Destiny or Desire

Part 6: Running From Death

Zaryinor didn't like living in the Quel'Lithien Lodge.

Not one bit.

For one, it was incredibly boring. Most of the Quel'dorei around were mad and filled with resentment, and he didn't blame them. But they were certainly not approachable, and he felt starting a conversation with them would only reward him with a dead stare. They weren't happy about this change in their lifestyles either, and all the speeches about their pride and legacies Renthar Hawkspear tried to give weren't really doing anything to help boost their morals.

If anything, Zaryinor's mind kept drifting toward the possibilities that were all shattered and faded. He could've been a Ranger, and would've savored the thought of defending his Kingdom. He wanted to be just like Vastarien Dawntreader. He wanted to live up to the Dawntreader name, to prove his worth and his persistence. But now none of that was possible.

Yet again, Zaryinor doubted he wanted to sacrifice himself for Quel'Thalas at this point.

If his cherished Kingdom was filled with entitled patricians and selfish nobles, he saw no point in defending Silvermoon. The thought fueled him with a dull and belligerent flame of rage, but he wasn't the kind of elf to allow his mixed emotions to fester until they were uncontrollable and unpredictable. It was what it was, despite how desperately Zaryinor disagreed with the discrimination.

Who was he to speak up against the opinion of thousands of small-minded elves? He might've been Vastarien Dawntreader's son, yes, but he was just a child.

No one listened to a child. It was always just a joke, and Zaryinor was hesitant to admit that he didn't try any harder to get his opinion around. If they weren't going to listen in the first place, his attempts to convince them were as foolish as an orphan asking to have dinner with the Regent Lord of Silvermoon.

Worthless. That's all that they saw.

Zaryinor was happy he had a friend in this miserable Lodge. Dailyn Zhulaen was energetic and crazy and had the talking capacity of a monkey, but he kept Zaryinor company. There weren't ever any awkward silences or uncomfortable coughing instances, because the red-haired elf managed to come up with so many questions and comments out of the blue that Zaryinor could've sworn he had a paper hidden somewhere labeled "Questions to ask to avoid weird situations."

He also had to admit that Dailyn was rather skilled. He didn't know very much about archery, but he was very smart and a quick thinker. Any instances where Zaryinor was unsure what to decide, Dailyn quickly offered his own ideas and opinions, and admirably logical explanations. So Zaryinor went along with whatever was the most beneficial from Dailyn's standards.

Dailyn also helped distract Zaryinor.

Zaryinor had many opportunities to sit down and keep everything to himself, but that meant getting lost in his thoughts. He enjoyed the moments of silence, but the memory of Rhothomir's bleeding stare was like a kick to the gut every time. He never meant to hurt his brother intentionally. He wanted to protect the Quel'dorei.

He didn't meant to show off.

To be showered with praise.

But that was how Rhothomir saw it, and there was no persuading him otherwise.

Zaryinor wanted desperately to apologize to his brother, but nothing heartfelt and brotherly came to mind other than the hope that Rhothomir would just understand what he meant to do by defending the High elves. He also could never find time alone with his older brother. Their mother was always with him, trying to get him to do anything productive.

Rhothomir was definitely known for sulking because of his ill condition, but Zaryinor knew that it was getting more difficult for his older brother to do anything but lay in a cot by the day. All he wanted to do was rest, and nap, and sleep. And snore.