"Dammit Father why won't you just LISTEN for once?!"
Scroll cases clatter to the ground as the desk shook under the impact. A firm hand clenched on top of the paperwork at the eye-level to the elder of the two elves. The greying magister at the desk stubbornly refused to look the younger male in the face and merely pursed his lips firmly at the disruption to his precious parchments.
"You seriously aren't going to attempt to find her? Nothing in all of...this.." the younger gestures dramatically towards the ceiling high shelves crammed with crumbling scrolls, leather bound books strangely glowing crystals – some of which Rotharian had long suspected were his fathers 'secret stash' to keep the old addictions at bay. "Nothing here can possibly locate her? All this useless , frail, archaic ancient tripe ..." The last words practically spat at the desk.
A withered eyebrow raises in annoyance and the stubborn silence cracks
"Rotharian, you know it isn't as simple as all that, and you especially, could not understand even if I told you why I cannot" Disdain dripped from the elder Magisters words, eyes glinting with vicious indignance. He continued to write, attempting to ignore the disturbance.
"Can't my arse!" The elder shudders at such crude language in his office, wincing at every syllable. "I may be flawed in the old ways... Father... but I'll be fel-damned before I let one I love be lost so easily."
"...She knows what she is doing. " The quill scratches faster and more determined on the parchment
"Really Father? Really?! Or could it be you shamed her into leaving? Or into hiding? Like you did to me? We're not up to your standards once more and then disposed of, like we never existed? Can you not see how this destroying Mother inside? Or Rahvahra? The poor girl can only leave her books to eat and sleep, and even then she is barely getting enough of either because of your mountain of unreasonable expectations for mine and Riselles alleged failings! This family is falling apart at its seams for the sake of your pride, and I won't accept that Riselle is just gone!"
The anger beginning to rise in the elder elf, his left eye twitched in the telltale way, Rotharian could see he was breaking through the wall in his father's flawless marble-like countenance. The magister slams his quill onto the desk, his ears flushing red with frustration
"And what would you do? What CAN you do, boy? Can't you understand it is better for us this way? There is no explaining to do for the council, or nasty little evidence to be used against us. This family have already fallen from grace, and I will NOT have what tattered remains of dignity dragged through the mud. What with no suitable heir and now Riselle bringing yet more shame to us! Of course your mother and I are concerned, but it is better for the family, for Ravahra that her studies go unhindered and untarnished by your uneducated hot-head and your errant sister!"
He was standing now, finally acknowledging the conflict before them. Face to face, the pair looked so similar – the same strong jaw line, fixated gaze with furrowed brows, the slight arrogant tilt of the chin and broad shoulders. The only real physical difference at first glance would be his father's tall white blonde topknot, not to mention the decadent red and gold clothing, while Rotharian had inherited his mothers chestnut locks, which he wore long, often loosely tied to avoid getting in the way, his own clothing less grand but distinguished nonetheless. The disappointed son took a deep breath before meeting his father's words with equal disgust.
"I'm sure it's terribly unfortunate in the eyes of the council, that one of the prized daughters of this once great house has been 'lost' without a trace. How wonderfully the noble parents are containing their loss so well considering their great misfortune. Imagine it! To have such two talented magic-weavers produce a son so devoid of magic. And then, the eldest of the girls, who showed such promise just 'disappear' with no clue... " He snaps his fingers to emphasise the point " . I'm not stupid Father, contrary to your belief, and I'm not going to accept this facade you and your damned council are forcing upon us."
He pushes off the desk with an exasperated sigh to glance out the window. The setting sun filtered in a golden light across the study, drawing long shadows from familiar objects, leaning against the stone frame, head on his forearm he looks out across the well kept garden. Warm sunbeams caressed his face. He knew this was the last time he would be in this house as a legitimate member of the family, after this last outburst and what he would say next, there would be no way he could return publicly, at least not empty handed or without honour. And honour was a gift rarely given to the living.
This confrontation had been building for years, decades even. At first they were delighted to have a son, an elder boy to take command once the patriarch magister has crumbled away into dust, just like his father and his father before him. Then the difficulties began. It wasn't uncommon for there to be late developers, but after repeated lessons, painful visits to father's strange friends , long nights forcing the boy via new and twisted means due to his complete inability to warp the arcane in the simplest manner it became horribly apparent – Rotharian simply could not use magic at all. In centuries of family history it had been unheard of, the offspring of one of the most adept magic-weavers together with his mate, one of the wielders of 'the light' to be so barren in any magical talent. Unfortunately, that meant the proverbial pecking order had changed dramatically – Riselle who was the next eldest would be looked at to take charge, Rotharian was now merely a parasite sucking useful resources away from both his sisters unless he could be 'dealt' with, but for now, it was best for the family he was hidden from public eye and association. He looks back at his father, almost despairingly as he could see the jaw clenching as the elders withdrawal symptoms were becoming evident under stress.
"Is that all then, Rotharian?" The simple question still posed as a challenge the younger, as he reseats himself and picks up the quill once more to scratch over the dishevelled documents. Once again, it had seems the younger elfs words had fallen on deaf ears.
"Nearly father" Rotharian, symbolically slips the gemmed seal ring from his finger and places it on the parchment under his father's nose, and regards him with an equally chilled look. "Give my love to mother, tell her not to worry, and the Sunwell help you if you harm Ravahara in any way... I will know...Shorel'aran" He turns and walks from the room, the sun on his back, not stopping for any protests.
Not that any came, just the simple scratching of quill on parchment.