The Mistress of the Shadowland, Second Book, The next Chapter

[haebin]

Here I am with a new chapter! I hope you'll enjoy it and thank you so, so much for reading! It means so much to me!!


As Trálír rode through the large, open castle gate into the courtyard, he frowned as he saw it populated with human and half-elf servants busily decorating the courtyard with numerous giant sedge grasses, white evening primrose and yellow horn clover blossoms.
Next to each entrance leading into the castle were two waist-high vases made of white stone quarried in the Atala Mountains, with yellow and white braided ribbons and wild grass was hanging from the doors. Even the numerous windows at ground level were decorated. When Arod came to a halt, Trálír swung himself off the saddle and was greeted with a polite bow by one or two of the servants who noticed him. They quickly turned back to their work as he walked towards the stables, holding the reins of his stallion in his right hand, who followed him obediently.
As he walked through the large courtyard, Trálír observed that several maids were coming out of the butcher's rooms with baskets of meat, while the kitchen. He could hear the cooks shout their orders and saw through the open back door how the apprentices tried to fulfill everything as quick as possible.
It seems as if we are receiving a whole town as guests, he thought in amazement as he entered through the open door. However, he stopped wondering why almost all stalls were empty.
Nevertheless, the hay nets and drinking troughs had been filled and the bedding had been replaced in every horse box. Only at the end of the large stable, in the last two stalls, were two horses. Trálír glanced over his shoulder as he heard footsteps behind him and spotted Fairre, the stable master, coming through the gate with two heavy baskets full of apples, pears, carrots, beetroot and lettuce.
“What is happening in this castle, Fairre?” Trálír asked, frowning and looking over the old half-elf into the courtyard, which was bustling with activity.
"I left this place this morning and came back a few hours later to find the castle completely changed. What's going on here? Are we planning a wedding? Are we having a ball? Why all the floral decorations? And where in all the nine hells are our horses?"
Fairre set the heavy baskets on the ground with a pained grown, rubbed his lower back with his right hand, sighed and shrugged his shoulders clueless.
“We've been told for more than ten days that we're expecting guests,” Fairre replied, looking apologetically at his master. “Important guests,” he added lamely.

"Are these guests so important that my father has half the castle decorated with flowers and flower arrangements? There has never been anything like this since I was born. The human inhabitants in this area celebrate Aine, but that won't be the reason for this spectacle, will it? Are we expecting emissaries from Baldur's Gate. “Are they nobility?" Trálír asked irritated, sighing in frustration as he looked into the perplexed face of his stable master. The old man shrugged apologetically.
“Well, sooner or later I'll see what this spectacle is all about,” Trálír said with a sigh.
He led Arod into his stall, unsaddled him and removed the bridle. Before he left his stallion, he stroked his black mane lovingly several times.
To say goodbye, Trálír gently patted the stallion's neck, then stepped out of the stall and closed it.
“Before I go, I would still like to know where our horses are.” The high elf turned to Fairre, who balanced the saddle on a wooden rack.
"They have all been taken to the training ground to make room for the guests' horses. Since it is fenced, they should be safe," the old half-elf replied. Trálír frowned. "The training ground is to the west near the edge of the forest. It won't be long before the neighing of the horses will attract the first wild animals or monsters. They are not often seen near us, but forest gnome bandits and goblins would love to feast on the flesh of our animals. And I want to prevent them from being literally torn to shreds." He sighed in exasperation as he wondered who in all the hell had the idea to place the horses so close to the edge of the forest. "Well, I'll go to the First Hand and suggest that he post some guards to ensure the safety of our horses. You shouldn't tempt fate with a cheeky grin on your face, should you?"

Even if the ruler's son sounded a little irritated, he still nodded a friendly farewell to Fairre and strode out of the stables into the still busy courtyard. Evening was still a long way off, but Trálír now wanted to put his plan into action to look for his father's First Hand and suggest that he secure the training ground for the night not only with several guards but also with torches around the fence. Once that was settled, he would go to his chambers and finally, grudgingly, make his way down to the Great Hall for dinner next to his father and his father's men. He didn't feel like it, but Tralir knew that this was expected of him on the one hand and on the other hand he wanted to finally find out which guests would find their way to the Blackwater Castle.
So he walked through the entrance into the Great Hall, which was also filled with dozens of servants fixing decorations and carrying in several tables and benches. He glanced around the crowd, recognizing several of his father's men, but the First Hand, Neererin, was nowhere to be seen in the crowd.
Well, perhaps he is with my father in his chambers, Trálír thought and made his way to the Grand Staircase when a soldier stepped into his path.
“My lord, your father has sent word that you are expected to go to the west wing,” he said with a polite bow. Trálír looked at the young elf with irritation.

“The west wing?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, looking to his left at the now decorated door that had been locked for almost his whole life. “It hasn't been accessible for years.”
“I am only “repeating” what I was told to say, my lord,” the elf replied hesitantly, his green eyes looking at the ruler's son uncertainly.
“Hm ... well, so be it,” Trálír finally finally mumbled after a moment and nodded to the soldier standing opposite him as a sign that he could retreat again.
Thoughtfully, he walked towards the still closed door still preventing entry to the west wing. It was currently being decorated with different colored ribbons by two maids. A few steps away stood an old monk in conversation with his companion and Trálír wondered for a moment whether he should address him or not. He would certainly not be of any help to him regarding the horses and their safety, but perhaps he would have some answers to the questions that were bothering Trálír.

“Pirmin, greetings,” Trálír addressed the old elf, who turned in his direction with a kind smile on his lips as he heard his voice. A slight milky haze lay over his once bright green eyes, as the man had only been able to perceive light and shadow for dozens of years. Pirmin had been walking these lands for centuries and everyone in the castle knew that the end of his existence was slowly but steadily approaching. And Pirmin himself was all too aware of this.
"Trálír, it's good to hear you. When you listen to my old stories in the library, you hardly ever speak a word to me," the elf greeted the ruler's son with a chuckle.
“That's because your lessons are always so interesting,” Trálír replied with a smile and his heart warmed as his words brought a glow to the elf's old face.
“You flatter me,” Pirmin replied with amusement and leaned forward slightly, his long snow-white hair falling into his face. He slowly raised his old hands and stroked back his thinning hair.
“I know it can be boring to have to listen to all those old stories for hours on end,” Pirmin whispered conspiratorially and placed his hand sympathetically on Trálír's shoulders, as if his eyesight hadn't all but disappeared. “It was a long time ago, but I too was once a student who had to listen to these lessons for what felt like eternity.”
Both men laughed softly.
“What brings you to me, Child?”
“To be honest, I'm confused, Pirmin,” Trálír confessed in a serious voice. “I was told, I was expected in the west wing.”
He waited a moment for Pirmin to reply, but the old man stared wordlessly in his direction.
"The west wing? It hasn't been accessible for years. Since the..." Trálír's voice broke and he cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the sudden lump that made it impossible for him to continue. He saw the old monk nod in understanding.
“Since the death of your beloved mother,” Pirmin finished Trálír's sentence. There was compassion in his deep voice.
"Why now? Why is the west wing being opened?"
“I guess as accommodation for the arriving guests?” the old Elf guessed, shrugging his shoulders cluelessly.
“Then you don't know the reason either?”

“Your father neither asks me for advice nor lets me in on his plans,” the monk replied apologetically. “I can only guess what his motives are.”
Trálír shook his head with a sigh. "Very well then, I suppose I will have to obey his order, although the reason is beyond me. Nevertheless, I thank you for the time you have given me."
Time that is so precious to you, he thought in a pang of sadness.
“I was only too happy to do so,” Pirmin replied with a warm smile and, to Trálír's surprise, reached for his hand, which he squeezed gently. "You are a good boy, Trálír. Whatever happens in the future, you will never lose hope, yes? Promise me that."
The old monk patted Trálír's hand affectionately, his blind eyes looking over him.
"Ehm ... I ... of course, Pirmin. I promise you," Trálír stammered and gave the old elf a weak smile, not knowing what to make of Pirmin's words.
His last sentences almost felt like a bad omen to him. Trálír watched thoughtfully as the old monk turned away from him and held out his hand, which a younger friar took in his own and then led the frail old man through the hall.

Trálír took a deep breath, then turned left, took three steps and stood in front of the ornate door. Only a young maiden was still tucking grasses into the flower arrangement that had been fastened around the arch of the door.
His throat became tight and he felt a constricting, almost painful pressure in his chest. The west wing had been locked for ages and he had never forgotten his father's explicit forbidding, which had hung like a sword over him and his younger brother throughout their childhood and youth, always aware that an offense would be severely punished.
Again and again they were ordered not to go near the west wing under any circumstances. If they did not obey their father's “wish”, they would spend the next few nights in the deep dungeons of the castle, without water, without a morsel of bread and without a candle. The thought of being alone at night sent the children into a panic and they obediently obeyed their father.

Nevertheless, Trálír had defied his father's very clear order in his youth, had sneaked into the forbidden wing, unseen, at night with a candle in his hand, the hot wax of which had dripped steadily onto his skin and left a painful blister. He had crept through the dark corridors, had gone into various chambers, had entered the old library by the light of the moon, but his destination had been his mother's chambers. For several nights in a row, he had crept into the west wing and explored it piece by piece. He sat in the silence of the night in his mother's room, his heart filled with longing as he could hardly remember the moments with her.
And so he began to search for traces of her life. He read the titles of the books that lay on her bedside table, found the correspondence in her desk that she had kept with elves unknown to him. When he opened the cupboards to see what his mother had been wearing, all he could see was an empty void. His mother's garments had already crumbled to dust.

And yet Trálír did not give up, still wanted to search for the traces of Elaria to silence this insatiable longing, because there had to be something that would give him the feeling of being close to her. Something that would give him comfort. He meticulously searched every inch of the bedchamber until he found her hidden diaries. Happiness filled Trálír, almost like ecstasy, that he finally had something in his hands that would bring him closer to his mother.
I wish I had never found them, Trálír thought as he put his hand on the door handle with a tight throat, opened it and stepped into the west wing.