A deft hand guides a feathered quill as ink flows across the page, dim light flickering from a lamp throws dancing shadows upon walls crammed with books varying in age and size and an impatient tapping of nails on polished wood grows slowly louder. A frustrated sigh tinged with boredom emanates from the direction of the tapping. The scholar smiles in spite of himself though unwavering opal-green eyes remain fixed on the page of an aged leather-bound tome onto which he scrawls his notes. The tapping ceases and a louder, more insistent sound is emitted from the corner swathed in shadow where a young elf maiden is seated, arms now folded and lips pouting sulkily.
Not for the first time he resented his mothers wish to procreate after so long as an only child and not for the first time he quashed the line of thought; he adores and cares for his sister but she always seems to go out of her way to make his life difficult. “Do you have something to say, sister?”, he asks, eyes still locked onto his work. He hears her sniff and her raven-black hair rustle over her shoulders as she flicks her head. He sighs to himself, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes, resting them a moment while deciding what to do when suddenly something he was told once, popped uninvited into his head:
As well you try to understand the sun, Angoldor. It simply is, and it is not to be understood. You cannot live without it, but it exacts a price. So it is with women.
The scholar shakes his head, beads clicking softly as dark locks stir on his shoulders then he swivels on his chair to face his sister, Nenloth. Fool girl! Must she always be so stubborn and reckless? “Have you had enough time to reconsider yet?”. Nenloth shoots him a withering look, eyes aflame with indignant fury. Unfazed by his younger sisters eyes boring into him he tilts his head slightly to the side, waiting.
“It is my decision, Angoldor!”. She leans back in her chair, arms folded beneath her breasts.
“You're making the wrong choice, sister. I will not allow you to join the marchwardens and get yourself killed”. Immediately he regretted his choice of words.
“You will not allow me to join? It is not for you to prevent it.”
“Nenloth, you must understand, you are my only sister. Have you no thought for what it might do to me if you were hurt?” Nenloth sniffs in reply tilting up her chin haughtily. Knowing well the defiant look of his sister, Angoldor rises from the high-backed chair at his desk and strides to Nenloth before crouching down and taking her hand in his and speaking softly. “Your welfare was entrusted to me, Nenloth. You are my sister, I care for you above all else. Would you have me break that trust?”. Sea-grey eyes slowly turn to meet opal-green. Slowly the maiden's eyes turn down and she nods meekly.
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