25th Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
Far side of the Aerie Lake, The Pomarj
Edralve was no longer toying with Elrohir.
Unfortunately, that wasn't a good thing.
After staggering back briefly in pain, the dark elf was now ignoring the bruise even now beginning to mar the flawless black complexion of her forehead. The svartalf's white hair whipped wildly around her face as Edralve launched into an all-out assault that was leading the ranger to wonder if he wouldn't have been better off if he hadn't just succumbed to the drow's spell.
Elrohir was on his last legs. While he was still managed to avoid being skewered, again and again the tip of Edralve's rapier opened a new gash in his beaten leather armor and found new skin to puncture or tear. For his part, the ranger could hardly manage an attack with his own sword, and none of them struck home. Elrohir was renowned for being able to time and time again dredge up just one more burst of energy, just one more action, but now all those reserves were gone.
Worse, even if he had still possessed the will to keep on fighting, there was no longer anything he could do. The dark elf was in far better shape than she was, and her fighting skills seemed equal to his own. Fresh, clad in his plate and armed with Gokasillion, the ranger wouldn't have hesitated to plunge into battle with the svartalf. In as poor shape as he had in even before this final battle had started however, he now sincerely regretted letting the drow taunt him into his reckless charge.
Elrohir was suddenly regretting a lot of things.
Their mission to Suderham had been a failure. The Slave Lords would surely rebuild their power base somewhere else. He was- had been- the leader of this group; not only his dearest friends, but those of other allies, who had committed their cohorts to their cause. All their lives were about to be thrown away because of Elrohir's failure to triumph when they needed him the most.
And his wife was dead and would remain so forever.
And his son would never see him again.
Edralve apparently read the despair on the ranger's face. Her rage slowed, although she kept up her attacks.
"The one thing you've never learned, Elrohir," the drow seethed as her face lit up with victory, "is how to lose."
She paused, gathering her breath, although her rapier was still poised to repel the counterattack that never came.
Elrohir was backing away now as fast as he could, even though he knew he could never escape the svartalf. It was all he could do just to remain upright.
Edralve took another deep breath and readied herself for what she knew would be the last attack she'd need.
"But you're about to learn, dearest Elrohir," she purred. "Your teacher has arrived, and her name…"
Her eyes flashed an even deeper red.
"…is death!" she shrieked and charged.
Elrohir saw it coming. He knew this was it. This was the end. His body, screaming in protest from the myriad wounds and his copious blood loss, was telling him so.
He couldn't even begin to think of any last maneuver to attempt, no matter how foolhardy or desperate. The idea of dying heroically, as he always thought he would, gave him no comfort now.
In the time-lengthened seconds that seemed to be preceding his demise. Elrohir's mind seemed to detach itself from his body. He stared at the approaching drow without really seeing her.
But he could hear her. Her voice, her taunts, flooded his mind. And the voices of others, friends and foes, all seemed to commingle and envelop him in a flood of sound.
Don't you have a miracle up your sleeve, Elrohir?
How are we supposed to defeat them, Elrohir?
There's more to life than swinging a sword or casting spells, Elrohir!
You lead us out of here, Elrohir.
This will all be behind us soon, Elrohir.
Tell me, Elrohir, when does one of your own die?
I ready to stand and fight by your side, Errohir-sama.
Well, Elrohir, are you up to leading us out of here, or do you want me to assume command?
For all that you've accomplished, you're such a blind, pitiful fool, Elrohir. You had no chance from the start.
You're not nearly as powerful as you make yourselves out to be, Elrohir.
Don't let it consume you, Elrohir.
Be careful- they're coming!
And the strangest thing of all was that it was that last voice, coming from a woman whom he didn't even know the name of, that somehow shocked Elrohir back to reality.
To find himself a second away from death at the end of Edralve's rapier.
Elrohir casually threw away his sword.
The drow was distracted for no more than half of the remaining second.
But the ranger moved in only half of that half.
Elrohir suddenly launched himself forward, a charge of only a few feet, directly into Edralve's own charge.
He bypassed and slipped inside the range of the svartalf's rapier.
And then felt a burning pain as Edralve rammed her dagger up to the hilt in his stomach.
Both combatants had stopped moving. Elrohir had loosely wrapped his arms around Edralve, as if to embrace the dark elf. Edralve's right hand, still clutching her rapier, moved to encircle Elrohir's waist. The left one had let go of the dagger, as there wasn't enough room to hold onto it anymore between them. The hilt remained buried in the ranger's gut, moving up and down with his deep breathing.
Their faces only a foot apart, they gazed into each other's eyes.
"Sleep now, dearest," Edralve whispered in elven, her face gone soft with both victory and malevolence. "The lesson in losing is over. Sleep well and sleep forever."
And the pain from the dagger had indeed already faded. With each breath he took, Elrohir could feel a cold, tingling numbness spreading out from his middle. His legs grew weaker still, his arms felt heavy, and his neck was having trouble holding up his head. The cold was increasing, and only the hot breath from Edralve's mouth, only inches away now, felt warm. Delightfully warm.
Elrohir knew the dagger had been coated in poison. He knew he was dead. There was no surprise, and even no guilt or shame anymore. At last he could sleep.
No more responsibilities, he thought to himself as consciousness begin to slip away from him.
Edralve's lips closed in on his.
A blaze of warmth and passion, and feelings that in another lifetime Elrohir would have been ashamed of surged through him as he closed his eyes in an ecstatic response. The fire within held the cold and the numbness at bay. It was all temporary, he knew. Just a few extra seconds of life, but as deaths go, it wasn't all that bad.
No more responsibilities, his mind repeated dully to himself, one thought repeating over and over until no thoughts were left.
Elrohir's eyes snapped open.
Oh, yes, he remembered. There is just one more thing to do.
Edralve's eyes snapped open.
The drow pulled her lips from Elrohir's as she felt her feet leave the ground.
The ranger had wrapped her in a bear hug.
His unsteady, faltering feet took one step. Then another.
Edralve struggled, but her raw strength was far less than Elrohir's, even in his current state. The human had somehow pinned her arms against her body.
She hadn't noticed it in the ecstasy of her kiss.
The steps were coming faster now. They swayed dangerously, close to falling, but Elrohir was now approaching a jog.
And then he turned and made directly for the edge of the pier.
Elrohir felt Edralve's grip on him tighten compulsively.
The dark elf felt the muscles in the human's legs tense up.
And the two of them leapt out into space.
It seemed so quiet.
So unreal.
The two of them sailed through the air
It was amazing; how long it seemed to be taking.
The drow looked around in panic as they sailed out over the open water.
"What are you doing?" she shrieked at Elrohir.
The warmth was almost gone now. Elrohir knew it was time to go.
And so, holding the woman he hated more than any person in the Three Worlds in his arms, Elrohir looked into her eyes.
The ranger managed both a smile and the one word.
"Winning."
And then it happened.
An invisible hand, as if from a god, seemed to suddenly grab Elrohir and hold him fast in midair.
The ranger's hand shot out, fingers grasping and then closing, but Edralve was torn from his grasp and hurled onwards and then downwards.
From below eyelids now starting to irretrievably close from fatigue, Elrohir watched the dark elf seem to grow smaller and smaller until she hit the water flat on her back, excavating a momentary circle of water around her in a mighty splash.
Either the water wasn't very deep, or Edralve was a good swimmer, because she quickly reappeared. The svartalf's white hair was plastered to her head, but she shook it angrily away, glared in fury at Elrohir and pointed at him.
There was a sudden eruption beside her.
A horrid humanoid creature with blue-black skin stretched tight over its bones emerged from the lake and grabbed the drow, attempting to sink its fangs into her neck.
Edralve pushed the lacedon back with one hand while running it through with her rapier. The creature fell back into the water, pulling the dark elf's sword out of her grip as it did so.
More sea ghouls rose from the depths by her. At least three or four, but dark shapes below the lake's surface may have been more.
Edralve's hand grabbed her unholy symbol to rebuke the undead monsters-
-but it wasn't there.
The drow's face shot back towards Elrohir, still hanging limply in the air above her.
He was still smiling.
It's done, he thought with an inner calmness.
The ranger's fingers opened as the desire to sleep consumed him, and the symbol with its chain that he had snatched from Edralve fell into the water.
Edralve gaped in horror as she saw it and began flailing away with her fists at the nearest lacedon she could reach in an insane rage.
Which in retrospect was probably her final undoing. The sea ghouls had been watching to see the svartalf stiffen up from the first touch of their kind. Not aware that elves were immune to their paralyzing grasp, they instead all attacked en mass now.
Edralve had time for one final scream of anger before she was yanked underwater by the lacedons.
And there, the sea ghouls tore her apart.
Elrohir did not see or hear it. He saw and heard nothing anymore.