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

[haebin]

Hey hey, it is finally time for a new chapter, right? I am sorry for the two-week-break but now I am back. I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter.
Thank you so, so much for reading (and commenting), it means the world to me!!
🧡🧡🧡



“Gods,” Trálír murmured in a weak voice as he struggled to open his eyes. The light of the morning sun was so bright and dazzling that he tried to raise his hand to shield his eyes. However, this simple movement only caused him to feel dizzy, so he quickly closed his eyelids again.
He tried to support himself with his hands, but shifting caused such a sharp, throbbing pain in his head that he found it unbearable, feeling as if his skull would burst open at any moment. He heard a groan as if from far away, and it took a few moments for Trálír to realize that it was himself who had uttered it. Under the pressure of the pain in his head, he let it hang forward and suddenly felt his stomach rebel, causing the acidic and bitter juices that tormented him to rise up. Trálír leaned forward unsteadily, unconsciously grabbed the edge of the bed, and vomited.

“That's good, my boy, just get it out,” he heard a man's voice say to him, but it sounded so muffled and distant to the high elf that it seemed to be coming from the chamber next to his. It felt like an eternity as his body tried to get rid of the excess alcohol by vomiting. Trálír tried to sit up, gasping for breath, as he felt another wave of vomit burst out of him, shooting so violently into the wooden bucket that someone was holding under him that tears came to his eyes. The high elf gagged and vomited several more times until exhaustion became so great that he sank weakly onto his bed. With his eyelids only half open, feeling powerless and weak, Trálír realized he was in his chamber. He heard a squeak as someone opened the windows and wooden shutters to dispel the smell of vomit with fresh air.
“By all nine Hells, what have I done?” he whispered, completely shaken and gagging as the sour taste of his stomach acid burned in his throat.
He heard a soft chuckle. “I'd say you drank too much.”
Trálír tried to turn toward the voice, but immediately slid back into the sheets, a pain-filled groan escaping his lips.
“By all the gods... why didn't anyone... anyone stop me?” asked the elf with difficulty, gagging once more.

“Because every other elf in this castle has drunk as much as you have,” replied the man, and Trálír finally remembered where he knew that voice from. It was Neererin, his father's First Hand. He wanted to sit up, but at that moment he felt such severe stomach cramps that his body unconsciously made itself smaller and contracted to reduce the intensity of the pain.
The Firstborn groaned.
“Here, drink this,” Trálír heard the elf say and opened his eyes with difficulty. When he saw the clay cup in Neererin's hand, he slowly shook his head, another painful groan in response.
“No way,” replied the ruler's son, curling up further. “I'm not thirsty.”
“You shouldn't drink because you're thirsty, but enough to make you feel better and flush the alcohol out of your body,” replied Neererin, still holding the cup in front of Trálír's face.
“I hardly think that... that drinking more wine will help...”
Neererin took a deep breath to avoid the sigh that was on the tip of his tongue.
Alcohol really seems to affect more than just the stomach, the older elf thought mildly. Trálír isn't usually slow on the uptake.

“It's water, my boy,” he replied, and the elf slowly took the water cup, put it to his lips, and carefully took a sip. The cool water was a relief for his parched throat, and in the next moment he had drunk it all. With a moan, he let himself fall back.
“Close the curtains and let me lie here, Neererin,” he asked quietly, looking almost imploringly at the older elf who was still standing next to his bed. Understanding showed in his eyes, but he slowly shook his head.
“I know you feel terrible, but don't dwell on your misery,” he replied, pointing to a wooden tub standing near the balcony door. “A bath in cool water will perk up your body a little and clear your head. As much as I would like to grant your wish, as I too have enough memories of such moments, I know that you are expected at the ball tonight,” he said to Trálír, who sighed in disappointment.
“If I agree to get into this tub,” he replied, looking past Neererin, “would you then be persuaded to let me rest here in my chamber until it is time for me to appear?”
The First Hand couldn't help but smile, and his green eyes sparkled with amusement. “Are you trying to bargain, my lord?”

An embarrassed smile appeared on Trálír's face, which contorted painfully in the next moment. “I promise you, I'll take a cold bath and drink enough water. When the time comes, Andrick can bring me my clothes and I'll get ready. I just want to rest for a while...” He paused and shrugged slowly, almost apologetically. “...just for a short while.”
“So be it,” Neererin replied with a nod, placing the empty clay cup on the narrow nightstand and offering Trálír his hand, which he took.
As Trálír sat up, he winced from nausea and stomach cramps, dizziness plagued him, and the pain in his head pulsed loudly. On weak legs, he walked to the tub, which was already filled, stepped out of his underwear, and grabbed the edge, climbing over it and sliding into the cold water.
“Hells,” Trálír exclaimed as he stood waist-deep in the water, his body obviously refusing to make another move.
“You should submerge yourself, sir,” Neererin suggested, and the firstborn looked at him, his lips trembling and turning slightly blue.
“I know, but my body doesn't seem to be fond of that idea,” he replied hesitantly, but then he gathered all his courage, closed his eyes, held his breath, and submerged himself in the cold water.

When Trálír burst through the surface, gasping for air, his lips blue and his body shivering from the cold water, he gratefully grabbed the large towel Neererin handed him as he left the tub, his teeth chattering.
He wrapped himself in the cloth and then staggered slightly toward his bed. Only when he sank down onto it did he notice two young half-elves who had been standing silently next to the door of his chamber the whole time and, at a sign from the First Hand, began to scoop water from the tub with wooden buckets and pour it over the balcony railing, for carrying the heavy tub alone was a physical challenge. Moving it when filled with water was impossible.
“Don't you want to dry off?” Trálír heard Neererin ask, and he slowly shook his head.
“No, ... no ...” he replied, stuttering from the cold and making himself small. “Just throw the blanket over me, I'll warm up somehow.”
Neererin nodded, grabbed the blanket, and spread it over Trálír, who gratefully closed his eyes.
“Please let me rest a little longer,” he murmured, pulling the blanket up to the tip of his nose with his fingertips. It took only a few breaths and he was asleep again, which the First Hand noticed with an imperceptible smile. He turned to the servants who had emptied half of the tub, nodded to them, and then left the room. He knew that the two young half-elves would remove the tub from Trálír's chamber and then close the door behind them to give the ruler's son the opportunity to sleep off his intoxication.

A light knock on the heavy wooden door. Trálír was in such deep meditation that the sound did not reach him.
Andrick, his father's valet, and the two female maids beside him, who were holding Trálír's garments made of the finest fabrics in their hands, hesitated for a moment. But they had no reason to fear anger if they now entered the ruler's son's chamber uninvited, unlike what would happen if they entered the chamber of Trálír, the Elder, without heeding his obvious request. The older maid looked at Andrick and, with a cautious nod, urged him to open the door.
He complied with the unspoken suggestion, slowly opened the door, and entered the chamber. The curtains were closed, and as he approached the elf's bed to gently rouse him from his meditation, the younger maid walked to the windows and slowly pushed the curtains aside.
Her eyes widened as she gazed at the horizon, for she could not remember ever seeing such an impressive sunset in the Blackwater Lands.

The sun resembled a ball of fire, its changing colors ranging from warm orange tones to deep crimson, which darkened to a soft purple and blue hue, causing the maid to pause. She gazed dreamily into the distance of the horizon and the open water that reflected the colors of the sky.
A clearing of the throat tore the young half-elf from her contemplation, and she turned around to look at the valet, who was now gently placing his hand on Trálír's upper arm and pressing it lightly.
It took only this slight movement for the Ruler's son to slowly open his eyes. He looked up at the servant, recognized Andrick, and nodded slowly.
“Is it time already?” he asked weakly and sat up.
As he moved, the high elf noticed that he was no longer suffering from dizziness and that the pain in his head had subsided somewhat. However, the thought of the countless dishes that awaited him at the ball made him feel nauseous.
As did the thought of taking even one more sip of alcohol.

Comments

[profiterole_reads]

Poor Trálír! But also, he shouldn't have drunk that much. :-P

[haebin]

This^
LOL. XDDD

[yourivy]

Oh mann, wenn ich das so lese, bin ich doppelt so froh, dass ich keinen Alkohol mehr trinke Dx das hat definitiv zu viele unangenehme Erinnerungen hochgebracht... (das soll jetzt kein "Vorwurf" an dich sein! Nur eine Feststellung :))

Den Sonnenuntergang am Ende hast du wunderschön beschrieben ♥

[montmartres]

Thank you for the new chapter!

[ragnarok_08]

Oh man, poor Trálír :(

Great chapter, as always!