Our Farewell

Tarven knew he wasn't alone as he entered the humble chamber he called his bedroom.  He didn't need to rely on his infrared vision to know who it was that awaited him.  If he'd been blind he would have known; there was only one person who exuded that particular energy that was neither clerical nor wizardly in nature, but was a life force all its own.
"Erelia?" he whispered.  His sister turned to face him, and Tarven's stomach clenched.  There were no tears staining Erelia's face—even as a baby she had never cried—but her deep sapphire eyes were filled with the forlorn intuition of knowing that everything was going to change.  Tarven crossed the room in two steps and pulled Erelia close to him.  Her waist-length hair fluttered prettily as she fell into his embrace.
"You're going away."  It wasn't a question, so Tarven didn't feel the need to respond.  Erelia pulled away from him, her slender fingers coming to rest on the cameo draped around her brother's neck.  The pendant depicted a thorny crimson rose embossed on a background of pure obsidian set against a web-like lattice of entwined silver threads festooned with deep rubies.  Erelia regarded the necklace with an ugly look.
"She wasted no time in slapping a collar on you."
Tarven frantically hushed his sister, glancing around the room with his brows knit together.  "It's an honor to wear Matron Rilarra Arab'und's favor."
"Is it?" Erelia challenged.  "Don't tell me you truly believe that, little brother."
Tarven flushed at the chiding nickname that reminded him that although he had lived more years than she, his sister was infinitely more advanced.
"I…" he trailed off into a sigh.  "What else is there for me?  For once Mother doesn't view me as her worthless son but a worthy opportunity, and I—"
"Akordia is a fool," Erelia snapped with a fierceness that was rare for her.  "And so are you, if you believe for a moment that either she or Matron Rilarra actually cares a goddess-damned ounce for you."
Tarven winced, but he was not overly stun by his sister's admonition.  From the moment she could speak Erelia had possessed the uncanny ability to speak the truth that came so rarely to the drow.
"Erelia," he whispered, placing his hands on his sister's shoulders.  "You can't afford to worry about me.  You and I both know that."
Those large blue eyes bored into Tarven's crimson ones with an unsettling amount of perception behind them.  For not the first time, Tarven wondered if she was naturally able to perform what the priestesses of Lolth had to be trained to do, to reach into the private thoughts of another and read them as easily as though a book had been placed before her.
"You know we'll never see each other again."  The bluntness of the proclamation was softened by the disconsolate expression on Erelia's face, but not by much.
"It was only a matter of time before Mother—"
"Akordia," Erelia insisted in such a tone that compelled Tarven to comply.  She would make a phenomenal high priestess, the male thought mildly.
"Akordia will be sending you off to the academy any day now.  How much time did you really think we had left anyway?"
"Enough time for you to become a merchant like Father and not the plaything of a selfish noble female," Erelia spat, though her eyes were soft as she laid her hand on her brother's cheek.  "I sometimes curse Lolth for making you as handsome as you are."
Tarven's eyes widened and he shifted his weight, uncomfortable with his sister's blasphemy.  He had heard stories of what could happen even to noble females and matron mothers who dared to scorn the Queen of Spiders.  How much more dangerous, then, was it for the daughter of a merchant class?
Erelia, reading her brother's expression, sighed heavily and allowed her hand to fall back to her side.  "I want to give you something."
"You shouldn't," Tarven warned.  "It will only get taken away."  He grinned down at his sister.  "Then I'll have to fight for it, and then I'll really be in trouble.  It'll be all your fault."
Erelia managed a watery smile at the weak attempt at humor, admiring the carefree way her brother approached the darker aspects of his life—admiring, and fretting.  Not all drow, especially females, would appreciate his wry, lackadaisical attitude.  Oh sure, Matron Rilarra found it charming, and it endeared Tarven to her, for now.  But for how long was anyone's guess.
"Then give me something of yours," she insisted quietly.  Tarven chuckled.
"Such as?  You know I don't own anything."
Erelia scanned her brother's height.  "Give me a lock of your hair."  
Tarven raised one eyebrow, his face a question mark.  Erelia merely nodded, and the young male shrugged as she removed a slender athame from the front of her amaranthine corset.  Tarven smirked; not that such a thing was common, but he didn't envy the fate of any male—or female, for that matter—who attempted to man-handle his sister.  He knelt before Erelia as she carefully sliced a lock of his fine white hair into her waiting palm.
"That will go over wonderfully with Akordia, or any of the priestesses," he quipped dryly.  "You're carrying a lock of a favored male's hair as a token, and from your brother of all people.  Scandalous."
"I don't intend for anyone to know I have it," she sniffed with a haughtiness that would cause even the strictest high priestess to nod in approval.  As Tarven stood Erelia embraced him again, fiercely knotting her skinny arms around her brother's torso.  "Don't lose your heart, little brother," she whispered, and her lowered voice made the command all the more imposing.
"I won't," Tarven promised, only dimly aware of his sister's double-meaning, and Erelia drew back to give him a sardonic smile.
"Good," she asserted.  "Because if you do, I'll resurrect you myself and give you such a lashing that would make a matron mother blush."