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Sharing: The Mistress of the Shadowland; The next Chapter
It is sunday and that means it is time for a new chapter. ♥
I've been slacking off the last few days because a certain vampire is seeking my attention, but I definitely want to get back to writing this week.
Word-wise I'm at over 30,000 words and we're not even close to Astarion & Aislinn yet. :D
Chapter I - Chapter II - Chapter III - Chapter IV - Chapter V - Chapter VI - Chapter VII
Thick and gloomy clouds hung over the sky while the wind blew brutally across the Blackwater Bay, tearing many a tree root from the ground. The storm forced the inhabitants of the Blackwater lands to retreat to the safety of their homes and caves.
Trálír strode across the castle courtyard towards the stables with clenched teeth. Anger flared within him and every word his father had said, every word Anwyn had belittled, fed a rage that almost consumed him.
This kind of anger was new to Trálír, for in all his years there had been nothing that had meant as much to him as this young woman.
He opened the stable door and threw it shut angrily behind him, causing some of the horses to whinny nervously and increase their already existing fear of the storm. Trálír walked through the large stall to Fairre, who was sitting in a corner on a bale of hay, cleaning a horse's halter. When he heard Trálír's footsteps, he looked up in surprise.
"I'm riding out," the elf said, his voice tense. The old man was about to say something when Trálír raised his hand and beat him to it. "Yes, in this storm."
Fairre closed his mouth again and nodded slowly. He stood up, put the halter on the hay bale and then walked towards Arod's stall.
Trálír watched the old man as the rage inside him continued to build.
He looked to the side and spotted an old, faded cloak hanging over a horse stall. The elf grabbed it and put it around his shoulders, then walked over to Fairre, who had already saddled the stallion.
When the stable master saw his old and faded cloak on Trálír, he asked uncertainly: "Master?"
"I'm just borrowing the cloak," Trálír replied and grabbed Arod's reins to lead him out of the stall. "You'll get it back."
With these words, he led the stallion out of the stable, swung himself into the saddle and drove Arod out into the storm at a gallop.
It was as if Arod sensed his master's anger as he galloped impetuously through the large castle gate, which was guarded by two soldiers on each side, out onto the long bridge that rose almost a hundred meters above the waves breaking on the shore. The steady rhythm of the galloping stallion brought Trálír's thoughts back to the conversation he had had with his father.
Or had to, Trálír thought with his lips pressed together.
Who in all the nine hells could have known that he had feelings for Anwyn? And above all, who could have spread those rumors? Teárlach? Even though he had made him understand that he had not been the source of this gossip? Had he lied? Had his younger brother made fun of his feelings and mentioned it to others?
Trálír pulled gently on the reins and indicated to Arod that he could switch to a trot. During the somewhat slower ride, Trálír looked out over the storm-tossed sea and asked himself more questions to which he could find no answers. It was impossible for him to explain how his secret could be revealed.
There were always rumors about elves and their human lovers - if an elf cared that much about his counterpart - but to know that he, Trálír the Firstborn, had fallen in love? Anwyn and he had only met in the forest or at her house, apart from the ride and the attack that followed. Who could have seen them?
A human from the village? A wood elf? Some other creature... or was there something darker that had its eyes on him and Anwyn?
Trálír saw Anwyn's house in the distance and Arod immediately fell into step as if he knew they were not far from their destination.
All Trálír wanted now was to hold Anwyn in his arms. He didn't want to think about his father, about the duties he had, about the throne he would eventually have to take over.
The only thing he wanted was to listen to Anwyn's soft voice, to explore her mouth with his, to see her chest rise and fall quickly with desire. He longed to feel her warmth.
For the last three days, his father had been particularly careful to watch and monitor his every move.
No matter where Trálír was, it didn't take long for his father to appear. No matter whether it was in the stables, during his daily training with the sword or during the endless hours he spent learning about Faerún's elven history.
Was that the reason why he had always kept an eye on Trálír? The knowledge that his heart belonged to a human?
And would his father do the same now? Would he have him followed to see where his son rode?
Trálír glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was following him, but he couldn't recognize anyone.
Arod suddenly stopped and Trálír looked ahead, for the stallion was now standing in the small courtyard. He patted the horse's neck gratefully, dismounted him and led him to the sheltered side of the stable.
As Trálír turned and walked towards the small house, he called Anwyn's name, but nothing but silence greeted him. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Anwyn, are you home?" Trálír asked into the silence and stopped hesitantly. The few seconds felt like half an eternity to the elf until the door opened. But it was not Anwyn who appeared inside.
*****
"Well, you seem to be the reason my child has been keeping some secrets from me over the last few weeks?"
Trálír stopped immediately when he saw the older man standing in the front door of the house. He knew instantly that he was facing Anwyn's father.
The old fisherman was taller than his daughter, almost as tall as Trálír himself.
The body was lean, almost emaciated, but the elf suspected that the older man was more muscular than he appeared due to years of hard work at sea.
His gaze slid to the fisherman's hands and he noticed the swollen finger joints Anwyn had told him about and her daily struggle to relieve her father's pain. He knew from some elven healers that these were symptoms of arthritis or rheumatism and that there was no cure but only an attempt to make the pain bearable.
Years of working at sea and exposure to the constant sunshine had left the old fisherman's skin leathery. His light blue eyes formed a strong contrast to the darker skin tone which made them shine.
His shoulder-length gray hair was tied back at the nape of his neck and he wore a thick tunic and trousers of dark brown wool. Leather boots that must have seen better days reached up to his calves. Trálír knew that Anwyn and her father were far from living a comfortable life and that daily existence could be a struggle, but the fisherman didn't look ashamed of his humble existence. Anwyn's father stood tall before him, chin up, the pride of a hardworking man in his gaze. He was not ashamed to face an elf.
And the way Trálír looked at the fisherman, he did the same.
Anwyn's father looked at the young elf, scrutinizing his tall and slender figure, the narrow, expressive face that clearly showed his noble lineage. His eyes were the color of the storm-tossed sea that Doran knew only too well.
He wore his long black hair half-open and the elf was dressed in the finest fabrics, his black suede trousers embroidered on the side with a dark gray floral pattern.
His tunic, also black, had similar embroidery, which led Doran to conclude that his clothes had cost more than what he could sell at the market in weeks.
Still, he was surprised to see that the plaid cloak he was wearing looked old and faded. How did this fit together?
Both men measured each other in silence for a few seconds.
Trálír noticed the lump forming in his throat, for he had no idea what to say or how to behave. How was he supposed to find a way to explain what was going on inside him?
He could face his own father, but this man, the father of the girl who was so dear to him?
He tried desperately to find the right words but Trálír couldn't find a way to express his feelings or thoughts. Instead, he cleared his throat uncertainly and looked at Anwyn's father, who met his gaze with a stoic expression.
"Yes, I am," Trálír replied slowly, his voice sounding tense and unsure. Anwyn's father nodded and waited to see if the elf would say anything else, but he remained silent.
He saw his counterpart visibly struggling with himself, at a loss for words.
"What is your name?" Doran asked the elf.
"Trálír," he replied and the fisherman raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Trálír? Son of Trálír, the Elder?"
His counterpart nodded slowly.
"Hm." The fisherman sighed and his look was sorrowful.
"I don't know what your intentions are, Trálír, son of the Elder. But know that I will do anything to protect my daughter. I do not fear you or your kind and I will not allow you to harm my child in any way. And that includes a broken heart."
"No, it's not like that," Trálír replied, shaking his head. "Nothing could be further from my mind than hurting Anwyn."
Doran raised an eyebrow, suspicion etched on his weather-beaten face.
"I know that the relationship between elves and humans has been deteriorating for centuries and I also know that many of my race behave unfairly and arrogantly towards humans."
His voice sounded apologetic.
"I don't know how I could convince you to believe that I am not like my race. My word would stand against the many offenses of my people," Trálír said quietly, his eyes downcast.
He stood silently opposite the old fisherman until he spoke to him.
"I trust my child," he said. "If Anwyn has lost her heart to you, there will be a reason for it."
Doran saw the elf breathe a sigh of relief.
"And yet, does Anwyn know who you really are?"
Trálír shook his head and avoided Doran's gaze, who sighed heavily.
"You know that your love will have no future?"
Trálír looked down at the ground while a deep pain showed on his face and Anwyn's father realized that the elf knew this only too well.
"Whatever decision you make, it will never be in favor of my daughter. If you choose Anwyn, she will always be considered inferior in the eyes of your people. No one will treat her with respect, hardly a friendly word will be exchanged with her. Her kind will despise her and they will not hesitate to show their contempt for her. People will treat her with suspicion because she has given her heart to an elf. Either way, she will suffer. Do you think your love will protect her from that?"
Trálír's eyes widened at the old man's words, deep sorrow evident in his gaze.
"Whatever decision you make, Trálír, it will break Anwyn's heart," her father continued mercilessly. And although his words were as merciless as a deep stab into the elf's heart, Doran spoke the truth.
And Trálír knew this truth and the suffering and danger that came with it.
This knowledge tormented him deeply.
"If I..." Trálír broke off and looked to the ground again. His voice was almost a whisper. "If I were to leave her, then..." He broke off again in agony.
"Yes, even then you would break Anwyn's heart. Whatever decision you make, it won't have a happy ending. The only question is how long Anwyn should torture herself."
Trálír raised his eyes and looked at the old man, his gaze clouded with deep anguish.
The silence between the two men weighed heavily.
"You are free to wait in the house for Anwyn," said Doran and looked at Trálír, who immediately knew what he was alluding to. He expected a decision from him and he had made it clear what he expected from the heir to the Blackwater Lands. Everything in Trálír wanted to oppose this, but the knowledge of the truth of his words weighed heavily.
The fact that his father never let him out of his sight and the knowledge that his son was seeing a human woman would put Anwyn in danger sooner or later. He didn't trust his family, neither his father nor his own brother, who seemed to know more than he was letting on. Teárlach's knowledge also worried Trálír.
He knew of his curiosity, knew of the dark desires that dwelled within him. Was Anwyn safe in his brother's presence?
Was he putting the woman he had fallen so deeply in love with in danger?
Trálír looked at Doran and replied with a nod that he would comply with his request.
"And you?" he asked in a low voice.
"Well, the storm has abated," the fisherman replied, pointing to the wooden stool standing next to the door. "I'll wait here in front of the house. The little bit of wind won't bother me."
Then he sat down and gazed silently at the sea while Trálír entered the house next to him in silence.
I've been slacking off the last few days because a certain vampire is seeking my attention, but I definitely want to get back to writing this week.
Word-wise I'm at over 30,000 words and we're not even close to Astarion & Aislinn yet. :D
Chapter I - Chapter II - Chapter III - Chapter IV - Chapter V - Chapter VI - Chapter VII
Thick and gloomy clouds hung over the sky while the wind blew brutally across the Blackwater Bay, tearing many a tree root from the ground. The storm forced the inhabitants of the Blackwater lands to retreat to the safety of their homes and caves.
Trálír strode across the castle courtyard towards the stables with clenched teeth. Anger flared within him and every word his father had said, every word Anwyn had belittled, fed a rage that almost consumed him.
This kind of anger was new to Trálír, for in all his years there had been nothing that had meant as much to him as this young woman.
He opened the stable door and threw it shut angrily behind him, causing some of the horses to whinny nervously and increase their already existing fear of the storm. Trálír walked through the large stall to Fairre, who was sitting in a corner on a bale of hay, cleaning a horse's halter. When he heard Trálír's footsteps, he looked up in surprise.
"I'm riding out," the elf said, his voice tense. The old man was about to say something when Trálír raised his hand and beat him to it. "Yes, in this storm."
Fairre closed his mouth again and nodded slowly. He stood up, put the halter on the hay bale and then walked towards Arod's stall.
Trálír watched the old man as the rage inside him continued to build.
He looked to the side and spotted an old, faded cloak hanging over a horse stall. The elf grabbed it and put it around his shoulders, then walked over to Fairre, who had already saddled the stallion.
When the stable master saw his old and faded cloak on Trálír, he asked uncertainly: "Master?"
"I'm just borrowing the cloak," Trálír replied and grabbed Arod's reins to lead him out of the stall. "You'll get it back."
With these words, he led the stallion out of the stable, swung himself into the saddle and drove Arod out into the storm at a gallop.
It was as if Arod sensed his master's anger as he galloped impetuously through the large castle gate, which was guarded by two soldiers on each side, out onto the long bridge that rose almost a hundred meters above the waves breaking on the shore. The steady rhythm of the galloping stallion brought Trálír's thoughts back to the conversation he had had with his father.
Or had to, Trálír thought with his lips pressed together.
Who in all the nine hells could have known that he had feelings for Anwyn? And above all, who could have spread those rumors? Teárlach? Even though he had made him understand that he had not been the source of this gossip? Had he lied? Had his younger brother made fun of his feelings and mentioned it to others?
Trálír pulled gently on the reins and indicated to Arod that he could switch to a trot. During the somewhat slower ride, Trálír looked out over the storm-tossed sea and asked himself more questions to which he could find no answers. It was impossible for him to explain how his secret could be revealed.
There were always rumors about elves and their human lovers - if an elf cared that much about his counterpart - but to know that he, Trálír the Firstborn, had fallen in love? Anwyn and he had only met in the forest or at her house, apart from the ride and the attack that followed. Who could have seen them?
A human from the village? A wood elf? Some other creature... or was there something darker that had its eyes on him and Anwyn?
Trálír saw Anwyn's house in the distance and Arod immediately fell into step as if he knew they were not far from their destination.
All Trálír wanted now was to hold Anwyn in his arms. He didn't want to think about his father, about the duties he had, about the throne he would eventually have to take over.
The only thing he wanted was to listen to Anwyn's soft voice, to explore her mouth with his, to see her chest rise and fall quickly with desire. He longed to feel her warmth.
For the last three days, his father had been particularly careful to watch and monitor his every move.
No matter where Trálír was, it didn't take long for his father to appear. No matter whether it was in the stables, during his daily training with the sword or during the endless hours he spent learning about Faerún's elven history.
Was that the reason why he had always kept an eye on Trálír? The knowledge that his heart belonged to a human?
And would his father do the same now? Would he have him followed to see where his son rode?
Trálír glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was following him, but he couldn't recognize anyone.
Arod suddenly stopped and Trálír looked ahead, for the stallion was now standing in the small courtyard. He patted the horse's neck gratefully, dismounted him and led him to the sheltered side of the stable.
As Trálír turned and walked towards the small house, he called Anwyn's name, but nothing but silence greeted him. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Anwyn, are you home?" Trálír asked into the silence and stopped hesitantly. The few seconds felt like half an eternity to the elf until the door opened. But it was not Anwyn who appeared inside.
"Well, you seem to be the reason my child has been keeping some secrets from me over the last few weeks?"
Trálír stopped immediately when he saw the older man standing in the front door of the house. He knew instantly that he was facing Anwyn's father.
The old fisherman was taller than his daughter, almost as tall as Trálír himself.
The body was lean, almost emaciated, but the elf suspected that the older man was more muscular than he appeared due to years of hard work at sea.
His gaze slid to the fisherman's hands and he noticed the swollen finger joints Anwyn had told him about and her daily struggle to relieve her father's pain. He knew from some elven healers that these were symptoms of arthritis or rheumatism and that there was no cure but only an attempt to make the pain bearable.
Years of working at sea and exposure to the constant sunshine had left the old fisherman's skin leathery. His light blue eyes formed a strong contrast to the darker skin tone which made them shine.
His shoulder-length gray hair was tied back at the nape of his neck and he wore a thick tunic and trousers of dark brown wool. Leather boots that must have seen better days reached up to his calves. Trálír knew that Anwyn and her father were far from living a comfortable life and that daily existence could be a struggle, but the fisherman didn't look ashamed of his humble existence. Anwyn's father stood tall before him, chin up, the pride of a hardworking man in his gaze. He was not ashamed to face an elf.
And the way Trálír looked at the fisherman, he did the same.
Anwyn's father looked at the young elf, scrutinizing his tall and slender figure, the narrow, expressive face that clearly showed his noble lineage. His eyes were the color of the storm-tossed sea that Doran knew only too well.
He wore his long black hair half-open and the elf was dressed in the finest fabrics, his black suede trousers embroidered on the side with a dark gray floral pattern.
His tunic, also black, had similar embroidery, which led Doran to conclude that his clothes had cost more than what he could sell at the market in weeks.
Still, he was surprised to see that the plaid cloak he was wearing looked old and faded. How did this fit together?
Both men measured each other in silence for a few seconds.
Trálír noticed the lump forming in his throat, for he had no idea what to say or how to behave. How was he supposed to find a way to explain what was going on inside him?
He could face his own father, but this man, the father of the girl who was so dear to him?
He tried desperately to find the right words but Trálír couldn't find a way to express his feelings or thoughts. Instead, he cleared his throat uncertainly and looked at Anwyn's father, who met his gaze with a stoic expression.
"Yes, I am," Trálír replied slowly, his voice sounding tense and unsure. Anwyn's father nodded and waited to see if the elf would say anything else, but he remained silent.
He saw his counterpart visibly struggling with himself, at a loss for words.
"What is your name?" Doran asked the elf.
"Trálír," he replied and the fisherman raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Trálír? Son of Trálír, the Elder?"
His counterpart nodded slowly.
"Hm." The fisherman sighed and his look was sorrowful.
"I don't know what your intentions are, Trálír, son of the Elder. But know that I will do anything to protect my daughter. I do not fear you or your kind and I will not allow you to harm my child in any way. And that includes a broken heart."
"No, it's not like that," Trálír replied, shaking his head. "Nothing could be further from my mind than hurting Anwyn."
Doran raised an eyebrow, suspicion etched on his weather-beaten face.
"I know that the relationship between elves and humans has been deteriorating for centuries and I also know that many of my race behave unfairly and arrogantly towards humans."
His voice sounded apologetic.
"I don't know how I could convince you to believe that I am not like my race. My word would stand against the many offenses of my people," Trálír said quietly, his eyes downcast.
He stood silently opposite the old fisherman until he spoke to him.
"I trust my child," he said. "If Anwyn has lost her heart to you, there will be a reason for it."
Doran saw the elf breathe a sigh of relief.
"And yet, does Anwyn know who you really are?"
Trálír shook his head and avoided Doran's gaze, who sighed heavily.
"You know that your love will have no future?"
Trálír looked down at the ground while a deep pain showed on his face and Anwyn's father realized that the elf knew this only too well.
"Whatever decision you make, it will never be in favor of my daughter. If you choose Anwyn, she will always be considered inferior in the eyes of your people. No one will treat her with respect, hardly a friendly word will be exchanged with her. Her kind will despise her and they will not hesitate to show their contempt for her. People will treat her with suspicion because she has given her heart to an elf. Either way, she will suffer. Do you think your love will protect her from that?"
Trálír's eyes widened at the old man's words, deep sorrow evident in his gaze.
"Whatever decision you make, Trálír, it will break Anwyn's heart," her father continued mercilessly. And although his words were as merciless as a deep stab into the elf's heart, Doran spoke the truth.
And Trálír knew this truth and the suffering and danger that came with it.
This knowledge tormented him deeply.
"If I..." Trálír broke off and looked to the ground again. His voice was almost a whisper. "If I were to leave her, then..." He broke off again in agony.
"Yes, even then you would break Anwyn's heart. Whatever decision you make, it won't have a happy ending. The only question is how long Anwyn should torture herself."
Trálír raised his eyes and looked at the old man, his gaze clouded with deep anguish.
The silence between the two men weighed heavily.
"You are free to wait in the house for Anwyn," said Doran and looked at Trálír, who immediately knew what he was alluding to. He expected a decision from him and he had made it clear what he expected from the heir to the Blackwater Lands. Everything in Trálír wanted to oppose this, but the knowledge of the truth of his words weighed heavily.
The fact that his father never let him out of his sight and the knowledge that his son was seeing a human woman would put Anwyn in danger sooner or later. He didn't trust his family, neither his father nor his own brother, who seemed to know more than he was letting on. Teárlach's knowledge also worried Trálír.
He knew of his curiosity, knew of the dark desires that dwelled within him. Was Anwyn safe in his brother's presence?
Was he putting the woman he had fallen so deeply in love with in danger?
Trálír looked at Doran and replied with a nod that he would comply with his request.
"And you?" he asked in a low voice.
"Well, the storm has abated," the fisherman replied, pointing to the wooden stool standing next to the door. "I'll wait here in front of the house. The little bit of wind won't bother me."
Then he sat down and gazed silently at the sea while Trálír entered the house next to him in silence.
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Bin gespannt, wie es weitergeht!
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Vielen, vielen Dank!! ❤️
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