Still a Child

Years past as the dark shadow of war casted its shadow on Azeroth. Lor'themar Theron, Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas, was faced with an enormous task. Without a prince, the blood elves were desperately seeking a leader and it fell on Theron's shoulders. But, as everyone suspected he would, Theron took the job with open arms and a strong heart. It was a hard few years for everyone, but the blood elves found alliances with the Horde and sought to help them.

Zyane and Rillen grew up together, with a bit of their fathers' burdens on them. But still, they were happy in each other's company. Zyane trained with Rillen's father to become a very strong and gifted mage, while Rillen trained with the warlocks of Silvermoon. By their twentieth year, Zyane and Rillen were the closest of friends and the brightest of students.

"Rillen," Zyane whispered to the tall, skinny male beside her. She was sitting in the library during her study hour, listening to one of the scholars lecture to her and a few other blood elves.

Rillen rolled his green eyes as he pushed the long strands of dark hair out of his face. He pretended to be irritated that Zyane was being disruptive as usual, but really he was glad for the distraction she offered.

"Rillen!" she whispered again, as loudly as she dared to go.

"What?" he whispered back to the young woman beside him. She had become slender and beautiful in her youth, but he still had a bite of irritation in his voice.

"I heard our fathers talking about sending some blood elves to the Outlands to train in Shattrath City," Zyane explained excitedly. "I have a feeling we'll be two of them."

"Be serious, Zyane," Rillen replied, trying to pretend to listen to the scholar. "Your father would never let you go to the Outlands. It's a miracle when he lets us go to the Undercity."

Zyane sat back in her chair, satisfied with herself. "It'll be different this time."

"Father, please! How am I supposed to ever be strong enough to join our people in battle if you never give me the chance to prove myself?" Zyane yelled at her father.

Lor'themar sat at his desk in his study, arms folded across his chest and age wrinkled heavily into his face. "You're not going to join any battle of any sort," he responded calmly.

"Why not?" Zyane cried.

"Because of your obligation to these people, girl! I am old, Zyane, and I will not live forever. The sin'dorei have already lost a prince. I'm not about to risk our only heir – and my only daughter – because she is restless! Outlands is out of the question. I will not let the princess of the blood elves walk into the mouth of the Burning Legion.

"Now, if your studies and training aren't keeping you busy enough, I can find something to occupy your time. Perhaps separating you and Rillen will keep you more focused on your duties."

Zyane slammed her foot into the ground and groaned. "Oh, why are you treating me like this? I'm twenty years old! I'm not a child!"

Lor'themar had had enough. He stood from his desk. "You are still my child and I will continue to do what I think is best for you. I will hear no more of this so unless you have something different to say, please remove yourself from my sight."

When Lor'themar said something, Zyane knew that he meant it and there was no changing his mind. She stormed out of his office, out of the Spire and out of the city. Once there, Zyane took her red hawkstrider and rode it far into the dense forests of Quel'Thalas.

It wasn't that she didn't understand her father's reasoning, Zyane felt that he didn't believe in her. Had she not proved herself time and time again? He was there when the apprentice mages demonstrated their skills and saw how Zyane was far beyond everyone else. Why had he let her train at all if she was never going to get a chance to use her powers?

The beaches of Quel'Thalas were beautiful and healing. Zyane often found this particular one, secluded from everything and everyone, her favorite. She dismounted her hawkstrider then found a seat in the warm sand where the water lapped up against her bare feet.

Time passed. Zyane, in her anger, had taken small handfuls of sea water and turned them into ice balls that she was throwing back into the sea with loud plops. It wasn't until the sun began to set that Rillen arrived looking for her.

He didn't scold her or question her, just remained silent as he always did.

"I am never going to get off this island," Zyane finally said.

"I think you'd find that the worlds beyond this sea are not kind," Rillen replied. "There is more danger and evil out there than we can fathom. I would be afraid for you."

"But you'd come with me, wouldn't you?"

Rillen sighed. "I'd have to Zyane, despite how much I wish to never return to the Outlands."

Zyane bumped Rillen playfully. "I'd protect you."

Rillen smirked. "I don't need protecting. It's just hard to leave a place like this to go to a place like that. Leave that for people like Dallas Brightwing."

Dallas Brightwing was the son of Halduron Brightwing; the military commander and ranger-general to the blood elves. Dallas was a very cocky warrior who fancied adventure and danger. Rillen and Zyane had grown up with him, but they had no interest in playing with him as children. Dallas was rough and bossy as a child and not much had changed… except his appetite for women. It was around Dallas' fourteenth year that he discovered what a handsome blood elf he had turned into. He had a chiseled face with high cheek bones and his father's golden hair. Girls began to notice him and he began to notice them, as well. So when Zyane had simply written him off, Dallas had made it his business to have her affections because he couldn't understand why she had no interest in him. To Zyane, it seemed she was just another thing for Dallas to conquer.

"I don't want to be like Dallas, I just want a chance to learn more and get stronger so that if the time should come, I'd be able to protect our city. That's all," Zyane explained. "If I were to train with Voren'thal the Seer…" she trailed off.

"It's almost as if fate is pulling us apart," Rillen commented sullenly.

"Why do you say that?"

"My father said that I'll be able to train in Orgrimmar soon… and if you want to go to the Outlands…"

Zyane wrapped her arms around Rillen's shoulders. "I won't let it separate us," she said into his neck.

"We should go back before your father starts to worry," Rillen whispered as he rubbed her arm gently.

"Okay." Zyane released Rillen and together they rode back to the city.

They went their separate ways once inside the Sunfury Spire, promising to see each other tomorrow. Zyane found her way to the kitchen where some bread and a warm bowl of soup waited for her. She sipped at the soup and chewed on her bread on the way back to the royal quarters. Once there, Zyane rested in the common room where a fire crackled.

Lor'themar entered the common room. He lowered himself in a plush chair by the fire. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you earlier. Sometimes I wish you were still a child, but I know you're not and I should stop treating you like one."

"I'm sorry, too, father," Zyane said. "It was wrong of me to question your decision. I know I haven't been making this easy for you."

"I just worry for you, dear," Lor'themar explained, taking his daughter's hand. "Losing your mother was devastating. I couldn't bear losing you, and neither could our people."

"I know, father," Zyane replied sadly. She gave her father a hug to reassure him, but she was disappointed. It was not her place to fight in battle, but she didn't want to have to stand aside while others fought for her; it made her feel inadequate. Zyane knew that she had to accept it, though, and tried to look on the bright side. At least she would always have Rillen.

The morning came with promises of new and better. Zyane felt better, too, after her father had apologized. Plus, it was Sunday and there were no classes or trainings to go to. That meant a day of relaxing or goofing off with Rillen.

Zyane pulled herself out of bed, stretched then went to her armoire. From the white wooden chest, she chose her royal dark purple robe with the golden lining. She slipped it on and brushed her hair quickly.

In the mirror, Zyane could see how much she looked like her father: long, elegant ears and soft, delicate features that were both inviting and deceiving. But unlike her father, Zyane's hair was dark auburn and wavy. Every time she looked at it, she imagined what her mother looked like. What would her mother say now, knowing that Zyane was never going to become a full-fledged mage? Would she be disappointed, or would she agree with Lor'themar?

Although Zyane had never met her mother, she imagined her to be as wild and untamable as she was. Where her father was rooted and unchanging, Zyane could only imagine that she had come about her wild spirit from her mother. Lor'themar never spoke of his wife, especially now. The pain her memory brought back to him was visible in his features. He must've really loved her, Zyane thought.

At least her mother had died of natural causes. So many, even in Quel'Thalas, lost loved ones to the never-ending wars that raged around them. Brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers left the city and never came back. Children were left parentless and sent away to the orphanage. Parents buried their children. Wives left husbandless to care for a household on their own. And what really pained Zyane was that she would never be able to do anything about it. She would have to do what her father does; be that everlasting figure that inspired hope but nothing more. She would never fight for those lost people, never save a child his parents or a mother her son.

But after all, she was still a child. A princess. And that, she thought sullenly, was more important than what she wanted.