#dirthara.

“The little prince escaped from me,” it was a mildly annoying statement to Aegnor, for he should have been able to easily dispatch Meryasek. The Eladrin had appeared weak, as if he had never faced battle before in his otherwise long life. “But I did leave him with a parting gift.” That is, before Meryasek had spoken his name, ensured that Aegnor would be unable to harm him any further than he already had.

“Quite the look for a drow,” words spoken as he approached the --- walking painting. Hardly screamed shadow terror, but that was simply Kaan’s opinion. In the end, it wouldn’t matter what Dirthara decided to dress up as, so long as he remembered whose side he was meant to be on.

He remembered watching him in court from behind pillars, fingers clinging to marble, his heart racing. There wasn’t a lot of time, someone would surely notice he was not at his sparing lesson. But he wanted to see just a glimpse of him, of Aegnor beside his mother seated in her throne. There’s footsteps behind him as the two brothers manage to lock eyes. There is the faintest nod of acknowledgement, Farenduil grins, and then he’s off scurrying back to his lesson before he has to be lectured. Some days it’s like that, where he finds himself bored without his older brother to entertain him and as they’ve gotten older, they spend less and less time together. Sometimes Aegnor would tell him of the meetings he had, the people he met, all the rules he had to remember and Farenduil remarked that he couldn’t possibly do such a thing. His older brother had laughed and ruffled his hair, told him that he wouldn’t need to, that it was the job of a future king. There were days they spent in the garden after sparring lessons, Aegnor made the sunflowers thrive and they were so tall that they could practically hide between the stalks. “Do you want to be king?” Farenduil had asked as they sat there in the dirt, vibrant flowers above them. His brother looked to him and there’s something somewhat weary in his expression, a crack in the usual armor. He never got a response, someone called out for the would be king and he regretfully rose to his feet, ruffled his hair, and emerged from the flowers to where Dirthara was waiting for him. When Aegnor died, when the news broke, he had ran past his weeping mother and he had gone right back to that patch of sunflowers and they’d browned and withered around him as he cried. There was no need for Meryasek to do what he did, hide around pillars to avoid lessons or wait around for his attention. One day his younger brother had stepped right into a meeting and pulled at the sleeve of his shirt and Farenduil had quieted whoever was speaking just to turn to him. A conch shell was in the palm of his hand and without question, Farenduil had picked it up, put it to his ear, and nodded solemnly before putting it back and looking to the room. “We have important business to attend to.” And it’s with another nod that he rises from his seat and offers his hand to Meryasek. They spend an ample time on the beach with a bucket that gradually fills with stones and shells, the waves lapping at their bare feet. The joy he gets from seeing Meryasek just simply exist is immense, enough to quell any anxieties he might have about his own future. There’s something beautiful in his younger brother’s smile when he runs up to him to hand him off another shell for inspection, it goes all the way up to his eyes. He wants to protect him from the rest of the world, he wants him to be happy like this forever. It’s why he drops everything whenever he enters the room, it’s why he will hold any meeting or fitting or put off a decision. He never wants him to feel that bit of loss he’d felt when Aegnor would be pulled away from him. He never wanted to see his own forlorn expression on Meryasek’s face. But the day does come where the same question he’d once posed to Aegnor comes from his younger brother’s lips. “Do you want to be king?” And because he cannot lie, Farenduil looks over to Meryasek and ruffles his curls, just as Aegnor used to do to him, and he tells a different truth. “Suppose someone has to do the job.”