Falling Star
(Some vague goriness, death, general unhappiness)
Among the fallen was the family of the archer-guard Shevarash, once a carefree hunter of the Elven Court.
-On Shevarash, Demihuman Deities
Among the elven powers, Eilistraee is only close with Erevan Ilesere.
-On Eilistraee, Demihuman Deities
Shevarash knew better than to expect anything of Erevan Ilesere. That particular member of the Seldarine might prefer the disadvantaged, his favorite cousin told him, but Erevan had little favor to offer to those who leaned on it. His favorite cousin thought this quite reasonable, and so Shevarash agreed.
(There was not much competition insofar as Shevarash's favorite cousin. He had cousins in plenty, but not near as much fondness for even all the rest put together.
(That made it somehow worse)
Shevarash had no intention of leaning. His archery did well enough on its own, his wits were quick enough not to shame himself, and there was certainly no trouble with his carousing. Instead he gave praise, which came naturally and generously after the first drink or two.
(Some two hundred years later, on a long run underneath the High Moor, he realized he'd no idea what he'd praised Erevan for)
By midnight he would be sprawled against the trunk of an oak, joining in a wild song oft-interrupted by equally wild laughter. His sister always retained the vigor to keep on tumbling in the grass, with or without a partner. His cousin produced rings and brooches and gems that glimmered like stolen stars, told everyone to follow with their eyes as he tossed them toward the full moon, and reprimanded them with mock solemnity when the trinkets invariably vanished in midair - gone to Erevan in Arvandor, Shevarash supposed, or back to his cousin's pockets. Perhaps they were illusions gone to wherever illusions would go.
When he recognized his cousin only by the jeweled amulet that had served as his holy symbol for the tenday -
(Would that his cousin had protected himself as well as he protected his pretty things)
- when he found himself wishing he hadn't recognized what the drow had left of his sister, Shevarash knew that he'd known better to expect anything of Erevan Ilesere and he knew, too, that he'd done it anyway.
His cousin said vomiting was meant to purge the body of what troubled it. For days afterward he laughed, vomited, vomited laughter between oaths to Sehanine Moonbow and Solonor Thelandira and Fenmarel Mestarine and so on and so forth until he'd gone over all of the Seldarine except for his cousin's god.
His laughter was not such a great thing.
(Not next to the ones who'd clawed out their eyes to try to stop the sight of what pursued them into Reverie, next to the ones who rocked and shrieked like gibberlings)
His laughter didn't stop him doing his part -
(It was hard to imagine how the corpses he tended to would be any further desecrated by a bit of vomit)
- so they let him be.
His culminating oath was to Corellon Larethian, and by then he'd purged what he could of what troubled him; the words of the oath provided for the rest. The witnesses spoke as though swearing never to smile or laugh again -
(He said until all drow are dead, but anyone with sense at the time would hear that as never)
- was some kind of sacrifice. Shevarash knew that he couldn't sacrifice what he no longer possessed.
He heard Erevan before he saw him. His voice was light and easy as Shevarash expected, and a good deal more oblivious. Shevarash came up behind a tree and told himself he certainly wasn't hiding, even as he figured the best position among the spreading branches. What need was there to hide in Arvandor itself? What need to hide from one of the Seldarine - another of the Seldarine?
(It was discretion, that was all, mere courtesy)
He repeated this to himself as he maneuvered himself into the best position in question.
(No point in troubling the ever-laughing god of mischief with his sacrifice-that-wasn't)
"Ah," Erevan's voice rose, "no need to fret about him, Eilistraee. It'll work out. You'll see. Stay a while longer?"
Erevan had not stayed long during the introductions. Eilistraee had, out of necessity if nothing else, but she too had not stayed past the necessary negotiations.
(She was unnaturally tall, he remembered, especially compared to how most of the drow he'd fought had come up to no more than Shevarash's chin while they were still able to stand. Either she had shortened herself for the purpose of the conversation, or Erevan had stretched himself to join her; their obscured faces looked to be quite close, and Erevan's long fingers were tangling in her hair)
Now they drew apart. Erevan reached up with one hand - "Watch, now," he told her. "Don't even blink." Pointing at the night sky he repeated, "Watch."
Shevarash watched. Erevan twisted and tugged like picking a fruit, and then he was holding out to a drow goddess something that might well be a star.
(Or an offering, plucked from the middle of a celebration in his honor, presented to him by one of those priests of his that hadn't been butchered.
(A priest who expected nothing of him, and thus far needed nothing)
"Take it down to the Pits with you," said Erevan now and Shevarash could almost hear him smiling. "It'll bother her some, and maybe he'll even get nostalgic. Then he can maybe reconsider this whole muckup in time to not get pegged full of arrows by… you know that's not what I want." Frantic now, and over what? Some look on Eilistraee's unseen face? "I'm just saying with this new-"
(Sixteen score and ten years before the last swarm of soul spiders - that was how new it was.
(Time would blur up, wouldn't it? Erevan probably got his priests mixed up, too, quite understandable given all the thousands of years for them to live and die in, perfectly understandable given that Erevan Ilesere had never claimed to be a god of historians or a god to expect anything from including that he might remember one Mischiefmaker who told his young cousins of his god's caprice and was proud of it…)
Shevarash made no special effort toward discretion as he climbed from the tree. Erevan prattled on to Eilistraee, the frantic speech of a few moments previous quickly cast aside.
"When can we go?" he asked when he tracked down Fenmarel Mestarine. Because he was not unappreciative of Arvandor -
(It stood for the sort of thing he had to protect by standing guard at its outskirts. If those deeper in could stay always laughing and unknowing and never need what they'd not get, because of him, it would undoubtedly be worth it. Of course he knew it didn't work that way. How it did work was worth it all the same. It had to be)
- he quickly clarified, "When can I begin?"
"When can you continue, you mean." Fenmarel's look was not near as long and probing as it could have been. Fenmarel knew at least a piece of it - that knowing was why he had reached between the roots of the oak for Shevarash's body, replacing breath and blood and concentrating purpose into divinity. "We could go now."
Shevarash nodded, thanked him, and tried not to look at the stars.
