Ill-essóllo'en

Ill-Essóllo'en, as one. Shortened to be as one with one another, yet treated as if one is to be alone, always.

It was no secret within House Valloaan that Laerilas was a failure, though the extent of his failure that they would permit was something that varied between each sibling who had allowed his reign to continue for so long. Fifty years and the man had accomplished nothing but ticking off names amongst a long list of enemies, old and new. Fifty years and the man had led the family from success to stagnancy. Would his generation of brothers and sisters wager amongst each other the time in which it would take for him to lead them to ruin? Some of them, but not all.

“What are you doing?” Finelor asked after watching the contents of his glass spin as he swayed his wrist. It was a question posed more pointedly than one would like to hear if they were on the receiving end, though the man didn’t seem to have the patience to approach the conversation lightly.

“What am I doing? Sitting here, with you,” Laerilas replied innocently as if he didn’t quite understand the question in full. He was, in fact, sitting there amongst Finelor, but not with, as this conversation was assumed to end only one way.

“As the Sol of House Valloaan. What are you doing?” There’s that question again.

“I am leading as I have been for half a century, brother,” the Silven stated confidently. Was he that ignorant to his own actions, that arrogant that he was doing a good enough job to not be confronted with his failures? Did he know he was failing at all?

Finelor huffed out a breath through his nostrils in what sounded like brief amusement, but he did not smile. His lips did not move and his eyes did not leave the mesmerizing honey-hue liquid in his crystal glass. He contemplated his next words, yet they didn’t come so easily as they had so many times before when talking to his brother. Then again, that was when they were boys, when he could look Laerilas in the eye and laugh with him. Now, if he were to look his brother in the eye, he would surely only see a stranger.

“I… We, our brothers and sisters, think it would be best if you relinquished your leadership and returned home,” Finelor murmured after a moment of hesitation. He chased the words down with a sip of the spiced brandy as if he had to swallow a pill, though the words merely stuck in his throat like their purpose was to choke him. Confrontation, especially with a man like Laerilas, was never easy. Nothing could ever be easy. But to his surprise, he wasn’t met immediately with an onslaught of hurtful words or demands to leave, which prompted him to raise his blue-eyed gaze to see if Laerilas had even heard him.

Laerilas reclined back in his seat and studied Finelor hawkishly. He had indeed heard him, yet he said nothing. He didn’t have anything to say because it appeared like he knew he was failing.
His tongue rolled out over his lips and he palmed his beard, fidgeting in his seat as he awaited his brother to continue, but his sibling was keen on hearing something, anything, as a response.

“All of you?” The man of Vengeance asked. His voice wavered subtly and sure enough, Finelor caught it with a twinge of the ear.

“All of us.”

“Who will take my place?”

“I will. I should have from the beginning. You were never meant to bear my burden,” Finelor maintained his murmur, perhaps out of pure guilt. It was as much his fault as it was his brother’s that Valloaan was a mere shadow of what had been and what could be. He, too, was just as much a failure as his vengeful blood.

Laerilas’s shoulders dropped softly forward in what looked like a moment of visible relief and for once, he wasn’t so combative. He allowed himself to be vulnerable amongst his eldest brother, the man who had both guided and abandoned him. Yet, perhaps he needed to be guided and abandoned, then later saved so he wasn’t left to drown. Laerilas’s favorite thing was to accuse others of drowning without him, and yet he was the sole cause of sinking ships. He was both the water and the man drowning.

“Perhaps, then, it is time for a change,” the Silven admitted.

“Perhaps,” Finelor agreed quietly.

“Are you upset with me? For what I’ve done?” Laerilas asked. For a second, Finelor could see his brother for who he used to be. An innocent little boy without the weight of the Court on his shoulders. The one who would build sand castles on the beach and cause mischief in the misty open halls of the Sollerian Valloaan home.

“No, never.”

The silence lingered for what could be considered for too long, but neither brother seemed eager to interrupt it. At least now there would be hope for a tomorrow as one, together.