I Read What?!

So last time, we had a pontificating journal entry! Woo! Now back to the action. If you recall, people got downright murdered!



This chapter starts off with someone new. Or rather a few someones new. We're joining Dove Falconhand and her dwarf companion Fret this time.

Dove Falconhand is, if I recall correctly, one of Ed Greenwood's stable of beautiful, ridiculously powerful demi-goddesses known as the Seven Sisters. She was mentioned actually in a prior written but chronologically later book: Streams of Silver. If you recall, one of the many reasons that Alustriel didn't want to let Drizzt come inside is because she was worried about one of her sisters having a crush on him or something. This is that sister.

So it's very interesting that Dove is showing up here. Alustriel didn't seem to be aware of a prior connection between the two characters.

Anyway, Fret seems to be a not-so-average Dwarf, though he definitely seems to live up to his name, chiding Dove on proper behavior. Dove actually comes across as a bit of a dick here, IMO:

“I just rode in from Silverymoon,” Dove Falconhand replied indignantly, tossing a wink to Gabriel, the other fighter in the room, a tall and stern-faced man. “One tends to collect some dirt on the road.”

“Nearly a week ago!” the dwarf protested. “You attended the banquet last night in this very cloak!” The dwarf then noticed that in his fuss over Dove’s cloak he had smudged his own silken robes, and that catastrophe turned his attention from the ranger.

“Dear Fret,” Dove went on, licking a finger and casually rubbing it over the spot on her cloak, “you are the most unusual of attendants.”

The dwarfs face went beet red, and he stamped a shiny slipper on the tiled floor. “Attendant?” he huffed. “I should say. . .”

“Then do!” Dove laughed.

The other fighter, Gabriel, seems like a jerk too:

“I am the most-one of the most-accomplished sages in the north! My thesis concerning the proper etiquette of racial banquets-“

“Or lack of proper etiquette-“ Gabriel couldnt help but interrupt. The dwarf turned on him sourly-“at least where dwarves are concerned,” the tall fighter finished with an innocent shrug.

Now, okay, maybe they're long time friends but "Fret" is very obviously getting upset here.

“Oh, dear Fret,” Dove offered, dropping a comforting hand on the dwarfs shoulder and running it along the length of his perfectly trimmed, yellow beard.

“Fred!” the dwarf retorted sharply, pushing the ranger’s „ hand away. “Fredegar!”

Dove and Gabriel looked at each other for one brief, knowing moment, then cried out the dwarfs surname in an explosion of laughter. “Rockcrusherl”

“Fredegar Quilldipper would be more to the point!” Gabriel added. One look at the fuming dwarf told the man that the time had passed for leaving, so he scooped up his pack and darted from the room, pausing only to slip one final wink Dove’s way.

Yeah, this doesn't read like good natured friendship banter. Obviously that can get a little mean-spirited, but this just seems mean. It's interesting to compare this to Bruenor and Regis, because Bruenor is much harsher with his comments/insults, but Regis isn't remotely bothered or hurt by it. So it comes across better. Also Bruenor doesn't dismiss what Regis clearly takes pride in when he mocks him.

I point this out only because I don't think we're supposed to read Dove and Gabriel as bullies here. Indeed, after Gabriel leaves, Dove "comforts him":

I only desired to help.” The dwarf dropped his hands into impossibly deep pockets and his head drooped low.

“So you have!” Dove cried to comfort him.

“I mean, you do have an audience with Helm Dwarf-friend” Fret went on, regaining some pride. “One should be proper when seeing the Master of Sundabar.” She then cheers him up entirely by hinting that she has no clothes and needs a makeover.

“No,” Dove said with a heavy sigh. “I could never impose so upon you.”

Fret verily bounced with glee, clapping his thick hands together. “Indeed you could, Mistress Falconhand! Indeed you could!”

Dove bit her lip to forestall any further demeaning laughter as the excited dwarf skipped out of the room. While she often teased Fret, Dove would readily admit that she loved the little dwarf. Fret had spent many years in Silverymoon, where Dove’s sister ruled, and had made many contributions to the famed library there. Fret really was a noted sage, known for his extensive research into the customs of various races, both good and evil, and he was an expert on issues demihuman. He also was a fine composer. How many times, Dove wondered with sincere humility, had she ridden along a mountain trail, whistling a cheery melody composed by this very same dwarf?

“Dear Fret,” the ranger whispered under her breath when the dwarf returned, a silken gown draped over one arm-but carefully folded so that it would not drag across the floor!-assorted jewelry and a pair of stylish  shoes in his other hand, a dozen pins sticking out from between his pursed lips, and a measuring string looped over one ear. Dove hid her smile and decided to give the dwarf this one battle. She would tiptoe into Helm Dwarf-friend’s audience hall in a silken gown, the picture of Ladydom, with the diminutive sage huffing proudly by her side.

I like how Dove's concession to Fred is allowing him to benefit her. Oh, but the shoes will pinch and the gown will itch, and she regrets the duties of station. But she's doing this FOR HIM, of course. His beaming face makes the sacrifice of looking incredibly beautiful and socially appropriate worth the trouble.

Ugh.

This is not the best first impression, Dove Falconhand. Though I am intrigued by this very non-stereotypical dwarf. Well, not dwarvish stereotype, anyway. I'm going to hazard a guess that Fred doesn't date women.

You may be wondering why we're suddenly talking about Dove Falconhand now. That's because she's "the ranger" that they were talking about contacting a few chapters ago. The murder of the Thistledowns has, understandably, made this more of an emergency, and this poor NPC farmer has ridden straight through for more than a day. ("the sighting of a dark elf often had such effects on simple villagers")

I like how that is presented like a backwater way of thinking, when in the setting, drow actually do conduct murderous raids on surface settlements. A lot. We even saw one in Homeland. Drizzt is innocent, and it sucks for him, but it's not an unreasonable fear!

Apparently the dude took two horses, one he had to leave to re-collect the second trip. I always wonder how that works, since the second horse would have traveled the same amount as the first, but maybe he's less tired because he's unencumbered? I know nothing about horses.

Back to Dove, of course. And Dove is really working the not like other girls, tomboy charm here:

Dove leaned on Fret for support as they followed Helm’s attendant down the long and decorated corridor to the audience room. The ranger could cross a rope bridge without handrails, could fire her bow with deadly accuracy atop a charging steed, could scramble up a tree in full chain armor, sword and shield in hand. But she could not, for all of her experience and agility, manage the fancy shoes that Fret had squeezed her feet into.

“And this gown,” Dove whispered in exasperation, knowing that the impractical garment would split in six or seven places if she had occasion to swing her sword while wearing it, let alone inhaled too abruptly.

Fret looked up at her, wounded.

“This gown is surely the most beautiful . . .” Dove stuttered, careful not to send the tidy dwarf into a tantrum. “Truly I can find no words suitable to my gratitude, dear Fret.”

The dwarfs gray eyes shone brightly, though he wasn’t sure that he believed a word of it. Either way, Fret figured that Dove cared enough about him to go along with his suggestions, and that fact was all that really mattered to him.

Poor Fred. You deserve better friends.

Anyway, they're interrupted by a captain of the night watch, who has the farmer with him. Fred (it's rude to call him a nickname he doesn't like, damnit) protests the lack of protocol, but Dove recognizes the urgency in their faces.

Okay, it actually sounds like the farmer isn't aware of the murder of the Thistledowns yet. He's just reporting the drow elf. He says children have seen him, and when that doesn't impress, relates that McGristle saw "a lot" - namely that the drow dropped a tree on him and killed his dog.

I feel like that would have been mentioned first, had this been realistic dialogue rather than scripted plot dialogue. The kids seeing them and coming to no harm would be far less significant. Unless everyone really hates McGristle...which fair.

Dove doesn't really follow the McGristle stuff, which is also fair, but she is definitely on alert about the "dark elf in the region" part. And I appreciate that. It IS a big deal and should be. As I said, Drizzt himself is innocent. It sucks for him. But the fear is COMPLETELY REASONABLE based on the setting. He doesn't deserve to be murdered outright, of course, but fear and wariness are completely understandable.

I'll give Salvatore credit that this idea is coming through much better here than it had in the Icewind Dale Trilogy.

Oh, heh, look at this bullshit:

“Of course,” Dove replied. “No reputable ranger could ignore the sighting of a dark elf! My three companions and I will set out for Maldobar this very night, though I beg that you remain here, good farmer. You have ridden hard-it is obvious-and need sleep.” Dove glanced around curiously for a moment, then put a finger to her pursed lips.

“What?” the annoyed dwarf asked her.

Dove’s face brightened as her gaze dropped down to Fret. “I have little experience with dark elves,” she began, “and my companions, to my knowledge, have never dealt with one.” Her widening smile set Fret back on his heels.

“Come, dear Fret,” Dove purred at the dwarf. Her bare feet slapping conspicuously on the tiled floor, she led Fret,the captain, and the farmer from Maldobar down the hallway to Helm’s audience room.

Mockery aside, Fred doesn't understand what she's getting at until she asks Helm, Fred's master, to send him along. So...is Fred free to refuse? Is she not going to ask him directly?

Apparently not, because when we see them next, Fred is on the road, complaining about the mud soiling his fine clothes. Dove suggests he pen a song about it:

Fret’s angry glare lasted only the moment it took Dove to remind him that Helm Dwarf-friend, the Master of Sundabar himself, had commissioned Fret to travel along.

Okay, but did you ask Fred himself? Because I didn't see you ask Fred himself. I saw a distinct lack of asking Fred himself. So...fuck off lady.

Fred deserves better friends.

As I stew in my irritation, the chapter ends.