Well. It took less than two weeks for the truth to come out.
They sat awake upon the stool for a while after Mountbatten fell asleep, the day’s words ringing in their ears. It was almost funny, really. A few days earlier, in his spirited (though unwanted) defense of Corellon, Poltak had declared that the party’s newest member was useful, even valued. Worthy of respect.
Just pondering that fresh memory now got a silent chuckle out of Corellon. Indeed, it had only taken one contradiction, one callout, and a very different story had come tumbling out. Never comes up with any plans. Can’t even hit anything. Dead weight. Worthless. Hopeless. Useless. Anything but that would have gotten Poltak an angry nose flare and a toss of their head, but useless? That was the most devastating thing the goliath could have said.
Ironically, Corellon reflected, Poltak ended up sounding like the elven lord he had nearly fought. All their life, Virdithas had made pointed little jabs like the ones Poltak nearly started a war over. Corellon was less talented than their siblings and lacked their direction and ambition. Such a pity, given their impressive intellect. Above all, they had rejected their one spark of usefulness: as their father’s political tool.
Corellon had been so utterly useless that their father picked their vocation for them. And sure, Alven’s tutelage had given them direction, but now Alven was dead and it turned out that Corellon wasn’t even any good at their job.
And then there was Ashley. His sharpness in silencing Corellon was unacceptable, but they didn’t want to approach him until it stopped hurting so much. Corellon is haughty, and they think they’re better than the rest of us. The first part was true. The second part hadn’t been true since the first day or two.
Regardless, was that all that Corellon was?
Could it really be that Virdithas and Eilmoira had chipped away everything that had once been good in their third child? Had they succeeded in stripping away everything but a pompous, selfish shell of a person?
Corellon knew they weren’t a good person. They weren’t a hero. They weren’t confident that they had any goodness left. But they did know that something had managed to survive beneath the arrogant surface: self-loathing and insecurity. Their desperation to serve some sort of purpose was coupled with a deep shame. It was that shame that consumed them now, as they remained with the group in bitter silence.
I don’t want to be the person they think I am.
That was the problem. Corellon had felt themselves beginning to change, but nobody else could see that, clearly.
Part of them wanted to give up. To walk out of the hotel room right then and leave these people behind. Corellon was so useless, so unnoticeable, that the party wouldn’t be any worse off without them. Hell, they might even be better off.
(Just the thought of that made Corellon have to stifle a sob. They looked over to make sure Mountbatten was still soundly asleep, then they tucked their knees up to their chest.)
But the part that kept them planted on their stool was the same desperate part that had tried so hard to earn their parents’ love. The part that had bent over backwards just to be seen.
Corellon managed to push through the whirlwind of voices in their mind. Past Poltak’s. And Ashley’s. And their parents’. And even their own. They settled upon another voice: a rumbling brogue that always instructed them the same way whenever they failed at something.
