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haebinHey hey, Lovelies :)
As promised last week, you can read the next chapter here ;)
I hope you enjoy it !
The first thing Trálír realised when he awoke from his meditation was a feeling of unease. He slowly opened his eyes and realised, frowning, that something was going on in the castle. He heard hurried footsteps, distant voices and the odd sob. Confused, the high elf sat up and the fur slipped from his upper body, which he flipped to the side and stood up. As he had taken a bath last night, his long hair was still damp and he decided to let it dry in the fresh air.
Unlike his father, to whom a valet brought his clothes to his bedside every morning as a demonstration of his power and importance, Trálír had decided against having his clothes handed to him as well. He was uncomfortable having his clothes chosen for him, so he went to his ornate wardrobe, opened the doors and took out the things he needed as the early sunshine flooded his chamber.
As he planned to ride to Anwyn after his daily training session with the weapons he knew, following Conall and Ulthred who would soon be on their way, a simple linen tunic and trousers would suffice for the work Trálír had planned for today on the farm.
So he slipped into his underwear, the dark green tunic and dark brown trousers. Still confused by the palpable unrest in the castle, the slim and tall elf slipped into his boots and left his chamber. He realised with surprise that no servants or soldiers of the Blackwater Castle crossed his path as he walked through the long corridor. As Trálír approached the grand staircase, however, the voices grew louder and the footsteps of those present came closer.
He slowly descended the stairs and was amazed at the cluster of people, half-elves, servants and soldiers that had formed in the Great Hall. He stopped on the penultimate step and let his gaze glide over the crowd, but could not spot his father anywhere. Trálír walked down the remaining two steps and slowly made his way through all the people. The servants nodded politely to him and stepped aside. He noticed that many faces, whether elf, human or half-elf, reflected different emotions. He read sadness, shock, confusion, uncertainty and even scorn in some cases.
A few steps away from him stood Neererin, the First Captain, the Right Hand of his father, whispering to a monk standing next to him.
Trálír strode towards him and when the older monk saw the ruler's son walking towards him, he bowed deeply and silently moved away. Neererin turned and also bowed to Trálír when he caught sight of him.
"Mylord." His voice was deep and full, testifying to his status as captain. The middle-aged high elf was tall and broad in stature, his long hair dark brown with a few light grey streaks running through it, his eyes a bright green. His face was alert and imbued with intelligence.
"What's going on here?" Trálír asked, his gaze wandering questioningly over the crowd. Neererin followed his look and a heavy sigh slipped over his lips.
"A young kitchen maid was found hanged in her chamber," he replied, gesturing to the end of the hall. In a corner forgotten by the sun, four monks stood around a corpse wrapped in cloth.
"A suicide?" Trálír replied, horror evident in his voice. The Right Hand nodded.
"But this was not the only misfortune that befell the castle this night," he continued quietly. "At the bottom of the stairs to the servants' quarters lay another chambermaid with a broken neck. We assume that she found the kitchen maid and was looking for help, so she ran down the stairs in a hurry and fell."
Trálír looked at the older elf, speechless and shocked.
"Some monks are at the bottom of the stairs tending to the corpse."
"Do they know why the maid took her own life?" Trálír asked with a frown and saw Neererin shrug his shoulders unsuspectingly.
"People talk a lot," he replied. "Some speak of a broken heart."
Trálír looked at the older elf questioningly. "Then her grief was so severe that she couldn't imagine life without her beloved?"
"No, that is unlikely to have been the reason. Her broken heart seemed to stem from the loss of a child," Neererin replied, shaking his head.
"She was pregnant?" Trálír's voice sounded surprised.
"At least that's what I heard from hearsay. She doesn't seem to have gotten over the loss of her child."
"And her beloved?"
Neererin shrugged his shoulders once more. "No one seems to know anything more. Maybe it's someone from the next village? Someone she was promised to?"
Trálír realised with horror that he would not even have guessed who the young maid had been if Neererin had told him her name. Apart from the faces of the servants around him, he didn't recognise any of them. He had no idea where they came from, who they were, what their lives had been like before or what they were doing in the castle now. The only half-elves he knew were Conall, Ulthred and the old horsekeeper.
This fact depressed Trálír because it made him realise at the same time that he, as part of the ruling family, paid no more attention to the servants than his father or brother did.
"What was her name?" he asked quietly.
"Her name was Sera," replied the Right Hand. "A girl in her sixteenth year."
Trálír looked at the captain in shock. "So young?"
Neererin nodded.
"What is known about the maid who fell?"
"A half-elf, Khara. She was a chambermaid."
Trálír sighed heavily.
"See to it that the families are properly compensated, Neererin. I leave this task in your hands to make sure they get a proper burial."
Trálír nodded to the older elf and walked through the crowd in search of a quiet place when his gaze suddenly fell on his younger brother.
Teárlach stood leaning against one of the large pillars, dressed completely in black, his long hair as loose as his brother's. He had one leg bent and was leaning against the stone pillar while his arms were crossed in front of his chest. Bored, his gaze glided over those present until he also spotted his brother. He gave him a brief nod, then inspected his fingernails at length. There was almost a hint of a smile on his lips.
Trálír frowned. There seemed to be something different about his brother, something he couldn't put his finger on.
A feeling, a dark hunch that Trálír couldn't find words for.
He tried to find signs of what he so obviously noticed. Did his face look sterner, more mature? Did his amber-coloured eyes seem warmer? Colder? More emotionless? It seemed as if an unknown force was flowing through his younger brother, making him stand up straighter, his chin raised confidently, his gaze penetrating.
A self-confidence that he openly displayed. At first, Teárlach was reminded of his father, who was always aware of his status, for he was, after all, the ruler of the Blackwater country.
So what would be the reason for Teárlach's sudden self-confidence? Trálír wondered and walked a few steps further until he was also standing by the wall. He leaned against the cool stone wall and looked again at the collection of soldiers and servants. Trálír closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the words, the sentences that could be heard in the hall.
"...No wonder Khara would end up like this after sticking her curious nose into everything..."
"...is such a tragedy..."
"... must have been terribly ill, she didn't look well the last few days. Maybe she was afraid she'd be thrown out?..."
"...probably someone got rid of her..."
"...that I don't laugh. As if she had lost the child... She took care of it herself..."
"...I'm surprised that Khara broke her neck in the dark. She was known to sneak through the corridors at night..."
"...Conall ... I saw how much she suffered and ... and I couldn't help her. Whatever I said, whatever I offered her, she didn't want it. Could I have done anything? Could I have stopped her? Was it my fault that it had come to this?"
Trálír opened his eyes at these words and seconds later he found the half-elf in the crowd of people present, his arms wrapped around his wife's waist as she leaned protectively into his embrace. He could see tears glistening in her eyes. Conall felt a tingling sensation on the back of his neck, sensed that he was being watched. While his wife was in his arms, he turned his head to the side and found his master's questioning gaze.
The half-elf understood that this look was a wordless invitation for him to go to Trálír. Conall detached himself from his wife, who looked at him uncertainly, whispered something to her and gently touched her cheek. His gesture was comforting and full of tenderness.
Trálír did not take his eyes off him as Conall walked in his direction.
"Mylord," he murmured with a short bow and stopped in front of him.
"Is there something I should know about, Conall?" The half-elf stared at Trálír, startled that he had come straight to the point without wasting time. The high elf noticed the hesitation in his servant's gaze and he raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"My wife knew the young kitchen maid," he admitted quietly, shrugging his shoulders and nervously avoiding his master's gaze.
"Surely that's not the only thing you know?" Trálír's question about the reason for the suicide hung unspoken between them.
"Sera was ill, my lord. She wasn't well and my wife was looking after her."
"Does she know the reason for the suicide?" Trálír asked straightforwardly and Conall shook his head in the negative.
"No, my lord," the half-elf replied quietly.
"Then go back to your wife and look after her, for the death of the young maid seems to have affected her greatly. You and Ulthred stay in the castle for today, I alone will ride to Anwyn."
Conall acknowledged Trálír's words with a nod and watched as he pushed himself slightly away from the wall and strode through the great hall. He stood in the shadows until he saw his master leave the great hall behind him and walk through the gate, only then did he leave the shadows and return to his wife.
Teárlach watched his older brother leave the great hall. He was still leaning against the stone pillar, almost melting into his surroundings as he watched those present.
He occasionally searched the thoughts of the servants, but found nothing new. It was generally assumed that Sera was ill and unhappy and had therefore decided to commit suicide. For Khara, a tragic accident had been accepted as the cause of her death, but from time to time he heard the odd meanly whispered word, sharp as the point of a knife slowly digging into a back. No one spoke his name, but it was known that Khara had willingly served him in his bed. And Sera was also talked about, although she was not spoken of as angrily as the tragically injured half-elf. And yet it was whispered behind closed doors that Sera had chosen suicide over the loss of the expected child.
Loss.
Teárlach chuckled.
He closed his eyes and remembered the feeling of all-encompassing power that he had held when he had penetrated Sera's mind, when he had forced images on her that she thought were real, but which only came from his dark imagination. And how great was the pleasure when he made her jump to her death against her own will while he gleefully peeled off her own mother's skin in her mind's eye. He would never forget the horror in Sera's blue eyes for the rest of his life.
And getting into Khara's mind had been an easy game for Teárlach. He lured her with the promise of an exciting night, and as she walked through the darkness in only a light nightdress, he stepped out of the shadows, wrapped his fingers around her slender neck and yanked it aside in one powerful motion. When he heard the splintering of her bones, the snapping of her spine, goose bumps covered his entire body and he savoured the shiver of pleasure that overcame him.
With a smile, he watched her body collapse as he pushed her down the stairs and she came to rest twisted at the bottom. Having indulged his dark desires, Teárlach walked back to his chamber in the darkness of the night with a cold smile on his lips.
As promised last week, you can read the next chapter here ;)
I hope you enjoy it !
The first thing Trálír realised when he awoke from his meditation was a feeling of unease. He slowly opened his eyes and realised, frowning, that something was going on in the castle. He heard hurried footsteps, distant voices and the odd sob. Confused, the high elf sat up and the fur slipped from his upper body, which he flipped to the side and stood up. As he had taken a bath last night, his long hair was still damp and he decided to let it dry in the fresh air.
Unlike his father, to whom a valet brought his clothes to his bedside every morning as a demonstration of his power and importance, Trálír had decided against having his clothes handed to him as well. He was uncomfortable having his clothes chosen for him, so he went to his ornate wardrobe, opened the doors and took out the things he needed as the early sunshine flooded his chamber.
As he planned to ride to Anwyn after his daily training session with the weapons he knew, following Conall and Ulthred who would soon be on their way, a simple linen tunic and trousers would suffice for the work Trálír had planned for today on the farm.
So he slipped into his underwear, the dark green tunic and dark brown trousers. Still confused by the palpable unrest in the castle, the slim and tall elf slipped into his boots and left his chamber. He realised with surprise that no servants or soldiers of the Blackwater Castle crossed his path as he walked through the long corridor. As Trálír approached the grand staircase, however, the voices grew louder and the footsteps of those present came closer.
He slowly descended the stairs and was amazed at the cluster of people, half-elves, servants and soldiers that had formed in the Great Hall. He stopped on the penultimate step and let his gaze glide over the crowd, but could not spot his father anywhere. Trálír walked down the remaining two steps and slowly made his way through all the people. The servants nodded politely to him and stepped aside. He noticed that many faces, whether elf, human or half-elf, reflected different emotions. He read sadness, shock, confusion, uncertainty and even scorn in some cases.
A few steps away from him stood Neererin, the First Captain, the Right Hand of his father, whispering to a monk standing next to him.
Trálír strode towards him and when the older monk saw the ruler's son walking towards him, he bowed deeply and silently moved away. Neererin turned and also bowed to Trálír when he caught sight of him.
"Mylord." His voice was deep and full, testifying to his status as captain. The middle-aged high elf was tall and broad in stature, his long hair dark brown with a few light grey streaks running through it, his eyes a bright green. His face was alert and imbued with intelligence.
"What's going on here?" Trálír asked, his gaze wandering questioningly over the crowd. Neererin followed his look and a heavy sigh slipped over his lips.
"A young kitchen maid was found hanged in her chamber," he replied, gesturing to the end of the hall. In a corner forgotten by the sun, four monks stood around a corpse wrapped in cloth.
"A suicide?" Trálír replied, horror evident in his voice. The Right Hand nodded.
"But this was not the only misfortune that befell the castle this night," he continued quietly. "At the bottom of the stairs to the servants' quarters lay another chambermaid with a broken neck. We assume that she found the kitchen maid and was looking for help, so she ran down the stairs in a hurry and fell."
Trálír looked at the older elf, speechless and shocked.
"Some monks are at the bottom of the stairs tending to the corpse."
"Do they know why the maid took her own life?" Trálír asked with a frown and saw Neererin shrug his shoulders unsuspectingly.
"People talk a lot," he replied. "Some speak of a broken heart."
Trálír looked at the older elf questioningly. "Then her grief was so severe that she couldn't imagine life without her beloved?"
"No, that is unlikely to have been the reason. Her broken heart seemed to stem from the loss of a child," Neererin replied, shaking his head.
"She was pregnant?" Trálír's voice sounded surprised.
"At least that's what I heard from hearsay. She doesn't seem to have gotten over the loss of her child."
"And her beloved?"
Neererin shrugged his shoulders once more. "No one seems to know anything more. Maybe it's someone from the next village? Someone she was promised to?"
Trálír realised with horror that he would not even have guessed who the young maid had been if Neererin had told him her name. Apart from the faces of the servants around him, he didn't recognise any of them. He had no idea where they came from, who they were, what their lives had been like before or what they were doing in the castle now. The only half-elves he knew were Conall, Ulthred and the old horsekeeper.
This fact depressed Trálír because it made him realise at the same time that he, as part of the ruling family, paid no more attention to the servants than his father or brother did.
"What was her name?" he asked quietly.
"Her name was Sera," replied the Right Hand. "A girl in her sixteenth year."
Trálír looked at the captain in shock. "So young?"
Neererin nodded.
"What is known about the maid who fell?"
"A half-elf, Khara. She was a chambermaid."
Trálír sighed heavily.
"See to it that the families are properly compensated, Neererin. I leave this task in your hands to make sure they get a proper burial."
Trálír nodded to the older elf and walked through the crowd in search of a quiet place when his gaze suddenly fell on his younger brother.
Teárlach stood leaning against one of the large pillars, dressed completely in black, his long hair as loose as his brother's. He had one leg bent and was leaning against the stone pillar while his arms were crossed in front of his chest. Bored, his gaze glided over those present until he also spotted his brother. He gave him a brief nod, then inspected his fingernails at length. There was almost a hint of a smile on his lips.
Trálír frowned. There seemed to be something different about his brother, something he couldn't put his finger on.
A feeling, a dark hunch that Trálír couldn't find words for.
He tried to find signs of what he so obviously noticed. Did his face look sterner, more mature? Did his amber-coloured eyes seem warmer? Colder? More emotionless? It seemed as if an unknown force was flowing through his younger brother, making him stand up straighter, his chin raised confidently, his gaze penetrating.
A self-confidence that he openly displayed. At first, Teárlach was reminded of his father, who was always aware of his status, for he was, after all, the ruler of the Blackwater country.
So what would be the reason for Teárlach's sudden self-confidence? Trálír wondered and walked a few steps further until he was also standing by the wall. He leaned against the cool stone wall and looked again at the collection of soldiers and servants. Trálír closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the words, the sentences that could be heard in the hall.
"...No wonder Khara would end up like this after sticking her curious nose into everything..."
"...is such a tragedy..."
"... must have been terribly ill, she didn't look well the last few days. Maybe she was afraid she'd be thrown out?..."
"...probably someone got rid of her..."
"...that I don't laugh. As if she had lost the child... She took care of it herself..."
"...I'm surprised that Khara broke her neck in the dark. She was known to sneak through the corridors at night..."
"...Conall ... I saw how much she suffered and ... and I couldn't help her. Whatever I said, whatever I offered her, she didn't want it. Could I have done anything? Could I have stopped her? Was it my fault that it had come to this?"
Trálír opened his eyes at these words and seconds later he found the half-elf in the crowd of people present, his arms wrapped around his wife's waist as she leaned protectively into his embrace. He could see tears glistening in her eyes. Conall felt a tingling sensation on the back of his neck, sensed that he was being watched. While his wife was in his arms, he turned his head to the side and found his master's questioning gaze.
The half-elf understood that this look was a wordless invitation for him to go to Trálír. Conall detached himself from his wife, who looked at him uncertainly, whispered something to her and gently touched her cheek. His gesture was comforting and full of tenderness.
Trálír did not take his eyes off him as Conall walked in his direction.
"Mylord," he murmured with a short bow and stopped in front of him.
"Is there something I should know about, Conall?" The half-elf stared at Trálír, startled that he had come straight to the point without wasting time. The high elf noticed the hesitation in his servant's gaze and he raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"My wife knew the young kitchen maid," he admitted quietly, shrugging his shoulders and nervously avoiding his master's gaze.
"Surely that's not the only thing you know?" Trálír's question about the reason for the suicide hung unspoken between them.
"Sera was ill, my lord. She wasn't well and my wife was looking after her."
"Does she know the reason for the suicide?" Trálír asked straightforwardly and Conall shook his head in the negative.
"No, my lord," the half-elf replied quietly.
"Then go back to your wife and look after her, for the death of the young maid seems to have affected her greatly. You and Ulthred stay in the castle for today, I alone will ride to Anwyn."
Conall acknowledged Trálír's words with a nod and watched as he pushed himself slightly away from the wall and strode through the great hall. He stood in the shadows until he saw his master leave the great hall behind him and walk through the gate, only then did he leave the shadows and return to his wife.
Teárlach watched his older brother leave the great hall. He was still leaning against the stone pillar, almost melting into his surroundings as he watched those present.
He occasionally searched the thoughts of the servants, but found nothing new. It was generally assumed that Sera was ill and unhappy and had therefore decided to commit suicide. For Khara, a tragic accident had been accepted as the cause of her death, but from time to time he heard the odd meanly whispered word, sharp as the point of a knife slowly digging into a back. No one spoke his name, but it was known that Khara had willingly served him in his bed. And Sera was also talked about, although she was not spoken of as angrily as the tragically injured half-elf. And yet it was whispered behind closed doors that Sera had chosen suicide over the loss of the expected child.
Loss.
Teárlach chuckled.
He closed his eyes and remembered the feeling of all-encompassing power that he had held when he had penetrated Sera's mind, when he had forced images on her that she thought were real, but which only came from his dark imagination. And how great was the pleasure when he made her jump to her death against her own will while he gleefully peeled off her own mother's skin in her mind's eye. He would never forget the horror in Sera's blue eyes for the rest of his life.
And getting into Khara's mind had been an easy game for Teárlach. He lured her with the promise of an exciting night, and as she walked through the darkness in only a light nightdress, he stepped out of the shadows, wrapped his fingers around her slender neck and yanked it aside in one powerful motion. When he heard the splintering of her bones, the snapping of her spine, goose bumps covered his entire body and he savoured the shiver of pleasure that overcame him.
With a smile, he watched her body collapse as he pushed her down the stairs and she came to rest twisted at the bottom. Having indulged his dark desires, Teárlach walked back to his chamber in the darkness of the night with a cold smile on his lips.
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And getting into Khara's mind had been an easy game for Teárlach. He lured her with the promise of an exciting night, and as she walked through the darkness in only a light nightdress, he stepped out of the shadows, wrapped his fingers around her slender neck and yanked it aside in one powerful motion. When he heard the splintering of her bones, the snapping of her spine, goose bumps covered his entire body and he savoured the shiver of pleasure that overcame him.
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