111Epilogue I
It was a fine evening, Eroth decided, if not for the blasted heat and the great spider hanging from her blade.
There were strands of hair plastered to her cheek. She shook the twitching creature from her dagger with a noise of disgust, and ground her heel down onto its body to put an end to the damned convulsing. Looking up, she let loose the white blade into another arachnid, and started back to watch it tumble haphazardly from the trees.
No time to retract the weapon. Eroth reached across her back and slid fingers across the graceful curve of her bow. An arrow upon the string and the thrill of its tension stilled the click of pincers behind her neck. Finally freeing her hands, she brushed the offending strands from her skin and turned.
Over the century of weary patrols and slashing at webs in the dark, Eroth had learnt the precise sound of taps upon tree-bark. She drew back her arm and the creatures among the branches stilled their advance. But the elleth did not free her arrow.
"Their numbers are too many," she called. "Something must have provoked this."
The air sang with the hiss of arrows, and elven cries marked the approach of those of the guard. Her bow hummed with tautness. Carefully she kept her eyes upon her foe and risked a single step backwards. The arachnids seemed to creep closer, but the shadows swallowed them and the trees betrayed her sight. Eroth scowled.
A glint of teeth in the blue evening and the bough shivered. Her arrow struck hard flesh, and a many-limbed form crashed from the heights. She backed away swiftly and knelt in the undergrowth. From her new vantage she saw the white webs heaving under their weight. It would be a long battle.
The din of footsteps neared. Two hooded figures flitted between the trees and in their wake came a rain of arrows, like locusts in the dark. Eroth fired thrice and turned. The slender birch was easy to master, and soon she leapt atop another tree, older and more dangerous. With her arrows she lashed at the webs, seeking solace behind branches, and tried to overlook the growing ache in her arms.
Then there came the sharp sound of ripping cloth. She glanced down. "That's my favourite tunic, you beast!"
She struck out with her arm and the creature swayed upon the branch. Within breaths her bow was gone and her daggers were in her hands, glimmering white. The spider skittled closer. Eroth curved her wrist and drove the blade into its mouth with a cry. She pulled back, leaning against the trunk as it collapsed before her, the shard of fabric from her tunic fluttering from its pincers. With another curse upon her tongue she forced herself into motion once more, sliding from branch to bough to the noise below.
The elves were gathering between the trees. There came a terrible scuttling and a shuddering at the treetops; the spiders had fled. The voices of her kin murmured around her, low and kind, the sound of safety. Eroth sheathed her blades. New lights bloomed in the darkness.
At the edge of the lanterns an ellon emerged, pale hair bright. Legolas stalked across the battlefield, twisting his blades behind his back, the thin metal whistling. A flush was fading on his skin, like a bruise, and his eyes sparked. His fingers touched the nape of her neck. He leaned down, crashed his lips to hers, and rendered her more breathless than any enemy blade.
The broke apart, her fingers fisted in his collar. Elven cries sounded out somewhere in the distance – an alarm raised. "We shall go," she told him. And then, an afterthought – the fleeting press of cold lips to the corner of his mouth.
Erewhile they crashed through into the clearing and met a sight so queer and unexpected it brought them to an abrupt stop. A noisy huddle of diminutive men stood within their circle of arrows, stamping great boots upon the nettles and grumbling what seemed like curses in their tongue. Eroth lowered her bow in wonder.
Dwarves! She had never seen any creature quite so short.
Epilogue II
In the end, Eroth named their child Eloen.
She was a silver-locked elfling, hard to separate from her mother's skirts but harder to drag from brawls, whose eyes were grey as the traveller who had held her, his wasted hands smoothing across her hair, his eyes warm despite the tears which doused them.
Pelior had thanked her for the name of the mortal he had loved and grieved for, his lips pressed against the elfling's cheek, lingering, lingering. Then he gave her to Eroth, told his sister that he would remember them in the next world.
Do you think mother will be there?
Of course, nethel nin. Of course.
Hi again, fantastic fantasists
Where next?
I've decided to write a spinoff of Deluge about an adventure Eroth and Legolas got swept up in pre-desolation of Smaug. It's a little more fun, a little magical and not without some romance ;)
The first chapters are on my profile now if you want to see what this is all about. It's called Echolalia.
Synopsis: Growing up in the deep forest, Legolas and Eroth were caught in an idle life of arrows and antics. One day, quite suddenly, they decide that they need an adventure. In the long entrancement of summer their journey across Rhovanion to find the River-daughter will bring strange ripples to the surface of their friendship.
Laegwen x
