Destiny or Desire

Part 8: A Small Setback

Zaryinor sat on his cot, wrapped in all of the skins and furs he could find. Despite being completely engulfed in warmth with the small hearth of their room lit, he was still shaking hard enough to rock the cot back and forth against the wooden flooring.

Aryendril had finally convinced him to bathe himself, considering he was completely covered in dirt and grime and most of his clothing was still soaked in blood. Vastarien's blood.

The Quel'dorei of the Lodge had been kind enough to lend him some clothes. He wasn't used to the thick texture, but it kept him warm. In the slightest. He wore dark blue breeches and a light blue tunic. He noticed that the Quel'dorei favored the color blue, and he didn't blame them. He would rather be seeing blue than green.

Zaryinor stared at the familiar packs resting against the wall. His Minn'da sat behind him, braiding his long and golden hair behind his back. Her fingers were gentle and quick, a comforting reminder that she, at least, was still there for him.

His blue eyes roved over Rhothomir's cot, which was cold and empty. He stared wistfully, wishing he could see his brother and confirm his safety. He knew as well as anyone Rhothomir was not safe. Not even close.

Rhothomir had been situated elsewhere because of his condition. Nobody knew how to stop or at least ebb the pain of his older brother, and their only decision was to move him to their medic where she could constantly tend to him.

Zaryinor looked down at his hands, where he was fiddling with all of the wooden figurines his brother had carved for him. He pulled them protectively close to his chest, closing his eyes. He focused on the feeling of warmth and his Minn'da's gentle tugging as she braided his wavy hair of gold.

There was nothing any of these people could do for Rhothomir, he knew. They fed him all the herbs they could find, and think of, and combine. They had one of the Wildhammer Elders come, certain that his spiritual healing as a shaman would aid his brother.

It didn't. None of it did.

Zaryinor knew that if he were to find a way to save his brother, he had to do it. He couldn't sit here, mourning over a death when his brother's wasn't far behind. He had to do something about it. He couldn't help Vastarien, but he knew he could help Rhothomir.

Once Aryendril finished he hopped off the cot. He tugged on his worn boots that he spent nearly an hour scrubbing just to get the ash and mud off them. He lifted the thick and dark blue cloak the Quel'dorei had also offered him, rubbing his thumb over the fabric. It was thick and certainly warm, and smelled of fresh pine trees.

"I'm going to check on your brother," Aryendril said softly, walking over to help him clasp the silver brooch of the cloak over his collarbone. Zaryinor knew Aryendril was only babying him because she no longer could help Rhothomir. He could do any of this himself, but he didn't mind letting his Minn'da help out. She needed the comfort as much as him.

"Okay, Minn'da," he turned to face her, gazing into her blue eyes. They were once fierce and filled with love and loyalty, but now they were sad and broken. Distant and lost. He realized that he stood at least a foot taller than her now. He wondered if after all of this loss, he was finally growing into his role.

He didn't feel like it. He was always used to being the shortest, the smallest, the most helpless. Now he had to act as the bravest. He felt small compared to everyone else, yet he was growing taller than even Rhothomir.

Zaryinor closed his eyes as Aryendril pressed a kiss against his forehead, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him. Part of him wanted to crouch down so he could feel small and happy again against his loving and protective mother, but he had to be the stone for her now. He had to help her. He had to keep her standing and on her feet.