Atreyu had not seen nor heard from his family since the fateful night in the catacombs seemingly so long ago now. It wouldn’t have seemed such an odd predicament had his older brother not been included in such a fact. For them to not at the very least write each other once a week sat within the San’layn’s still chest uncomfortably. He had been sure that Dashiell wasn’t seen when they entered or exited, but he hadn’t considered what the consequences might be of Visceran being spotted, or Atreyu himself after the change had occurred. Even with the circumstances, and the ring gifted to himself from his sire turning nervously on his right index finger, Atreyu was greeted as he always was when he could spare a visit to the island. Guards bowed their heads in respect as the olive eyed elf passed by, nervous glances awarded to nearly every single one until he was certain… they didn’t know. The ring gave him the appearance of his former self, and if there had been rumors of the events, they were doing splendidly at hiding their knowledge of it.
It wasn’t until he reached the glass doors of the main house that he was finally stopped, and by a familiar face. An elderly female Sin’dorei, Narsistra, all but dropped the tray of tea she was caring through the foyer when she spotted the seldom seen youngest of the Lord. “Little Artie!” She called as her heels clicked on the marble floors, hurrying to inspect the male. Atreyu couldn’t help the smile that broke across his lips, grateful there was no sign of the fangs that he’d gotten quite used to sheathing behind the pink flesh. His feet were planted obediently, but his head swiveled on his shoulders to watch as she circled him, minding the tray, and examined the well being of who might as well have been her own son. “Look at you, little darling! Absolutely glowing…” She gasped as her eyes traced the curves and contours of the muscle beneath his simple shirt. “That figure! Oh, Artie, the hearts that would be broken if you were to honor a celebration with your presence once again.” The comment hardly surprised him; she’d been telling him of the hearts he would break since he was old enough to understand the Thalassian himself.
“Careful, Nana. If you allow my head to swell any larger, I fear for the roof and the wrath of my father that would surely ensue.” He paused and glanced towards the tea, then towards the study down the corridor. “Speaking of, I don’t suppose that’s for him? If my memory serves me correctly, he’s right in the middle of his break from cursing my name and conspiring to buy all of Silvermoon.” Atreyu smirked as he smoothly moved his larger hands beneath the tray and slipped it away from his nanny, finding the scowl his comment had brought amusing all on it’s own. “Atreyu Silverwing, now you know he’s never done such a thing, but yes. He’s just there into his study.” With one hand on her hip, she pointed him in the direction his feet were already taking him, only now she’d left him chuckling entirely. They both knew that if Cantin could take back his decision to allow Atreyu’s birth, he would.
Cantin Silverwing was a vision himself. Age had hardly gotten the better of the Lord despite his arriving on four hundred years very rapidly. He couldn’t have looked more opposite to Atreyu if he’d tried. Where the younger elf had tanned skin and nearly black hair, a square jaw and taller build, the man he’d called his father his entire life was fair. Brilliant blonde hair that any female would envy, milky white tones where the fine robes exposed him, and eyes nearly as clear as the most treasured of diamonds. He was stunning, physically. A specimen to be studied and cherished. Why any female could find herself drawn into the arms of another when she had him at her side was beyond anyone who didn’t know the family. Lost in whatever book had caught his fancy, Cantin didn’t even look up when Atreyu’s footsteps came to a halt just inside the entryway. “Just set it down on the coffee table, Narsistra. I’ll attend to it myself once I’ve finished.”
The feet didn’t move to obey the order. Instead, Atreyu remained just inside of the room with his odd colored green gaze falling gently on the other male. “Hello, Father.” The Lord’s head snapped up to view what he’d been positive he’d imagined. Alas, there he was. The average looking blight left on the family name. Cantin’s lips pursed as he closed the book between his palms and set it aside, all the while refusing to pull his eyes from his youngest son’s. “Your mother isn’t in at the moment. She’s having some… tea party with her friends in Silvermoon. I don’t imagine she’ll return until later in the week.” Finally, he stood to begin making his way to retrieve the tray himself. “I apologize for the wasted trip.”
Atreyu didn’t release his grip of the ornate silver tray leaving Cantin to fold his arms over his chest with a certain curiosity in his eyes. “Actually, I’m not here to see her. I’m sorry that I’ve missed her, but I believe this conversation would be better had privately regardless. Shall we sit?” He didn’t give his father a chance to argue before he was carrying the tray to the coffee table that had been mentioned earlier, and set it down in the center. “Two sugars and just a drop of cream still?” Cantin arched a perfectly groomed blonde brow, but nodded his head in confirmation. “I don’t suppose you’re here to plead for a home again, are you?” He asked in that condescending tone of his as he eased himself into the sofa that sat across from the one Atreyu had claimed for himself.
The disguised San’layn finished tending to Cantin’s tea and offered it over with a soft chuckle. It was all he could do to not end the wretched man’s life right then and there. “In a sense,” he admitted as he poured his own tea and began to relax into the sofa with it in his palms. “Do you remember when I was a child, you sat down myself and Zelthan to have the conversation about heirs and responsibility? You informed us that Zel would, when the time came, inherit the family home while I would only be allowed a parcel upon my engagement? It was the agreement my mother forced you into, I’m sure.” Though the two men showed absolutely nothing in common when it came to their physical appearance, Atreyu had spent years practicing the smirk that Cantin gave to every being that seemed below him. In the Lord’s eyes, it was indeed every being.
The tea Atreyu had served him was suddenly a thing of the past, cast back to the coffee table and forgotten as if it had not existed at all. “Of course I remember that conversation. I shooed every eligible female away from you at every party you ever attended with us. Let me guess… You’ve found yourself a bride. Likely someone picked up from the gutters or the sewers of that insufferable city Dalaran has become. You’ve come to claim your prize.” Cantin chuckled, the sound much softer than the thunder that Atreyu’s voice brought on, and rolled his head back a little. “I must have done something right with you, Artie, for you to not forget a thing like that.” It was just like him to claim ownership of anything he thought could be successful. Even if the sight of Atreyu made him nauseous, he could count on one hand how many knew that he’d not been the cause of his conception. That left several hundred who would believe that the elf rising in society once again could be attributed to Cantin being his savior. He would be praised and doted on, surely.
“A groom.” The words cut through the fantasy scenario Cantin had dreamed up. The smirk was sliced from his features the way a revered chef cut so easily through the most tender ham. “His name is Dahiell. I’ve asked him to marry me and he’s accepted. I’ll never be able to lay the world at his feet the way he --”
“Shut up.” The words were snarled in such a way that Atreyu hadn’t heard in so long, his features were shocked to a tone that almost matched the Lord’s. “Are you out of your mind, Atreyu? Do you have any idea what that would do to our family - to your mother?” Cantin schooled his features as he brought his voice down to the quiet kind of seething. “Don’t think I didn’t know what you were up to, sneaking around with caterers and lowly noblemen whose wives had dried up long before you were born, but this?” His nostrils flared as he shook his head. “You at least at the mind to be discreet with your preferences as a child.”
In the span of the so obviously expressed disappointment, Atreyu had lowered his gaze to his lap. He may have looked like any other Sin’dorei, but the angered heat that was rising to the surface of Cantin’s skin was growing stronger and stronger, whispering a lullaby that only Atreyu could hear. He swallowed back hard and nodded his head to simply keep himself busy. “I don’t expect you to understand, Father. I’m not asking to be seen as a family alongside yours. I’m not even sure I’m going to keep my name over his own. I simply came to ask for what I was promised should I fill the necessary requirements. You never asked me for a bride, that was always Zelthan’s job. He was going to give you grandchildren that were actually yours. You’d excused me from that long ago.” Atreyu stood from the couch and leaned over to set his untouched cup of tea down on the edge of the table. “I’ve visited the house. It’s overgrown, decaying, practically a ruin. All I want is the deed in my name. Consider it a wedding gift.”
“Get out of my sight,” Cantin hissed, though Atreyu could see that the disappointment filling the Lord’s eyes was far greater than the hatred he wanted to convince his son was there. Atreyu nodded his head before folding his hands behind his back and bowing with respect at his waist.
“You can expect an invitation in the mail shortly.”
// @somberset // @reborn-in-blood
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