unforgiving stone. That is why corpses are burned.” Jarlaxle paused, “Or worse.”
“You are much more likely to end up as ‘or worse,’ if you continue to annoy me.” Artemis responded, in the vain hope that Jarlaxle was satisfied with the information. Many times he was not.
“My! Artemis, you would not do me the honor of putting me in a hole and filling it with dirt?”
There were other times, where Entreri would respond just as kindly.
“I might do you that honor now. Or perhaps I’ll toss you into the nearest canal.”
“Hm. And, what would you have me do with your lifeless corpse?” Jarlaxle turned to face Artemis fully, making his eye patch visible and showing Artemis the barest gleam of his teeth. They would always walk with Artemis on the opposite side of Jarlaxle’s eye patch, and Jarlalxe would always look at him when he wanted a conversation and knew Artemis did not.
“Leave it in the street to rot.”
“Come now, you have no preference? I may currently be seperated from my business-”
Artemis couldn’t help but snort, the closest thing to a laugh he had, for that was funniest understatement, and downplaying of his situation so far.
“Hush - I may currently be seperated from my business, but fear not for I am still incredibly wealthy. If you wished for a mausoleum as well, I would indulge you.”
“I would be dead.”
“Yes, that is the hypothetical.”
“My corpse wouldn’t care.”
“But you might.”
“I would be dead.”
“Then,” Jarlaxle straightened, smiling fully now, “what do humans normally do when their friends die?”
Artemis shook his head. Jarlaxle was never satisfied. “I suppose it is most common to have a wake before you toss them in a grave. They gather, cry together about who ever died and whatever they did, then move to watch the corpse be buried, then leave.”
“Then would you like a ‘wake?’” Jarlacle asked, trying out the new word.
“No.” He responded, getting aggravated at having to repeat himself. He thought Jarlaxle would understand, if not sympathize with his disinterest in whatever happened to him once he was dead. Artemis was far more interested in how it would happen - though he held no reservations on that it would be in a fight. No, he wasn’t interested in a wake, they were meant to be for those who were still living, who had cared about the dead. Artemis didn’t have that, he didn’t need it. Except...
“Ah, you are thinking something.”
It seemed Jarlaxle had noticed the habits of Artemis’ mind as well. Artemis had tried to be sure Jaraxle wouldn’t notice, he showed no emotions, except it seemed that Jarlaxle was just as dangerous. Just as meticulous and calculating as him.
Artemis suppressed his sigh, so as to not let Jarlaxle catalogue his habits more. “I suppose… Dwahvel would like a wake. At least, I suspect she would want to know I had died.”
“Ah, yes, the mysterious Dwahvel.” Jarlaxle thought for a moment, “So she may avenge you?” There was something strange in the way he said it, as if he worried that he shouldn’t have said it.
“No. She would not.” Artemis couldn’t imagine it. No, he couldn’t even imagine her hiring an assassin or a poisoner, Dwavel wasn’t that type of person. He could see her clearly in the Copper Ante, in her office, gazing out a window, a cup of fine expensive whiskey in one hand, a fine crystal bottle she kept in a lockbox by her elbow, and the night was a hot one with oppressive humidity, she would raise the glass to the night itself, to the darkness outside, and she would drink. Artemis could envision it well enough to taste the burn of the whiskey at the back of his throat.
“I would.” Jarlaxle interrupted, his voice a bit breathless between the two words. “I think I would be sure to avenge you, in fact.” Jarlaxle lifted his head as he said it, like he was looking for something and was amazed to find it.
“Assuming you did not die with me.” Or that you had killed me, Artemis did not say. He did not think it in truth, but taunting.
Jarlaxle gave his deep chuckle, one that was just as rare as artemis’ snort. “Assuming we did not die together, yes.”
“Assuming I did not die with you,” Artemis started, the words forming naturally as he thought them, “I would probably kill your killer as well.”
Jarlaxle and him fell silent for the moment. A small realization passing between the two of them. Artemis, of course, would have immediately avenged Dwahvel. He held no doubts about that. He did not expect to be willing to do the same for Jarlaxle. Artemis also didn’t expect that Jarlaxle would be willing to do the same for him, but there was a familiar companionship in that. Almost a comfort, if Artemis couldn’t clearly imagine him and Jarlaxle fighting some wizard together and Jarlaxle simply got unlucky, forcing Artemis to follow through on his words without this moment to think, and reflect, that Artemis now had two people he would consider seeking revenge for. Which Jarlaxle surmised as well, that was what he’d been quietly surprised about.
“Before throwing my body in a hole and putting a pile of dirt on top.” Jarlaxle broke in, ending the moment, but not ruining it.
“Or a canal.” Artemis said to him, letting the moment pass by and not dwelling on it.
“I would prefer the hole.” Jarlaxle smiled, looking at him fully, the words playful and in agreement that they would leave the revelation behind. “No, no, I would prefer a mausoleum.”