Not Small - Father Away

Sitting in his oddly perfect but dull chamber, Arowe is startled by a sharp knock from outside. Despite the general condescension he’s received from the Grey Elves, they’ve treated him… cordially… mostly, and he’s felt safe at least. Rather than being a prisoner, the lock on his private chamber door is, reassuringly, on the inside.

Standing up, Arowe walks slowly to the barred entrance and slides back the bolt, before drawing open the door. Outside, he finds himself eye to eye with a thin but handsome Grey Elf, perhaps an inch taller and a century or so older than himself.

“It’s gratifying to see you inherited both my height and your Mother’s beauty.”

Arowe takes a step back further into his room. He’d come all this way, primarily to enlist the Grey Elves into the coming war, but also to discover his true ancestry. He hadn’t expected to meet the man so quickly though and felt somewhat unprepared.

“You’re my real Father?”

Looking the Grey-Elven man up and down, Arowe takes in the slender but athletic frame and well defined jawline. It’s like gazing into an unfunhouse mirror, where the colour and joy had been almost completely drained out of the reflection.

After a long pause, in which both men assess each-other, the Grey Elf claiming to be his Father, speaks.

“Look at us. Look at you. Can there be any doubt? Despite your name and title, your bloodline is as much Grey than High.”

Arowe instinctively moves forward to hug the tall Elf in front of him but stops short, as the other Elf’s response isn’t inviting. Instead, he gestures for his… Father to come in and sit down.

“Why was I not told of this before? Why didn’t you claim me? Why did I have to endure the contempt of my… High Elf… Father…”

Arowe falters.

“I’m sorry. This is quite unsettling. I don’t seem to have the vocabulary needed.”

The slightly older Grey Elf reaches out his fine boned hand and places it reassuringly onto his son’s.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. Allow me to fill in a few of the blanks. My name is Tamerlane, and the last time I saw your Mother; Lissomny, was the day you were born.”

Another uncomfortable silence settles over the two men, until Arowe eventually breaks it.

“Why?”

Tamerlane sighs.

“I was an ambassador for my people, looking to recruit the High Elves to our cause, but when I was introduced to your Mother, I was instantly smitten. As you know though, romantic relationships between our species is forbidden. That said, Lissomny and I would have braved the prejudice if the High Elf council hadn’t decided to break ties with the Grey. Not just break off diplomatic relations but to outright condemn us. I was driven out of Glendorne and your Mother, as a High-born Elf of the city, had no choice but to remain.”

Arowe takes in the story with a puzzled look.

“But you said you saw me when I was born?”

Tamerlane continues.

“I secretly stayed in communication with your Mother but she’d already settled on a practical plan moving forward. Despite my objections, she married a grasping minor High Elf noble, to give you a chance of a good life. I think she hoped that your Grey heritage wouldn’t present itself quite so obviously though.”

The handsome Grey Elf falls silent again for a moment.

“I slipped into the city unseen and made it to your Mother’s bedchamber. You were asleep in the cradle next to her. She let me hold you but insisted that her plan was the correct one and she was already married. Was this… Filligren not even a little good to you?”

Arowe twists his mouth, trying to find something kind to say about the cruel and petty man who he’d thought had been his Father. Tamerlane spares him the grief though.

“Lissomny assured me that it was all for the best, but I see now that I should have fought harder for you. Fought harder to be in your life. I’m so sorry… my son.”