To Catti-brie’s surprise, Alustriel walked right over and embraced her, and kissed her on the cheek.
“Too many months pass between our visits, milady,” Alustriel said, moving Catti-brie back to arms’ length. She reached up and pushed back a thick strand of Catti-brie’s auburn hair. “How you manage to stay so beautiful, as if the dirt of the road cannot touch you, I will never know.”
Catti-brie hardly knew how to reply.
“You could fight a battle with a thousand orcs,” Alustriel went on, “slay them all—of course—and bloody your sword, your fist, and your boots. Not even that stain would diminish your glow.”
Catti-brie gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Milady, you are too kind,” she said. “Too kind for reason, I fear.”
“Of course you do, daughter of Bruenor. You are a woman who grew up among dwarves, who hardly appreciated your charms and your beauty. You have no idea of how tall you would stand among those of your own race.”
Catti-brie’s face twisted a bit in confusion, not quite knowing how to take that.
“And that, too, is part of the charm of Catti-brie,” said Alustriel. “Your humility is not calculated, it is intrinsic.”
Catti-brie looked no less confused, and that drew a bit of laughter from Wulfgar. Catti-brie shot him a frown to silence him.
“The wind whispers that you have taken Drizzt as your husband,” Alustriel said.
Still glancing Wulfgar’s way as Alustriel spoke, Catti-brie noted a slight grimace on the barbarian’s face—or maybe it was just her imagination.
“You are married?” Alustriel asked.
“Yes,” Catti-brie replied. “But we have not celebrated in formal ceremony yet. We will wait for the darkness of Obould to recede.”
Alustriel’s face grew very serious. “That will be a long time, I fear.”
“King Bruenor is determined that it will not.”
“Indeed,” said Alustriel, and she offered a hopeful little smile and a shrug. “I do hope you will celebrate your joining with Drizzt Do’Urden soon, both in Mithral Hall, and here in Silverymoon, as my honored guests. I will gladly open the palace to you, for many of my subjects would wish well the daughter of good King Bruenor and that most unusual dark elf.”
“And many of your court would prefer that Drizzt remain in Mithral Hall,” Catti-brie said, a bit more harshly than she had intended.
But Alustriel only laughed and nodded, for it was true enough, and undeniable. “Well, Fret likes him,” she said, referring to her favored advisor, a most unusual and uniquely tidy dwarf. “And Fret likes you, and so do I—both of you. If I spent my time worrying over the pettiness and posturing of court lords and ladies, I would turn endless circles of appeasement and apology.”
“When you doubt, then trust in Fret,” Catti-brie said. She winked and Alustriel gave a hearty laugh and hugged her again.
As she did, she whispered into Catti-brie’s ear, “Come here more often, I beg of you, with or without your stubborn dark elf companion.”
She stepped up to Wulfgar then and wrapped him in a warm embrace. When she moved back to arms’ length, a curious look came over her. “Son of Beornegar,” she said quietly, respectfully.
Catti-brie’s mouth dropped open in surprise at that, for only recently had Wulfgar been wearing that title more regularly, and it seemed to her as if Alustriel had somehow just discerned that.
“I see contentment in your blue eyes,” Alustriel remarked. “You have not been at peace like this ever before—not even when I first met you, those many years ago.”
“I was young then, and too strong of spirit,” said Wulfgar.
“Can one ever be?”
Wulfgar shrugged. “Too anxious, then,” he corrected.
“You hold your strength deeper now, because you are more secure in it, and in how you wish to use it.”
Wulfgar’s nod seemed to satisfy Alustriel, but Catti-brie just kept looking from the large man to the tall woman. She felt as if they were speaking in code, or half-saying secrets, the other half of which were known only to them.
“You are at peace,” said Alustriel.
“And yet I am not,” Wulfgar replied. “For my daugh—the girl, Colson, is lost to me.”
“She was slain?”
Wulfgar shook his head immediately to calm the gentle woman. “Delly Curtie was lost to the hordes of Obould, but Colson lives. She was sent across the river in the company of refugees from the conquered northern lands.”
“Here to Silverymoon?”
“That is what I would know,” Wulfgar explained.
Alustriel nodded and stepped back, taking them both in with her protective stare.
“We could go from inn to inn,” Catti-brie said. “But Silvery-moon is no small city, nor is Sundabar, and there are many more villages about.”
“You will remain right here as my guests,” Alustriel insisted. “I will call out every soldier of Silverymoon’s garrison, and will speak with the merchant guilds. You will have your answer in short time, I promise.”
“You are too generous,” Wulfgar said with a bow.
“Would King Bruenor, would Wulfgar or Catti-brie, offer any less to me or one of mine if we similarly came to Mithral Hall?”
That simple truth ended any forthcoming arguments from the two grateful travelers.
“We thought that we might travel to some of the common inns and ask around,” Catti-brie said.
“And draw attention to your hunt?” Alustriel replied. “Would this person who has Colson wish to give the child back to you?”
Wulfgar shook his head, but Catti-brie said, “We don’t know, but it is possible that she would not.”
“Then better for you to remain here, as my guests. I have many contacts who frequent the taverns. It is important for a leader to hear the commoners’ concerns. The answers you seek will be easily found—in Silverymoon, at least.” She motioned to her attendants. “Take them and make them comfortable. I do believe that Fret wishes to see Catti-brie.”
“He cannot suffer the dirt of the road upon me,” Catti-brie remarked dryly.
“Only because he cares, of course.”
“Or because he so despises dirt?”
“That too,” Alustriel admitted.
Catti-brie looked to Wulfgar and offered a resigned shrug. She was pleasantly surprised to see him equally at ease with this arrangement. Apparently he understood that their work was better left to Alustriel, and that they could indeed relax and enjoy the respite at the luxurious palace of the Lady of Silverymoon.
“And she came without proper clothing, I’ll wager!” came an obviously annoyed voice, a chant that sounded both melodic and sing-song like an elf, and resonant like the bellow of a dwarf—a most unusual dwarf.
Wulfgar and Catti-brie turned to see the fellow, dressed in a fine white gown with bright green trim, enter the room. He looked at Catti-brie and gave a disapproving sigh and a wag of his meticulously manicured stubby finger. Then he stopped and sighed again, and put his chin in one hand, his fingers stroking the thin line of his well-trimmed silver beard as he considered the task of transforming Catti-brie.
“Well met, Fret,” Alustriel said. “It would seem that you have your work cut out for you. Do try not to break this one’s spirit.”
“You confuse spirit with odor, milady.”
Catti-brie frowned, but it was hard for her to cover her inner smile.
“Fret would put perfume and bells on a tiger, I do believe,” Alustriel said, and her nearby attendants shared a laugh at the dwarf’s expense.
“And colored bows and paint for its nails,” the tidy dwarf proudly replied. He walked up to Catti-brie, gave a “tsk tsk,” and grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her along. “As we appreciate beauty, so it is our divine task to facilitate it. And so I shall. Now come along, child. You’ve a long bath to suffer.”
Catti-brie flashed her smile back at Wulfgar. After their long and arduous journey, she planned to “suffer” it well.