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Chapter Text

"Under no circumstances will I allow you to marry that whore!"
His father's deep voice sounded like a thunderclap in the castle's Great Hall.
"You are of old blood, a Highelf. You are not an ordinary elf who lives his life in a forest or a hidden place. You are of strong, ancient blood, born to create greater things than just digging around in forest floors, growing herbs and hunting. You have the finesse, the sharp tongue, the knowledge to become a ruler! You have duties you must fulfill!"
The young elf stood with his back straight in front of his father, who sat on his throne filled with rage. Trálír withstood the gaze of the old man's light gray eyes and at the same time felt the piercing gaze of his younger brother on the back of his neck, who was leaning against a large stone pillar a few steps away from him.
He tried not to let his frustration show in the words that followed.
"Teàrlach would be quite capable..."
"Your brother is the second-born," his father interrupted him sharply and Trálír did not need to turn to his brother to know that he was flinching at his father's harsh words, that his ember-colored eyes darkened with suppressed anger.
Nevertheless, Trálír did not want to give up and above all he did not want to be stopped by his father's stubbornness. Everything was in flux, nothing was set in stone. Why didn't he want to understand that?
"Father, I..."
"Enough!" Trálír, the Elder, dressed in the finest fabrics, cut off his firstborn's words with a dark and an anger-filled Voice. "We will not discuss this. You have your obligations as a firstborn son and you will fulfill them."

Trálír, the Elder, rose from his throne, nodded to his First Hand who stood to the right of him and left the hall without another word.
His soldiers followed him quietly and the silence in the hall was only interrupted by the crackling of the great fire in the center.
"You tried."
Teàrlach's voice was quiet. Trálír turned and shook his head while his gaze rested on the slender figure of his two years younger brother. The flames of the fire and the torches on each stone pillar were reflected in the elf's amber eyes.
"It will not give up," were Trálír's words. "I have no interest in becoming the ruler of this land. Power, politics, intrigues, wars. These are things that have always been far from my mind. Father's plans are not mine, and never have been."
"I know," agreed his younger brother. "But even if you were to find a way to leave, I will never be allowed to fill your place.”
Teàrlach's deep voice sounded frustrated.
And you know the reason why, a voice whispered in Trálír's head. The prophecy...

*****

Trálír stood on the balcony of his chamber, his hands on the solid stone balustrade, staring out at the storm-tossed sea.
Blackwater was a harsh land, bordered to the north by steep cliffs that dropped almost a hundred meters. The castle had been built centuries ago on the highest cliff, there was only one way in and so it was impregnable.
To the east, the cliffs flattened out and there were several bays rich in fish where a few people had built small settlements. The south and west were full of dense, dark forests, inhabited by the Wood Elves of the Elder Clan. Blackwater was not an easily accessible area, but there were plenty of raw materials to trade.
However, trading was always accompanied by great danger, as the roads to the neighboring towns and countries were often raided by robbers, monsters and wild animals.

Blackwater had Pearls and shells that could be turned into jewelry, wood from the deep, dark forests, meat and fur from the forest dwellers. The fur of the black bears in particular was a popular commodity in the towns of the country.
Blackwater was rich and impregnable and this secured Trálír the Elder his throne and his power.

His Son had grown up knowing that he would become the next ruler of Blackwater. That was written in the prophecy, according to his father, for he had never seen any proof, a handwritten sheet of parchment.
All he knew were the words of Trálír, the Elder, the monks and priests who lived in this castle.
And his father's word was law.
Trálír was supposed to be the one who held the hand over Blackwater, increasing its wealth, securing its power and protecting its inhabitants, especially the ones from the same race.

And yet there were darkly whispered words from the depths of the woods, words that painted a different picture of trees ablaze, monsters walking the scorched earth, dead flesh feeding on the living, dragons watching over the Shadowlands and burning to ash any intruder who came near the castle ... and near the Black Diamond.

Humbug, were the words of the old stable master Fairre.
These are stories that old women make up to scare little children.

Trálír took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he tasted the salt of the breaking waves on his tongue.
But was it really? Trálír asked himself. Were these just lies, made-up words created on a lonely night to frighten small children? Or was there more to it?
The firstborn knew about his younger brother's rumors.
He was secretly called Teàrlach, the Dark One.

Rumors persisted among the people that his younger brother was devoted to the dark forces.
Trálír knew that Teàrlach was very interested in and open to all things magical.
And he also knew that the pain of having to live a shadow-like existence as the second-born hurt and angered his younger brother like a festering wound, feeding the rage and helplessness within him.
When Trálír had told his father about these rumors, he had immediately stopped the conversation with a raised hand.
"The humans and their simple-minded nature," the High Elf said snidely, and with those words the rumors had been dismissed.

The old man accepted a few humans in his land, for they paid taxes and were good workers, but he had no respect for them. They were lowlings, far away from even being allowed to look into the face of an High Elf.
Trálír shook his head and looked up at the firmament. Clouds had covered the moon, shadows lay over the land.
A shadow that suits me, Trálír thought, knowing that his path was now leading him towards the stable.

*****

Despite the late hour, Anwyn lay on her camp and stared into the darkness. From the other corner of the room she heard her father's steady breathing, proof that he was sound asleep, the result of a long, hard day's work. He had been out at sea since early morning and returned in the evening with two baskets of fresh herrings, which Anwyn had gutted and brined after supper. She was still working when she told her father to rest. He was not a man of many words, but the young woman knew him too well and saw immediately when his arthritic fingers swelled up or when his joints creaked as he sat down on the chair. Sometimes a groan slipped over his lips when he had to bend down to enter through the low door of the small cottage.
Anwyn decided to go into the forest the next day to look for some herbs that she could make into a salve to ease her father's pain. Knowing that she only had a few hours until sunrise, she closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep.
Only a few moments later, she was sure she had heard something. Unconsciously, her slender body stiffened. Her father and she lived outside the small village and at night there was rarely anyone wandering through the darkness.
Except...

Anwyn sat up quietly, reached beside her campsite and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, for with only a simple linen robe to sleep in, she would most likely fall ill if she left the house in secret. With bare feet she crept across the cold wooden floor and before she opened the door she glanced at her father, but he was still fast asleep. There was little chance that he would wake up.
Anwyn carefully placed her hand on the doorknob and opened it slowly so that the squeak of the old door would not betray her.
The strong winds of the Blackwater Bay hit the young woman with full force and she struggled to close the door again without making a sound.
Only a few steps away from the house was the stable, where an old donkey and two goats stood.

As the moon was hidden behind the clouds, she could barely make out anything. But as Anwyn had known nothing but this small house, the stable, the nearby village and the woods since she was born, her steps were sure and she found her destination without hesitation. She slowly opened the stable door and in the next second felt someone grab her wrist.
But neither fear nor anything similar filled her heart, for she knew who it was in a split second.
Trálír, the High Elf. Son of the Ancient One.
The Elf to whom her heart belonged.

"Even the footsteps of a troll would have been quieter than those of the High Elf Trálír," she whispered with a smile as the elf pulled her tenderly against him.
"I didn't know if sleep had overtaken you yet," was his reply and he gazed at her lovingly from his blue-green eyes, which reminded her of the stormy sea. "That's why I threw some small stones on the roof."
"And you were heard," Anwyn whispered, brushing a loose strand of his long black hair out of his face. Trálír reached for her hand and gently pressed his lips to her palm.
"I've missed you," he confessed to her softly.
Anwyn stood on tiptoe, placed her hands on his chest and gave him a gentle kiss.
"I felt the same way," the young woman replied and placed her right hand on his cheek.
"You're freezing," Trálír realized in surprise when he noticed the goose bumps on Anwyn's forearms. He stepped back a little, sat down on a bale of hay and pulled her onto his lap, his arms wrapped around her while Anwyn snuggled up to him.
"It can't go on like this," Trálír said firmly. "Things have to change."
Anwyn tried not to give in to the grief in her heart, for the High Elf had a knack for recognizing immediately what she was feeling and thinking.

And yet there was a deep heaviness in the young woman's heart because her love was forbidden.
It was no secret that there were often elves who lusted after humans when it came to satisfying their hunger for physical intimacy. In many a tavern you could see an Elf taking advantage of the hour when they were looking for a human partner for the night. Sensually whispered words, hungry looks from deep-set eyes that had seen many a decade or century, lustful kisses that often ended in dark alleys.
Passionate touches, forbidden unions in the silence of the night, softly whispered words to increase the desire of the other person until the Elves had satisfied their physical hunger and left many a broken heart behind.

Many mothers had warned their child of the High Elfs' auspicious promises, but hardly anyone could resist these words to weep silently into the pillow of their home at the end of the night.
Her father had also warned Anwyn about the High and Wood Elfs and as she rarely went to the village, her encounters were few and far between.
As a little girl, she had often seen hunters from the Elfs' forest camps and quickly hid behind the mighty trees to avoid being seen.

Chapter Text

Anwyn had always been lucky to avoid elfs until her 17th birthday, when she stumbled in the morning over a root in the forest while looking for fresh mushrooms and sprained her ankle.
She sat on the damp, mossy ground with tears in her eyes, her wicker basket lying on the head and the freshly collected mushrooms scattered around it. Even the slightest movement of her foot caused such intense pain that it took Anwyn's breath away.
How am I supposed to get home? She asked herself, furtively wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
A clearing of the throat snapped the young girl out of her thoughts and she looked up, only to flinch back in shock the next moment.
She was staring at a large black horse with a High Elf sitting on its back. He looked young, but Anwyn knew that the beauty and flawlessness of youth meant nothing to someone like him. He could have been 17 years old like her ... or he could have spent two centuries in these woods.

"Can I help you?" His voice was dark as velvet but it did not sound threatening. "Are you hurt?"
He let go of the reins, dismounted the horse and walked slightly towards Anwyn, who stared at him with wide eyes. A gentle smile appeared on his noble face as he became aware of her fear.
He raised his hands placatingly to show her that his request was sincere and that she need not fear him.
"My name is Trálír," he introduced himself. Anwyn still stared at the High Elf, though no longer fearfully. Suspicion still filled her gaze.
"Do you want to tell me your name?" he asked and the girl with the dark brown curls, the pale freckles on her nose and the full lips shook her head vehemently.
"Very well, so be it. Will you still allow me to look at your injury?"
Anwyn bit her lower lip for a moment and then nodded hesitantly. Trálír walked over to her, bent his knees and carefully placed his hands on her ankle. Instantly, the young woman winced in pain. While the High Elf carefully felt the rapidly swelling ankle, he noticed that her heart was beating fast and she tried to hide the fear inside her with a brave expression.

A friendly smile played around the Elf's shapely lips.
"You've sprained your ankle. With a little rest and an ointment of comfrey or arnica, the injury will soon subside," he said, looking at her attentively.
"But you seem to me to have a clever mind and know that yourself, don't you?"
Anwyn skillfully avoided his gaze and stared at her ankle. She noticed that her dark green woolen dress had ridden up to her knees and a delicate blush appeared on her cheeks.
"Are you far from home?"
"Not very," she replied in a low voice. "It's a little time away."
"Even if it were only a few steps away, it would only aggravate your injury. Let me help you."
With these words, he stood up, but immediately bent down again and pushed his arms under Anwyn's body to lift her up. Her breath caught in surprise and her body stiffened instantly.
"Which way should I go?" Trálír asked and waited for her answer.
"North. Between the two tall oaks and then straight ahead. As soon as you see the sea between the trees, turn right."
The Elf nodded and clicked his tongue, encouraging his black horse to trot along behind them.
He estimated the young woman to be about 16 or 17 years old, almost a toddler in contrast to him, who was in his 76th year. With every step he took, she relaxed a little more in his arms. Her head leaned between his shoulder and cheek and her brown curly hair touched his skin.

When the High Elf had left the two tall oaks behind him, he could see the storm-tossed sea. There were only a few days a year when the sea lay calmly before them, most of the time the waves broke violently against the steep cliffs. Trálír felt the forest floor recede as the Blackwater Bay took up more and more space. His boots sank a little in the soft sand, but his steps were steady and sure. Trálír turned to the east and saw a small wooden house about 30 paces away. He felt the young woman unconsciously stiffen in his arms.
"You can drop me off here," were her words to him but Trálír shook his head. "If I were to drop you off now, it would be too much of a strain on your injury. Let me carry you to your house."

Apart from the breaking waves on the beach, nothing could be heard. There was a stable next to the small house and he thought he recognized a run behind it. He heard the bleating of two goats as he approached with the girl in his arms. Next to the house was a wooden rack on which a dozen squid were drying.
So she was a fisherwoman, Trálír realized. A dangerous occupation for a human, for the sea was no friend to the inhabitants of Blackwater. Catching fish, diving for pearls or even just searching for shells was always associated with a certain amount of danger, as there were creatures in the opaque water that could tear a person in half with just one bite. And that was the most merciful way to die.
Next to the door of the house was a small wooden stool on which he carefully set the girl down.
"Thank you very much," she said shyly and looked to the side in embarrassment. Trálír suspected that she was deeply ashamed of her obvious poverty.
She was human and she knew what the High Elves thought of them.
In contrast to him, dressed in the finest fabrics, she wore a poor garment made of rough wool. Even her leather shoes had seen better days.

"You are a fisherwoman?" Trálír asked, pointing at the squid. The young girl raised her eyes and replied: "My father is a fisherman, I help him."
"Then your father is at sea right now?"
She shook her head. "No, he's in the village to look after a little surprise for…" She broke off uncertainly.
"For...?" Trálír raised an eyebrow with interest but she remained silent and avoided his gaze.
"Is it perhaps your birthday? Is he in the village to buy something for you?" he asked.
The girl blushed slightly.
"I don't think a sprained ankle is an appropriate gift for you," he said with a slight smile.
"No, I don't think it is," she replied to his surprise.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, then Trálír cleared his throat and pointed towards the house.
"Before I leave you, I want to make sure that the sprain doesn't get worse. Do you have any arnica or comfrey ointment in your dwelling?"
"No. I've used up the last of the ointment for my father to ease his pain. I'll try not to put too much strain on my foot, you don't have to worry about me any more."
She looked at him hesitantly and her gaze then turned to his horse, which was next to the shed, waiting patiently for its master.
"Well then, so be it," said the High Elf, turning away and walking to his stallion. In one smooth movement, he slid onto the saddle and reached for the reins.
The young woman sat on the sloping stool and looked up at him, but her lips seemed sealed. Trálír read uncertainty in her fawn-brown eyes.
Before he could steer his stallion towards the west, however, he heard her say the following words, which brought a smile to his face.
Thank you for your help. I won't forget it.

*****

The next day began for Anwyn before the sun had even risen. Since her father had come home yesterday evening with two full baskets of fruit, her plan was to boil them down and preserve them for the winter. Then she would prepare a simple dish which she and her father would eat around midday before he went back out to sea. The fish he would bring back before noon would have to be gutted. Anwyn knew that all the work would be a strain on her sprained ankle, but she wanted to do as much work as possible for her him.
They had a small argument in the morning when he had told her several times to lie down and rest but Anwyn didn't give it a second thought.
Father is old, he needs help and there is no one to help him, except for me, she thought.
When the old fisherman gave up in frustration after several heated exchanges, he left the house saying: "You're just as stubborn as your mother was."
And while Anwyn worked that morning, she thought wistfully of her mother, which died on a stormy day in the month of roses because she had fallen seriously ill.
She had a vivid image of her mother in her mind's eye as her father had shared all his memories with her before and short after her birth. Her own memories were blurred because she had been too small to remember her mother clearly.

After Anwyn had boiled all the fruit, her father had returned from the sea with a heavy basket full of fresh fish he had caught. When he saw Anwyn taking the basket from him with a heavy limp, he grimaced indignantly but his daughter ignored him and placed the meal on the table.
The old Fisher said goodbye with a nod after they had eaten together in silence and walked down to the beach to board his boat. Anwyn stood in the doorway, looking after him, and only when he was out of sight she sat down on the chair which stood next to the door and grimaced in pain. She lifted her right leg and placed it on the crooked stool that had stood outside the house last night.
Although the wind was blowing strongly, it was no relief from the sun that shone down powerfully on Blackwater Bay. Before Anwyn stepped out into the bright light of day, she wiped the sweat from her brow with an old rag.
Limping heavily she walked out into the small courtyard and heaved the heavy basket of fish onto the narrow table that stood to the right of the door.
"I thought you were resting?"
Anwyn flinched in shock and turned around. She was surprised to see the slender figure of the Elf. Trálír was his name, she remembered.
"What brings you here?" she asked in astonishment.
"Well, I wanted to make sure you were true to your word," was his reply. He raised a dark eyebrow and an amused smile appeared on his face. "But you seem to me to be an oathbreaker."
Anwyn glanced over his shoulder and saw that he had leashed the stallion at the stable door. He wore a dark blue tunic, tight-fitting black trousers and leather boots that reached his knees. His long black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck.
She was instantly ashamed of the poor image she presented. Her body was clad in a brown linen dress, she was barefoot and her hair was unkempt and wild like an abandoned bird's nest because the wind had been tugging at it for hours.
Then she noticed that the High Elf was holding the wicker basket she had left in the forest yesterday.
Trálír followed her gaze and explained: "You had forgotten your basket and I thought you could certainly still use it."
He took two steps towards her and handed Anwyn the basket.
She was surprised to see that it was filled with various mushrooms, two sealed jars and a bunch of freshly picked yellow primroses.
Anwyn raised her face and there was astonishment in her voice.
"Flowers?"
Trálír nodded. "Mushrooms, two jars of arnica and comfrey ointment and a bunch of flowers. It's a belated birthday present. Even if it's just … flowers."
He raised his hand and pointed to the house. "And now you will go into the house, sit on a chair and let me treat your sprained ankle. I thought you wouldn't listen to my words."
"But I..." Anwyn began, but Trálír raised his hand while his eyes looked into the house. "Please sit down and let me help you."
As her ankle throbbed painfully, Anywyn gave in with a heavy heart and hobbled into the house. Ashamed because of being poor, she sat down on the chair and clasped her hands together, while the Elf followed and knelt down in front of her.
He looked up at her questioningly. "Will you give me your permission?"
Anwyn nodded slowly and watched as Trálír's slender fingers places them on her swollen ankle. She flinched as she felt his touch and had to admit to herself that it wasn't the pain that had caused it.
She had never been touched by a stranger or a male person before and as Trálír pushed the fabric of her dress up a little to treat her ankle, various emotions flooded through her body and her throat tightened.
He reached for one of the two jars, opened it and with two fingers took some of the ointment which he carefully spread on her swollen ankle. The circular, gentle movements caused Anwyn's heart to beat up to her throat.
To distract herself from the rising emotions, she asked the Elf kneeling in front of her: "Why did you bring me flowers? That was not necessary."
"Well, it was your birthday yesterday", he replied, reaching into the wicker basket with his left hand and pulling out narrow strips of linen, which he carefully placed over her ankle to bind it.
"When I was looking for mushrooms, I noticed the primroses by the wayside. They reminded me of you and I thought you would enjoy the sight of them?"
Trálír took his hands off her now bandaged ankle and looked up at Anwyn, who was gazing down at him with wide eyes. "Does it please you?"
The girl nodded and a shy smile slid across her face.
"Thank you for your help," she said softly and indicated the wicker basket with her eyes.
"You can make a hearty soup with the mushrooms," Trálír said as he stood up. "And now tell me how else I can help you."
Anwyn frowned and tried to rise, but Trálír gently placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head.
"Tell me what work you still have to do and I will do it for you." His voice was gentle but she could hear the will in it that he would not argue.
This whole situation is absurd, Anwyn thought, looking at Trálír speechlessly. He is a High Elf. No Elf in this land would want to lend a human a hand.
"Well?"
"The... the fish ...." Anwyn replied stuttering and Trálír looked at the basket standing outside in the sun. "I should hurry with the gutting, shouldn't I? Standing in the sun for so long wouldn't please any sea creature."
And with those words, he turned around, walked out into the sun and grabbed the knife that lay in the upper right corner.
Surprised, Anwyn watched as Trálír applied the knife to the first fish belly and cut it open up to the head. With a practiced movement, he removed the entrails and placed them in an old wooden bowl that was also on the table.
"Where is there fresh water?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder in Anwyn's direction.
"There's a small spring with drinking water about ten paces behind the house," she replied, looking aghast as she watched him reach for a bucket and disappear from her field of vision.

Chapter Text

This is all just a dream, Anwyn thought, shaking her head in disbelief. This simply could not be reality. No Elf in these lands would ever stand by a human.
And yet the young woman had to watch as the High Elf returned to the table with a bucket of fresh drinking water and turned his attention back to gutting the fish.
Trálír smiled as he skillfully cut up one after the other and finally let it slide into the bucket. When he had finished, he would carry it to the spring and wash the gutted fish under the running water before placing them in the brine.
The sun blazed down on him and he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. When he had cut up another one, he put the knife aside and washed his hands in the bucket of fish he had already gutted. He didn't seem to mind the muddy water and the processed fish, so he shook his hands dry, undid the buttons of his tunic at the wrists and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, giving Anwyn a view of his toned forearms.

Trálír was well aware that the young girl behind him was looking at him.
He felt her gaze on his back just as much as the sun's rays burning down on him. As he silently worked on the pile of fish, he noticed even more than her gaze.
A flood of emotions opened up to him as he concentrated on his ability to perceive feelings as well as thoughts.
Curiosity, disbelief, suspicion, interest were some of the emotions she came up with. Countless questions could be found inside her and he sensed that she was struggling with herself because on the one side she wanted to ask him everything that was on her mind, but on the other side she failed because of her learned distrust of the high elves. The most pressing question that dominated her mind was why he was doing all of this.
And this thought made Trálír smile, because he asked himself the same question.
As he gutted one fish after another, he thought about the reason why he was here at this bay, doing a chore that not even the lowest elf would do?

Freedom. He felt free and there were no expectations of him. And he liked that, it gave him a feeling of happiness.
Here he was, Trálír, son of the High Elf, next ruler of the Blackwaterlands and taking fish like a normal inhabitant.
There were no intrigues here, no countless conversations about borders, attacks or approaches to the enemy. Here, he didn't have to spend hours poring over the millennia-old history of the High Elves, which he had been able to recite word for word since he could read.
There were no conversations, no discussions with the monks and, above all, no encounters with his father, whose ever angry gaze followed him step by step.
He was just standing next to this small, crooked wooden house. Trálír felt the sweat running down his back as he carried out such a simple task in the sun and it reminded him of his years when he was still a boy and was allowed to ride out the horses with his stable master in his rare free time.
When the horses needed a break from the long ride, Fairre would take him to a small pound where they would sit on the meadow and catch fish. The stable master had taught him how to gut and prepare the fish and the young high elf felt closer to him than to his own father.

Trálír took the last fish and let it slide into the water bucket, which was filled to the brim. Without saying a word, he grabbed it, went to the spring and washed every single fish in the fresh water.
Suddenly Trálír sensed that he was not alone. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the young girl standing behind him.
“Shouldn't you be resting your injury?" he asked her, smiling as he saw her cheeks redden slightly.
"I... I feel useless if I can't help you," she confessed, interlacing her fingers nervously.
"You're not useless, you have a sprained ankle. The more you rest, the sooner you'll be able to do your daily chores again."
Trálír stood up and reached for the bucket. "But of course I won't forbid you if you want to help me. We'll just choose an easier activity for you that won't put too much strain on your feet. What do you think if I carry the heavy bucket into the house and you put the fish in the brine? Would that suit you?"
Anwyn nodded with a relieved sigh. Together they walked the few steps back to the house. Trálír frowned as he observed that Anwyn was still limping.
Before she entered the house, Trálír stopped and looked at her questioningly.
"Is there any other work that needs to be done?"
Anwyn shook her head quickly, but he saw her biting her lips.
"Don't be ashamed," he said, his gaze full of warmth. "I'm happy to help you."
"But why are you doing this? I don't understand. Why are you helping me?" she asked in surprise and Trálír shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know," he replied. "It feels right."
Shaking her head again, Anwyn looked up at him.
"It feels right?" she repeated, disbelief in her voice. "You are an Elf, an High Elf. How …" She took a deep breath. "Why are you helping someone like me, a human?"

Trálír stepped past Anwyn into the house and placed the bucket on the table. He heard her follow him.
"Your opinion of High Elves seems to be low," he stated matter-of-factly.
"And that surprises you?"
Dismayed by the bitterness in her voice, Trálír raised a dark eyebrow.
"Well, I must confess that many elves from my clan..."
"...suffer from conceit?" she interrupted him and there was clearly to hear the annoyance in her voice.
She didn't seem to have had very good experiences with his kind, Trálír thought.
"Well, I can't argue with that," the High Elf admitted openly. "I'm sorry if your experiences with my clan have been so disappointing."
"Disappointing? I wish it were disappointment, but your kind seem to enjoy humiliating others, especially when it comes to humans. There is not one rational reason to treat others like this, but yet they do it out of some unfathomable pleasure in hurting others."
Trálír looked at the young woman in silence, seeing the displeasure in her brown eyes. She avoided his gaze, sat down at the table and reached for a fish from the bucket.
"Do you want to tell me what happened to you?" Trálír asked.
"Why should you care?"
"Why shouldn't I? I wouldn't ask you this question if I wasn't honestly interested."
He sat down on the chair opposite and looked at her.
"My father delivers fish to the Blackwater Castle and the coins they give him in return is a slap in the face to this man who goes out to sea every morning before dawn and faces the dangers there. Every morning I pray to the gods that he comes home safe and sound. He is old and sick, aches and pains torment him but he doesn't complain. He makes the arduous journey to the castle with our donkey, delivers the proceeds of his daily fishing there every week and silently endures how the elves treat him, full of condescension because he is old, a human. And yet he is only paid a few coins for the hard and dangerous work he does. This is not fair."
Resentment was in her words.
"If I were in his place, the High Elves from the Blackwater Castle would have to catch their own fish. I would rather sell them on the markets of Helmark, because the merchants there pay the same amount that my father receives from the high elves. And Helmarks inhabitants are mostly criminals. It's not enough to live or die on."
Silence filled the small house while the young woman processed the fish.
"I understand," Trálír said, regret in his voice.
His stomach knotted painfully at the fact that this young girl, whom he still didn't know her name, was talking about the inhabitants of the castle. His father's castle. Their eyes met and this time he saw no more anger in them, only a deep pain. And the unpleasant reality of this unfair treatment.

"When will your father return?" he asked, looking out the open door.
"At sunset," she replied, and there was a deep exhaustion in her voice to hear.
"As I am in your debt regarding the behavior of my clan, I am now obliged to help you for a while longer." Trálír stood up and Anwyn looked at him, startled.
"No, please don't," she replied quickly. "My words were not meant like that. You are not responsible for how others behave and you are not accountable to me."
A soft smile played around the High Elf's lips, which also reached his blue-green eyes.
"What work should I do before your father comes home? And please don't hold back, I am happy to help."
"The stable," Anwyn gave in because she suspected that the High Elf would not be dissuaded from his plan. "The stable needs mucking out. The two goats will find their own way into the run, Oksa the donkey will have to be led in."
"So be it."

*****

Trálír spent the next two hours mucking out the stable while the girl, still unknown to him, sat in the house and processed the fish in the brine.
As she had announced, the two goats found their own way into the run while he had to lead the donkey out of the stable. His stallion Arod, who until then had been standing next to the wooden shed eating grass, whinnied to indicate that he wanted to follow the donkey. He sniffed with interest at the older animal, which was good-naturedly tolerating his curiosity.
Trálír carried out his work in silence and when he had finished, he led the goats back into the stable without resistance. He clicked his tongue and his horse, which had been standing next to the old donkey for the last two hours, came walking towards him at a leisurely pace. To his surprise, he watched as the old donkey followed Arod and then allowed himself to be led into the stable.
Trálír looked at the horizon and saw that the sun was slowly setting and the firmament was turning reddish. He was aware that the girl's father could appear at any moment and he wanted to avoid running into him out of a need not to get her into trouble for his presence. He turned in the direction of the house and saw her standing in the doorway.

"I wish I could invite you to dinner to thank you. It's not much, but..."
"That's not necessary," Trálír interrupted her in a gentle voice. "I don't expect anything in return for my help."
He stepped towards her and cleared his throat.
"Would you allow me to visit you again in two days?"
Anwyn nodded slowly even though her gaze was questioning.
"To see how the healing of your sprained ankle is progressing, of course."
Trálír gave her a smile, then turned away, strode towards his black horse and swung himself elegantly onto the saddle. He clicked his tongue once more to signal the stallion to set off.
Suddenly he heard the girl say something and he glanced over his shoulder.
"Anwyn," she said with a shy smile. "My name is Anwyn."

*****

Late in the evening, Trálír sat in his chamber by candlelight at his table, which was covered in numerous documents and scrolls. He was so absorbed in them that he overheared a knock at the door.
It was only when he heard footsteps that he looked up to see his younger brother. As he was dressed completely in black, it would have been impossible to recognize him in the darkness of the night, so much so that he blended in with it.
"What brings you here at this time?" Trálír asked while Teárlach asked the following question: "What are you being forced to do now?"
The older brother laughed softly and looked at Teárlach challengingly. "Well, where have you been? It's well past midnight."
Teárlach shrugged his shoulders and removed his leather gloves as he walked towards an armchair that stood at an angle to Trálír's desk and was made of sturdy oak with a dark blue velvet seat cushion.
"This and that," he replied calmly and sank into the armchair.
"Which could mean that you have been pursuing your magical interests in some dark and mysterious crypts, couldn't it?" asked Trálír.
Teárlach gave his brother a nonchalant smile. "Possibly?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if there were rumors about you and some strange cult," he said, mockery in his voice. But Teárlach was well aware that the words of his older brother was only superficial and he wanted to know if there was any truth to the rumors.
As Teárlach sat in the shadows and the pale light of the candles was only reflected in his amber eyes, it looked for a moment as if a demon was looking at Trálír from the depths of darkness.
But then he heard Teárlach laugh.
"You shouldn't believe everything you hear," the younger brother replied. "A little magic never hurt anyone, especially not us High Elves. It is nothing more than a little distraction."
Trálír looked at Teárlach with a furrowed brow.
"Is that so? Our clan has used magic to subjugate other lands and learned spells to enslave others," he replied. "I would remind you that in the centuries of our existence there have been one or two High Elves who have turned out to be warlocks by making dark pacts. And it has been more than thousands of years since a High Elf was born who turned out to be a Wizard."
Teárlach looked at his older brother and raised an eyebrow.
"There are only these two options, Teárlach. You learn spells or you make a pact with evil."
His words hung like a dark shadow between him and his younger brother.
"So you're implying that I would make a pact with evil?" Teárlach asked emotionlessly and Trálír's heart stopped for a moment.
Would it really be possible that words whispered in the dark would lead to a pact that could bring disaster to everyone in this land? Would his younger brother really be capable of that? he asked himself with an anxious heart.

"Trálír, brother, my heart is pure. I only use magic as an occupation against my boredom, like I told you a few moments ago," the younger brother replied with a serene smile on his beautifully curved lips. "As a second-born, I have no important task, so I play with a spell or two. You don't have to fill your heart with worry." He shrugged his shoulders. Trálír nodded slowly and looked intently at his brother, who leaned forward and reached for a crystal decanter filled with red wine to pour himself a glass that stood beside it.
He leaned back in his chair and watched the younger elf, who took a sip of red wine and finally looked at Trálír.
"And what makes you immerse your handsome face in these numerous writings in the middle of the night?" Teárlach pointed to the scrolls.
"I'm getting an overview of the goods that are being delivered."
Teárlach raised an eyebrow and looked at Trálír in confusion.
"Deliveries of goods? Shouldn't that be the duty of our castle warden? Why do you care?"
"Shouldn't that also be my task when I take over from our father?" he asked his brother, who let out a snort.
"For one thing, it will be decades before father leaves the throne to you and for another, such work is intended for our castle lord. You, as firstborn, as ruler, do not have to deal with such trifles."
"For the people of our land, these are not trifles," Trálír replied in a serious voice and Teárlach began to laugh.
"Trálír, brother, I know that spending your time with other elves bores you. I am well aware that you prefer the silence of the forest and that you set off on a hunt whenever there is a chance that you might have to deal with politics, but human inhabitents of our lands? What do you care about humans?"
It was on the tip of Trálír's tongue to say that Teárlach sounded like their father, but he swallowed his words as he suspected that his younger brother would be annoyed and possibly getting angry by this statement. So he just shrugged his shoulders, but the Secondborn didn't let that distract him.

"Now tell me what's going on in the firstborn's head?" he asked Trálír.
"There must be a reason why you are suddenly concerned about our human inhabitants. You even avoid contact with your own kind, so what could humans give you that you can't get from our own people?"
Trálír did not answer, instead he reached for a second glass on the table and poured himself some wine. As he took a sip, he felt the waiting gaze of his younger brother on him.
"So you don't want to share your secrets and plans with me, huh?" Teárlach asked, raising an eyebrow with interest.
"There are no secrets," Trálír replied and looked at him with a blank expression.
"Really, is that so?" asked Teárlach and took another sip. "Then I take it that you have suddenly made a ... human acquaintance?
His piercing gaze from amber-colored eyes caused Trálír's heart to stop beating for a moment.
To his detriment Teárlach had a very good sense of his older brother's feelings and thoughts. He casually sank back into the comfortable armchair and smiled contentedly at Trálír.

"I see," he said and his dark voice sounded velvety soft. "A human lover? I am surprised, brother. I would have rather imagined you drunk to the bone, seducing the first willing elf in the castle garden. Or staying a virgin for the first 500 years of your life." Teárlach raised his glass and toasted him. "But it seems that you are closer to the human women. They are willing little beasts who will do anything for you if you just make them feel special."
„Well, then I certainly won't contradict you," Trálír said and also raised his glass to show Teárlach that he was of the same opinion. But nothing was further from his mind than the words of his brother, who was only two years younger. It was repugnant to him to even waste a thought on thinking such a thing. Nevertheless, Trálír did not want to confess to him what was really on his mind.
"Well, I think it's getting late," he said to Teárlach, sitting up and pointing to his bed at the other end of the large chamber. "I wish you a good night, Teárlach."
His younger brother placed the glass on the table and grinned at Trálír. "Then I wish you some pleasant dreams." He winked at him, rose from the armchair and left without saying another word the room.
When he heard the door quietly close, Trálír literally slumped down.
He had to make sure with all his might that no one, not a single person from this castle, would find out that this young woman, a human, had sparked his interest.
Trálír could find no obvious reason, nor could he find words for the feeling inside him that made him realize that nothing good would happen if his father or even his brother knew about his visits to Anwyn.

Chapter Text

Before the first rays of dawn touched the land, Anwyn sat on her camp and quietly opened the wooden box in which her clothes were stored. Although the sea breeze brought a pleasant coolness, the last two days had been so warm that she decided to wear a light green linen skirt and a white blouse with short sleeves.
She needed clothes made of lightweight fabric as she planned to collect wood in the forest together with Trálír which she would store in the cellar for the winter.
Blackwater's winters were cruel, deadly and you had to be well prepared for them. If you didn't have enough firewood for even one night, you wouldn't live to see the next morning. The smell of death would not only attract wolves or bears, but also many creatures from the depths of the sea that would feast on the bodies of the dead.
But Anwyn didn't want to think about that as she slipped out of the house barefoot and wearing only a simple linen nightgown. She closed the door carefully behind her and walked to the spring.
She looked around in the dawn and realized that there was no one or anything near her. Anwyn was safe, so she stripped off her nightdress and underwear and stood in the small stream that reached just above her knees where she stand.

She took a deep breath as the spring water was fresh but cold. With narrowed eyes, she dropped to her knees and began to wash herself. On the pile of fresh clothes lay one of Anwyn's most prized possessions. A bar of lavender soap which her father had given her for her 15th birthday and which she guarded like a dragon a mighty treasure of gold.
Anwyn dipped her hair in the water and began to wash herself carefully with the soap. Even though the day promised to be warm, the spring water was so cold that she hurried to get out of the stream, dried herself quickly with a linen towel and get dressed.
Anwyn combed her hair, which reached her waist, and decided to wear it in a braid, as she had the feeling that her locks looked like a pile of birds' nests once they were dry.
With a smile, she looked up at the sun rising over the woods and bathing the sky in a fiery red.
She could hardly contain her excitement because Trálír had announced his arrival for early midday.
He had found her in the forest on this day exactly four weeks ago and since then his visits had become a regular part of Anwyn's daily routine. Her ankle had long since healed, but the High Elf insisted on continuing to help her. She had no idea what his motives were, but she was glad for his presence. Since her childhood, Anwyn had only known her father and the few villagers she met on the market once a week. The residents of the small village were reserved and no more than a few words were exchanged. She never had any friends, not as a young child, not now.

Anwyn's life consisted of living with her father, her daily work and dealing with Oksa, the donkey and the two goats.
And then Trálír, the High Elf, had appeared and after the initial mistrust she harboured towards him, she quickly realized that the prejudices of the humans did not apply to him.
The young elf was neither condescending nor judgmental, he was interested in Anwyn and her life.
At first she thought Trálír was making fun of her when he asked what work she had to do, but to her surprise his interest was genuine.
And to her own disbelief, Anwyn had to admit to herself that she enjoyed his presence. So far he hadn't said much about himself, only that he lived at Blackwater Castle, looked after the horses and went hunting.
His answers to her questions were always short but never unkind.
Only two days ago, he had confessed to her that his existence at the castle felt like being in a dungeon and that he enjoyed every minute in the forest, in the silence, more than the contact with the elves around him.
The look in his blue-green eyes was filled with melancholy and Anwyn would have liked to comfort him, but she didn't know how. She had always been taught since childhood that High Elves did not appreciate the presence of humans.
After this confession, he had said goodbye to Anwyn, climbed into the saddle and asked for her permission to visit her again. Her heart stumbled for a moment, then she gave him her consent.

Anwyn grabbed her laundry and walked back to the house. When she opened the door, she looked at her father in surprise, who gazed at her with serious eyes.
"It's not even dawn yet and you're already awake?"
His voice was dark from sleep.
Anwyn went to her wooden box at the end of her camp and put the soap in a little box. She put her worn clothes on her camp so she wouldn't forget to wash them afterwards. "I have a lot planned for today, Father," she said, trying not to sound as if she had been caught doing something forbidden. "First I'll prepare your breakfast, then I'll take care of the laundry, the goats need to be fed and put out to pasture and then I want to go into the forest and collect wood for the winter," she explained and reached for two wooden plates and mugs on the shelf above her bed, which she then placed on the table.
"We'll gather wood for the winter together, Anwyn," the old man said, looking at her attentively.
"Oh father, I can go into the forest on several days and collect dry wood. It's better for you if you don't have to carry such heavy loads."
With a grumble, he nodded and sat down at the table. Anwyn breathed a sigh of relief as she placed the bread she had just bought yesterday, some honey and jam on the table. She sat down and cut herself a slice, which she spread with the sweet honey.

In silence, Anwyn and her father ate breakfast and when they had finished, she got up, grabbed the dishes and took them outside where she placed them in a small tin tub half filled with water. Anwyn got down on her knees and started washing plates, cups and knives while she listened to her father getting ready for his daily work at the sea. As he stepped out of the house, he stopped short and looked at her questioningly.
"Father?" Anwyn's voice was worried as she couldn't interpret his look. "Is something troubling you?"
The old fisherman shook his head and gave his daughter a loving smile. "Be careful in the forest, Anwyn. Promise me that."
"Of course," she replied, watching as her father nodded to her and then walked towards the shore. Anwyn frowned for a moment, wondering why he had chosen those words. She was often alone in the forest, especially all those years when Tralir hadn't played a role in her life.
She frequently searched for mushrooms, fruit and wild herbs. She used the first two things as additional food and the wild herbs as spices and teas.
Sometimes she brought them to Olghar, the healer of the village, who used the herbs for ointments, infusions or creams.
Many a night Anwyn dreamed of asking the old man to teach her all he knew and she suspected he would be open to it, but her father was old and needed her help. Anwyn could not leave him alone and had therefore decided that her wish to heal and help would remain a wish. Nevertheless, she visited Olghar from time to time and was allowed to borrow books on healing and the power of plants, which she read with serious interest in her limited free time. When the old healer had too much pig fat, he gave her the rest, which she could use to make her own ointments to relieve the pain in her father's arthritic joints.
She was also always given a few copper coins for the herbs, which she hid in an old leather bag under her mattress.
Now Anwyn took the dishes out of the tub, dried them and went back into the house where she put them back on the shelf. Since she reckoned that she would still have time until the High Elf arrived, she began to lay the blankets on the wooden frame to air them out, then she took the old broom and swept out the large room, where there were two large wooden boxes, a small table with two chairs, a stool and in the two back corners of the house were the sleeping quarters of her father and herself. There were some shelves on the walls and lots of dried herbs and food were attached to them.
When one of them left the house and walked along the narrow path between it and the stable, there were two flaps on the side.

To enter the cellar, they had to bend over and open it to the side with all their strength, after which they could climb the stairs and enter the surprisingly large cellar. There, her father and Anwyn kept everything they needed for the fall and winter, such as wood, canned food, thick clothes for the winter and the like.
After Anwyn had swept the room clean, she put the used clothes in a basket and carried them to the spring to wash them. Although it was still quite early in the morning and the heat of the day was not yet apparent, Anwyn could feel the sweat on the back of her neck. After wringing out the laundry and spreading it out on some large stones lying nearby, she scooped up some water with her hands and rubbed it on the back of her neck.
Finally, she went back, fed the animals and let them out into the run. She was standing by the fence and scratching Oska's ears extensively when she heard the snorting of Arod, who was already announcing his arrival and thus ruining Trálír's surprise appearance.
Smiling, Anwyn patted the donkey's back, then turned and raised her hand in greeting.
"Trálír," she called out delightedly.
Her gaze swept over him, who was dismounting from his stallion at that moment, dressed in dark brown leather trousers and a white shirt with a V-collar. Eyelets were worked into the fabric at intervals of just two centimeters and connected by a narrow cord made of suede.
Trálír's hair was tied back at the nape of his neck and cascaded down his back. He smiled as he leashed the stallion's reins at the stable door and strode towards her.
"Anwyn, it's good to see you," he greeted her with a gentle smile.
"I can say the same for myself," she replied, clearing her throat sheepishly. Anwyn felt her cheeks turn red, stepped past him and in front of Arod, who looked at her with upturned ears and dark brown eyes. She carefully raised her hand towards his nostrils and offered him her palm. Arod took a step towards her and laid his head in her palm. He gave a relaxed growl and Anwyn smiled.
"He likes you," she heard Trálír say and looked up at him as he suddenly stood next to her. "Arod is very picky when it comes to who gets his attention and who doesn't."
"He's a beautiful animal," Anwyn whispered and stroked his fur gently.
"Yes, he is," Trálír replied. "But today he will have to earn our attention. I have already harnessed a kumt* to him and I will stretch a large cloth between the chains in the forest so that we can store the branches on it and Arod can pull them to the house."
"Normally that's the work of a cold-blooded stallion, right?," Anwyn replied and Trálír raised an eyebrow in surprise at this knowledge. "Arod doesn't look like he's used to such work."
"Arod has many talents. He's not often used as a back horse but he knows the work."
He grabbed the reins and led his stallion back onto the path.
"Oh, wait a minute," Anwyn called suddenly and ran back into the house. When she stepped out again and pulled the door shut behind her, she was carrying a basket in the crook of her arm.
"To eat on the way," she explained to Trálír and joined him.

As they walked together towards the forest, Anwyn asked with interest about his morning and Trálír told her that after getting up he had taken care of the horses in the stables and then helped the hunting master feed the hounds.
He concealed the fact that this was no work for the heir to the ruler, just like the breakfast they had eaten together with his father and brother in icy silence. He also kept quiet about the history lessons with the First Monk.
"And that was all the work you had to do?" Anwyn asked, carefully climbing over a few thin branches lying on the ground. As they walked closer and closer to the forest, the sandy bay receded and was replaced by the forest floor, which was littered with a mixture of leaves, needles and other plant layers.
"I'll go hunting after I've helped you," Trálír said quickly and Anwyn frowned.
"You don't have a bow or arrow with you. Are you going to throw yourself at a bear and hope its heart fails?"
Trálír laughed out loud and Anwyn grinned.
"Well, we High Elves have certain talents that are not well known. Our charm on bears has a stupefying effect."
"It should be the same with boars, shouldn't it?"
"If I encounter a boar, I would like to have a sword at hand," Trálír replied.
"Since you have neither bow nor arrow and there is no sword in sight, you will probably have to make do with my hand when I reach for you to escape," Anwyn said lightly and smiled.
"I would not oppose that," the tall Elf replied and smiled as well. Anwyn's cheeks reddened slightly and she glanced quickly past him into the increasingly dense forest. He felt her heartbeat quicken as well as her breathing.
"I think we should stop here," Trálír said and looked at the clearing that suddenly opened up in front of them. "I could attach Arod's reins to the big oak tree and stretch the cloth between the chains so that we can put the wood we've collected on it."
Anwyn nodded.
They walked into the clearing together and Arod followed his master obediently. While Trálír leaned forward to stretch the cloth he had mentioned, Anwyn put down her basket and let her gaze glide over the clearing. She was already beginning to pick up thin deadwood around Arod, as it was only permitted for people to gather branches in this land. The felling of trees was reserved only for the Elves and for the people which lived at the castle or worked for it. While Anwyn gathered the wood, she kept glancing at Trálír, who stretched the cloth with skillful hands, finally straightened up and gave her a look. His smile was warm as he gave her an encouraging nod.

For the next few hours, they were both absorbed in picking up deadwood and worked their way across the clearing to the edge where the forest became more impenetrable again. The tall trees made it pleasantly cool and the pile of wood on the stretched cloth grew larger and larger.
"Let's take a little break," Trálír called to Anwyn, who was just reaching for another branch lying on the ground a few meters away from him. She nodded in reply, walked over to Arod and lowered the pile of wood in her arms onto the already impressively grown heap. She wiped the sweat from her brow and smiled as Trálír dropped his collected wood to the ground as well.
Anwyn looked around and, to her surprise, pointed to a large beech tree with a few primroses growing next to its trunk. Instantly she remembered her second meeting with the elf and the flowers he had brought her. She went to her basket, picked it up and walked to the spot she had chosen. She took a blanket out of it and laid it on the floor, then knelt down and brought all sorts of things to light.

Tralir watched in surprise as she placed a loaf of bread and ham, cheese, honey, wild strawberries, butter, eggs and milk on the blanket and then looked up at him.
"I know it's not much," she said apologetically. "But I hope it's enough to fill you up."
Trálír settled down next to her and shook his head.
"That would be enough for a family of four."
To his own surprise, he was uncomfortable that Anwyn had gone to such trouble, for he knew that neither cheese nor ham could be bought cheaply.
It would have been easy for him to go to the castle pantry and help himself, but the thought had not occurred to him.
"You shouldn't have gone to such trouble," he said quietly as Anwyn cut the bread. "Dried fish and some water would have sufficed."
"I've seen, processed, dried and eaten so many fish in my life that I was happy to do without."
She reached for the butter and spread it on the slices of bread.
"And I wanted it to be something special," she whispered, avoiding his gaze. Trálír smiled.
"It is," he replied.
Cheese and ham were also cut into pieces and Anwyn looked at him invitingly.
"Help yourself."
Trálír reached for a slice of bread and took a bite.
"I know ham and cheese aren't cheap," he said, chewing and reaching for a piece of cheese. "Did you spend a lot on this meal?"
"It doesn't matter," Anwyn replied, sheepishly brushing a strand of hair from her face that had come loose from her braided pigtail.
He nodded and respected her answer, asking no further questions although he suspected that she had sacrificed part of her savings. Trálír knew that her father's pay barely allowed for coin to be set aside. "How do you know that only a cold-blooded horse can do good work as a back horse? Many an elf has no idea," he said, changing the direction of the conversation.
"When I was young, we had a mare that was trained as a back horse. Saelind was a beautiful white mare. Not big, but with a strong spirit," Anwyn replied and poured the milk into two wooden mugs. "She was already old when I was born, but she lived until I was seven. I learned to ride on her."
"You can ride?" Trálír asked in surprise and Anwyn nodded shyly in reply.
"You surprise me with each passing day that I get to know you, Anwyn."
She looked up and met Tralir's gaze from deep-set blue-green eyes.
"I thank the gods that I crossed your path four weeks ago."
"You should rather thank the root I stumbled over," Anwyn replied with a grin and handed Trálír the cup of milk. He laughed, raised the cup and toasted her. "To the root!"
"To the root," she repeated with a cheeky grin.

Then they both enjoyed their meal together until they were full. With the last bite, Trálír let out a contented sigh and sank onto his back.
"That was the best meal I've had in a long time," he said with his eyes closed. Anwyn, who was sitting next to him, supported herself with her hands and looked at the elf. Her eyes slid over his hairline to his finely arched dark eyebrows. His eyelashes were long, his nose narrow and his lips finely curved.
Anwyn felt the urge to touch the elf's smooth skin with her fingertips and feel the warmth of his body. If she were brave like many a woman, she would lean over and gently touch his lips with hers, but she unconsciously shook her head and called herself to her senses.
Instead, she did as Trálír did and let herself sink onto her back.
They both lay on the blanket with their eyes closed and listened to each other's breathing.
Trálír, who had the ability to sense what his counterpart was thinking and feeling, had decided not to do so and to trust his instincts. A small branch, or perhaps a stone, pricked his shoulder and he shifted slightly to the right to reposition himself when he suddenly felt Anwyn's warm skin on his little finger. He opened his eyes and saw out of the corner of it that his hand and hers were touching. His heartbeat quickened as he made the decision to touch his little finger to hers and gently encircle it.
He held his breath but Anwyn did not withdraw her hand. Instead, he heard her breathing quicken as well.
And this confirmed Tralir's decision to take the next step by clasping her hand and intertwining their fingers.
Tralir waited with a pounding heart for her reaction, but again she did not withdraw her hand.
Slowly, the Elf straightened up and looked at Anwyn lying next to him with her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell slightly and her cheeks were a little a bit flushed. Gently, Trálír leaned over her and supported himself with his left arm so that his weight would not burden her. A few centimeters from her face, he paused and asked her softly: "Anwyn? Will you give me your permission?"
She opened her eyes, her gaze was warm and full of affection. A smile that warmed Trálír's heart was her answer and as he leaned forward, Anwyn closed her eyes.
His lips tenderly touched her lower lip and their first kiss was one of sweet innocence.
The grip of her fingers on Trálír's right hand tightened as his lips pressed gently against hers.

*****

* = A horse collar is a part of a horse harness that is used to distribute the load around a horse's neck and shoulders when pulling a wagon or plough. The collar often supports and pads a pair of curved metal or wooden pieces, called hames, to which the traces of the harness are attached. The collar allows the horse to use its full strength when pulling, essentially enabling the animal to push forward with its hindquarters into the collar. If wearing a yoke or a breastcollar, the horse had to pull with its less-powerful shoulders. The collar had another advantage over the yoke as it reduced pressure on the horse's windpipe.
(Source: Wikipedia)

Chapter Text

The old fisherman laboriously pulled his boat ashore and sank exhausted onto the edge when it was finally in its usual place. For safety, the man looped a rope around a dead tree trunk that was still about two meters in diameter and anchored deep in the ground so that the boat would not be lost even with a surprising tide.
Despite the long hours at sea in the blazing sun, he had not managed a successful catch. Shortly before rowing back to the beach, he had emptied the squid cages and was able to bring home a few octopoids.
Doran, as he was called, took a deep breath of the salty sea air, stretched and finally stood up. He reached for the octopuses and walked towards the house when he suddenly stopped in surprise.
His daughter was sitting on the beach not far from him, her hands folded in her lap and her gaze fixed on the vastness of the sea.
She was so deep in thought that Doran's surprise gave way to palpable anger.
“Anwyn!” he shouted angrily, snapping her out of her thoughts and making her look at him in shock.
“Do you want to end up as food for the Sahuagins, child? See that you get off the beach and walk home as fast as your legs can carry you!”
“But father,” Anwyn began, shaking her head. “It's safe here. I looked around, there is nothing to worry about.”
“No, it's not,” her father shouted angrily. “It's never safe by the sea. Go back into the house and wait until I get back!”
His daughter bit her lip guiltily, but nevertheless stood up and followed his instructions.
The old man's heart was literally racing with anger, but behind this lay the fear of losing his child. As he approached the house, Anwyn stood uncertainly at the door and avoided his gaze.
“What makes you think you can sit on the beach, Anwyn? Didn't I raise you to know what dangers you were exposing yourself to?” His voice was dark with anger.
“Of course I know that, Father,” she replied with a hint of defiance in her voice. “I was born and raised by the sea, I know the dangers. And I didn't recognize any risk.”
Doran shook his head.
“If the Sahuagins flocked to the beach in pairs, it would have been too late and you wouldn't have stood a chance,” he said angrily, hanging the squid over the wooden rack.
“I would have noticed,” Anwyn replied, looking at her father challengingly. “I know about the dangers.”
“Child,” Doran warned his daughter. “You know the dangers, but you can't defend yourself. Before you had taken a single step, you would have been impaled by their sharp spears and they would have eaten you alive. So don't try to lecture me. The beach is forbidden to you. It has always been forbidden to you and that will not change in the future.”

“Father!”
“Do not argue with me, Anwyn.” He looked around the small forecourt and frowned. “Where is the wood you wanted to collect?”
“In the cellar,” Anwyn replied narrowly, avoiding her father's gaze as he stared at her sullenly.
This child's stubbornness is going to send me to my grave, he thought and walked around the house, opened the doors and stepped down into the cellar. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped in surprise and called for his daughter.
Anwyn appeared in the cellar entrance and looked down at her father. When she noticed that he wasn't looking up at her, she walked down the few steps and stood next to him.
“The wood...” he mentioned and looked at her questioningly.
“Yes?”
“How did you get this amount of dead wood?”
“By collecting it,” Anwyn replied slowly.
“This amount? You can't even find that much wood in three days.”
Anwyn shrugged her shoulders as her father frowned at her and avoided his gaze.
“You couldn't have brought that much wood out of the forest on your own, Anwyn. Who helped you?”
“No one.”
“Anwyn.” There was clearly a warning in Doran's voice. “You'd better not lie to me.”
“Well, it was someone from the village,” she replied quickly. “A child.”
“A child?” her father replied with a raised eyebrow. “And which child might that have been?”
“A child from the village. How was I supposed to know his name?”

“Anwyn,” he warned his daugther again.
“Very well, there were several children and I gave them a few copper coins from my savings. I wanted to surprise you.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Are you happy now?”
She turned, trudged up the steps and disappeared from his sight.
A group of village children in the forest? Doran wondered. Why would they be so far away from their village? Had they come across Anwyn while playing or hunting?
It would have been possible, wouldn't it? Who else could have been a help to Anwyn?
The old man strode up the steps, closed the door behind him and went back into the house. Anwyn was sitting on her camp with her legs drawn up and one of the Barder's books in front of her, which she was reading.
For the rest of the evening, neither of them spoke a word to each other.

*****

It was early in the morning when the door to Trálír's chamber opened and the young Elf stepped into the corridor. A few torches still flickered on the walls to illuminate the dark long gallery, but he would have had no difficulty finding his way even in the darkness.
When Trálír had crossed through it, he turned left, walked down the grand staircase and entered the Great Hall.
The fire in the middle wasn't burning and there was not a soul to be seen.
Trálír's footsteps echoed through the high hall as he cut through it and then opened the wide double doors to the castle courtyard.

Despite the early hour, it was already relatively busy. Trálír nodded to the servants and strode into the stables, his eyes searching for the stable master.
"Good morning," Trálír greeted the older man and stepped up to Arod, who was standing attentively in his stall. He nuzzled his beloved horse’s neck and the stallion gave a contented snort.
"Fairre, would you please saddle Arod?"
The old man nodded, grabbed the blanket, saddle and bridle while Trálír walked a few steps further and stopped at a stall where a slightly smaller bay mare stood.
"Rodwen, my beauty," Trálír whispered and also scratched her behind her ears. The mare neighed delightedly. "We have a little adventure planned today, my noble one. I'm going to introduce you to a young woman whose heart is so big and wide like the ocean. And I can tell you a little secret, because I completely lost myself in it."
An embarrassed laugh slipped over his lips as he realized that he had just confessed to his mare that he was in love with Anwyn.
He opened the stall and reached for a blanket lying on a stack of hay behind him. Trálír stood next to the Horse and spread the blanket over her back.
He knew that Rodwen's character was calm and reliable, so he left the box and looked for a narrower saddle suitable for a woman. When he found one, he took it in his arms and stepped back into the box. Lost in thought, he saddled Rodwen first, then put the bridle on her.
"Why do you need a second horse?"
Trálír winced as he heard the dark voice of his younger brother. He turned with a sigh and looked reproachfully at Teárlach.
"You shouldn't always sneak up on me like that. It'll be the death of you someday."
"I doubt that since you have neither dagger nor sword at hand," Teárlach replied with a grin and leaned against the wall with one leg bent. He looked at his older brother attentively.
"Are you planning to sell Rodwen or why are you taking a second horse to the hunt?"
His particular emphasis was on the word hunt and Teárlach's smile was mocking. Trálír took a deep breath.
"I'm taking her so she can get some exercise," he replied curtly, looking at his younger brother with mild annoyance. Teárlach brushed back the shoulder-length black hair that had fallen into his face and then looked at the fingernails on his right hand with interest.
"Wouldn't that be the work of a groom, brother?"
Trálír remained silent and nuzzled the mare.
"Or do you want to impress your human lover with a ride together?"
Teárlach noted how Trálír's broad shoulders tensed at the mention of his secret mistress. A smile slid across his lips. He was on the right track.
"Perhaps you should take a lover too, Teárlach, and not keep yourself busy with me."
His younger brother raised a dark eyebrow in amusement.
"Who says I don't, brother? Do you think I only scurry around in dark vaults and utter dark magical words?"
Teárlach laughed. "I scurry around in dark vaults and drink my fill of the desires of human women who can't wait to give themselves to me. Like I said, they are willing little beasts when you tell them what they want to hear."
Trálír rolled his eyes.
"Now come on, don't be a spoilsport. You seem to have gotten in on the fun yourself, don't you?"
Teárlach felt cold anger flare up in his brother.
Well, well, the firstborn is losing his temper, he thought with delight.
Trálír turned slowly to face his brother and he could barely suppress the anger in his blue-green eyes.
"Fine, go ahead and make fun of me, Teárlach. I have more important things to do," the elf said curtly, grabbing the mare's and Arod's reins and striding past his brother, who held his hands up almost apologetically.
"I was just joking," Teárlach called after his brother, but he left the stables without saying another word. Before leaving the castle, he went to the blacksmith and grabbed a sword, two daggers, a bow and his quiver.
Trálír had no idea that this decision would save his and Anwyn's lives.

Chapter Text

"Anwyn?"
Surprised, Anwyn lifted her head from the trousers she was mending and tilted it to the side as if she had imagined that someone had called out to her.
Didn't that sound like Trálír's voice? she asked herself, putting the trousers, needle and thread aside and rose from her chair. She opened the door and saw the High Elf elegantly dismount from Arod, wrap his reins around the handle of the stable door and smile at her. To Anwyn's astonishment, a small mare stood patiently beside him while he held her reins in his left hand.
"Trálír," Anwyn called out in surprise, looking first at him and then at the horse standing next to the elf. "What are you doing here with a second horse? I don't understand."
"You told me you could ride," Trálír replied, beaming with joy and pointing at the Horse. "This is Rodwen, a mare of noble blood, strong and yet obedient. She would certainly enjoy a ride by the sea."
He looked at Anwyn curiously. "And you too, perhaps?"
"I am not so sure about that," Anwyn replied slowly as she remembered her father's words. A shadow slid across her pretty face, which did not go unnoticed by Trálír. He frowned and looked at her questioningly. As she had done so many times before, she avoided his gaze and intertwined her fingers. Ever since he had known her, this was a sign that something was on her mind.
Trálír also tied the mare's reins to the stable door and then walked towards Anwyn. She looked at him uncertainly as he came closer step by step and then turned her gaze back to the ground. When Trálír stood in front of her, he tenderly took her hands in his and his voice was soft.
"Anwyn, is there something weighing on your heart?"
She shook her head but Trálír sensed the heaviness in her thoughts.
"If I have surprised you or my presence is not agreeable to you, I will leave immediately. There is nothing I wish to impose on you."
Anwyn looked up at him and her voice was quiet. "It's … I don't know how to … " She broke off with a sigh.
"What troubles your heart?" Trálír asked gently and stroked her fingers tenderly with his thumbs.
Anwyn took a deep breath but the words she would have liked to say did not come out. Trálír realized that she was struggling with her thoughts and emotions.
"Please close your eyes, Anwyn."
He looked at her encouragingly as their eyes crossed.
Anwyn hesitated at first, but then she took another deep breath and closed her eyes.
"What do you want?" Trálír repeated softly.
"I want to get on this horse and ride away. Just ride away without a single thought and I want to feel the wind in my hair," Anwyn whispered. "I want to feel the horse carry me across the sand, feel the spray on my skin, listen to the gallop of the horses."
Trálír smiled.
"And I want to experience this together with you."
He leaned forward to Anwyn and kissed her tenderly while placing his right hand gently on her cheek.
"So be it," Trálír whispered as their lips parted. He grabbed her hand and was about to walk towards the horses when she suddenly stopped.
"Wait a moment," Anwyn said and closed the door of the house behind him. You never knew who or what might find their way into an open building, she thought. Together they walked to the horses and Trálír helped Anwyn into the saddle. As his hands clasped her right ankle to help her, Anwyn felt her heart beat up to her throat. She was wearing a simple white linen dress and since her mare's saddle was not a side saddle, she sat astride the horse.
Anwyn noticed that her dress slipped up to her knees, giving Trálír a clear view of her bare legs.
He let go of her ankle at that moment and looked up at her.
And it was as if Anwyn was lost in his gaze.
Only when Arod let out a neigh did the two break away from each other and Anwyn watched as Trálír swung himself onto the saddle and reached for the reins.
He clicked his tongue and the stallion set off. Anwyn's mare followed without hesitation and she relaxed on the saddle. She held the reins with her right hand while she stroked the horse's neck reassuringly with the other.
Anwyn felt comfortable and safe on the mare that Trálír had brought with him as the horses made their way towards the beach.
For a brief moment she thought of her father at sea and wondered if he would discover her on the beach, but then she pushed that thought far away from her. She didn't want to think about anything else at that moment but herself, Trálír, the horses and the feeling of being able to leave everything behind.
When they reached the beach, the horses switched from a walk to a trot for a few dozen meters. Anwyn looked with a laugh at Trálír, who nodded for her to gallop. Without her giving the command, her mare also fell into a canter to follow Arod.
The wind in her hair, the spray splashing against her bare legs, the feeling of the horse galloping beneath her filled Anwyn with such intense joy that she had never experienced before.
After a few hundred meters at full gallop, Trálír reined in his stallion and fell into a relaxed trot before telling him to stop. Anwyn, who had been riding behind him, also stopped.
"That was amazing," she called happily to Trálír as he got off his horse, walked towards the mare and put his hands around Anwyn's waist, who literally jumped towards him.
"Then I was right that you would enjoy this ride?"
"Of course you were right. I loved it," Anwyn replied breathlessly and brushed her hair out of her face which was flushed but this time not out of shame or insecurity but out of pure joy. "I can hardly find the right words to tell you how this made me feel."
"You don't need to find words for it, I can see it in your eyes," Trálír replied and smiled. Only now did Anwyn realize that she was only a few centimeters away from the high elf and that his hands were still on her waist.
And without thinking, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him with her eyes closed.
The kiss was tender and innocent, but then Anwyn opened her lips and allowed Trálír to enter, exploring her gently.
His grip tightened, as did the pressure of his lips, then he suddenly reached under her legs and lifted her up without breaking the kiss.
When he reached a small dune protected by tall grass, he went to his knees and gently set Anwyn down.
"The horses?" she asked in a whisper.
"They won't need us right now," he replied with a grin. Anwyn put her hands on the back of his neck and pulled Trálír with her into the warm sand. Closing her eyes, she found his lips and explored him gently.
His lips were warm and soft, his tongue slid into her mouth, playing with hers and his even teeth nibbled gently on her lower lip. Anwyn pulled Trálír closer, his hands sliding down either side of her dress from her waist to her thighs. As she felt his fingers on the edge of her skirt, she noticed a heat inside her which was a complete new experience for her. Unconsciously, a moan slipped from Anwyn's lips and she felt Trálír's body tense. His right index finger slid over the inside of her thigh and Anwyn's kiss became more urgent.
Her hands slid from his face to his neck and along his shoulders but then suddenly an ominous roar sounded from a conch shell and Anwyn's blood froze in her veins.
Trálír tore immediately himself away from her and pushed Anwyn with his left hand at the same time with the intention to protect her.
The horses neighed fearfully and she saw out of the corner of her eye that they fell into a panicked gallop, leaving her and Trálír behind.

Anwyn looked towards the beach and saw five Sahugains rising from the water.
"Sea Devils," she whispered, terrified. Everything inside her screamed to flee, but she was trapped in a state of shock and couldn't move. Her eyes widened in horror as she saw Trálír quickly stand up and unsheathe his sword while the humanoid creatures approached him lurking, raising their spears in his direction and letting out guttural cries.
The five monsters were male in size and the streaky scales on their bodies were green, darker on their backs and lighter on their bellies. Despite their obvious resemblance to fish, they walked on two legs, and the webbed feet and hands seemed to give them no trouble on the sand.
The largest of the Sahuagin gave a shrill cry as it opened its powerful jaws, revealing its long and sharp fangs. The four remaining humanoids approached Trálír and began to encircle him. Anwyn watched with a racing heart as they came closer to the waiting elf and then suddenly realized out of the corner of her eye that the largest, the leader, was walking towards her. His bright green eyes glittered dangerously.
With a gasp, Anwyn pushed herself backwards and tried to stand up, but she got caught in the long dune grass and lost her balance. Another cry rang out from the Sahuagin's mouth and its slimy hands grabbed her ankle. Anwyn screamed in panic as gurgling noises came from the humanoid's mouth, his vision clouded and he slumped to the ground.
She saw that a dagger was stuck in the back of his head and her gaze slid to Trálír, whose body was turned sideways towards the four monsters as he had thrown the dagger.
A Sahuagin gave an angry cry and charged forward, its spear aimed directly at Trálír's chest. The Elf, however, turned quickly and skillfully to the side so that the spear slid along his upper arm. A quick thrust with the sword and the second Sahuagin warrior fell to the ground with a stab wound in his chest.
At that moment, the remaining three humanoids rushed at Trálír, who skillfully dodged their blows and parried with his sword. A scream followed and Anwyn saw a severed arm lying on the sand, followed by more blows from the weapons. Guttural screams, Trálír's sword clashed with another spear and Anwyn heard fabric tearing.
The smell of salt, fish and blood was overwhelming and she saw Trálír turn agilely, parry the numerous attempts of the remaining spears to impale him with his sword, take a few steps to the side, then take a step forward, stab, raise the sword and let it swing down. Another guttural scream, another severed arm. Anwyn saw his shirt turn red as he cut off the last Sahuagin warrior's head with a powerful blow from his sword, which came rolling to rest at her feet.
The humanoid body collapsed and Trálír immediately ran to Anwyn, who looked at him in panic with wide eyes.
"Anwyn!" Trálír kicked the severed head aside, dropped his sword and went to his knees in front of her. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. Breathing heavily, Trálír pulled Anwyn into his arms and stroked her back reassuringly. He heard her whisper something and loosened his embrace so he could look at her.
"What did you say?"
"This … this is all my fault," she replied haltingly. "The Sahuagins. It's my fault and I should have known better."
"How could it be your fault?" Trálír asked, shaking his head.
"My father," Anwyn began and then broke off. Her eyes filled with tears. Trálír put his hand to her face and caught the tear with his thumb. "He had warned me yesterday about the dangers and I ignored his words. He told me I have to be careful."
She looked up at him, ashamed. "I should have known something like that could happen. How could I have forgotten that everything in this land is a danger? I... I... am so stupid."
"Shh," Trálír whispered, looking deep into her eyes. "It's not your fault, Anwyn. Sahuagins have been terrorizing the shores of the land since the beginning of time. This could have happened to us anywhere, at any time."

He reached for her hand. "Can you get up?"
Anwyn nodded and her gaze fell on Trálír's shirt, which was bloodstained on the right sleeve and showed a deep cut across his chest that was also soaked with blood.
"You're hurt!" Anwyn said in horror, but the Elf shook his head and replied in a clear voice: "It's just scratches, nothing to worry about."
While Trálír helped Anwyn to his feet, he let out a loud whistle and only a few seconds later Arod appeared in his field of vision. Rodwen followed the stallion hesitantly.
"Arod, over here," Trálír ordered the stallion to him and as he stood beside him, he reached around Anwyn's waist and helped her on the horse. Without another word, he swung onto Arod's back behind her. With his left hand he grabbed the reins while with his right hand he reached around Anwyn's waist and pulled her against him so that she could lean against his chest.
He pressed his heels lightly into the stallion's flanks, which fell into a relaxed trot as they headed back towards Anwyn’s Home.
The mare followed her master and the older stallion obediently.

The sun was at its highest point, burning down mercilessly on Trálír and Anwyn as they reached the small courtyard. The whole ride Trálír's arm was around Anwyn's waist to support her and he could still feel the tension in her body. Even though it had been a while since the attack, he could feel her heart pounding in her chest.
Trálír let go of Anwyn, dismounted and put his hands around her waist to help her off the horse. She sank against him, but immediately cleared her throat and took an unsteady step back. Trálír looked down at her and whispered, "Are you sure you can stand, Anwyn?"
She nodded. "Yes, I'm not hurt."
Her gaze fastened on his face. "But you are!"
Anwyn took another step back and stared pale at the blood-covered shirt. "Let me help you," she said, pointing at the house.
Trálír gave an affirmative nod and pointed to the horses. "But at first I'll take Arod and Rodwen to the run for safety."
Trálír watched worried as Anwyn turned and walked unsteadily to the house, opened the door and disappeared inside.
The attack had shaken her to the core.

Trálír grabbed the reins of the horses and led them around the stable to the back of the house where there was a run. As he opened the gate, he scolded himself for persuading Anwyn to go for a ride.
How had it slipped his mind that life in the Blackwater Lands and on Faerûn was such a struggle and danger for the humans and so many other races?
As a High Elf, especially as a firstborn, he was practiced in combat and could defend himself or attack. For decades he was trained in the art of sword, bow and arrows, daggers and spears.
A human like Anwyn? If she was unlucky enough to encounter one of the numerous monsters alone, she would have no chance of survival. How often had he stumbled across mangled and torn bodies in the woods or on the coast in the past? Even in small groups, there was no safety when encountering Faerûn's creatures.
She had also mentioned that her father had spoken of the dangers in this land only yesterday.

Trálír led Arod and Rodwen into the run, closed the gate behind them and looked out to the sea. It was not far from the courtyard and another attack could come at any time. Was her father skilled with a sword? Would he have the ability to defend Anwyn and himself?
She had confessed to Trálír in the forest that she would have liked to dedicate herself to the art of healing, but had decided against it in order to be of help to her father and the hard work he had to do day by day.
But life on the coast held many dangers, as she had experienced today.
Trálír sighed as he walked back to the house. The door was open and he stopped, knocked gently on the doorframe and saw Anwyn turn around, holding a small bottle of glass in her hands.
"Please, come in," she said, pointing to the chair. Trálír had to bend a little to step through the door, then he took a seat in the chair and watched Anwyn walk from the table to a shelf on the wall, open a small casket and take something out of it. He watched as she returned to him, a small knife in one hand and a clean piece of cloth in the other.
"I... um... your tunic." Anwyn faltered.
"Should I take this off?" Trálír asked, biting his lip to keep from smiling. They had already kissed, carefully explored each other's bodies - at least that was true for him - and now she stood in front of him, embarrassed that he was taking off his shirt.
She nodded and Trálír reached for the edge of his tunic to pull it off. As he raised his right arm, he flinched unconsciously.

Chapter Text

Anwyn took the cloth in her hand and moistened it in a medium-sized bowl filled with fresh spring water that she had fetched when Trálír had brought the horses into the run.
She bent down and gently wiped the blood from his upper arm before approaching the wound from the first spear attack. Trálír thought it was just a scratch, but as he watched Anwyn carefully clean it, he realized that the spear had not hit him deeply but had torn open the flesh for several centimeters.
That was a wound that needed stitching, he thought, and his gaze followed Anwyn as she dipped the cloth back into the bowl.
As she cleaned his wound, she did so carefully and gently.
"I'm going to have to stitch this up," she said softly, looking at him. Her face was only a few centimeters away from his. "Will you allow me to do this?"
Trálír nodded. Anwyn took a step back, carefully washed out the cloth and then took care of the long scratch that ran across his chest. She cautiously cleaned the injured skin, always taking care not to exert too much pressure.
"I think it will be enough for this wound if we disinfect it. It's not so deep that we need to stitch it up," Anwyn said as she turned to the table to clean the cloth again.
Without another word to him, she bent down and gently wiped the blood from his chest. With soft movements, she slid from his left to his right nipple, then carefully ran the wet cloth over his abdominal muscles. Trálír, whose face was so close to hers, only would have to turn slightly to the side to catch a kiss from her, but he reminded himself that this was not the right time. Instead, his gaze followed her hands and watched them glide over his muscles.
He noticed that there was a trail of dried blood from his navel to the waistband of his pants and he swallowed hard. To take his eyes off Anwyn's skillful hands that were cleaning him intently, he looked straight ahead into her cleavage, which gave him a deep insight as she stood bent forward towards him.
"Gods," Trálír whispered as he dropped his head back and quickly closed his eyes. Anwyn paused uncertainly and looked up at him, frowning. Had she missed something? Was the Elf weakened?
"Are you not feeling well, Trálír? Are you dizzy?" she asked and saw him shake his head, biting his lips.
"No, no," he replied placatingly, his eyes still closed as he clasped the legs of the chair with his hands so as not to show how nervous he was. "It's ... I was just surprised by the coldness of the water."
"Then I can go on?" Anwyn asked, uncertainty evident in her voice.
"Of course," Trálír replied, his voice sounding a little shaky. When he felt the damp cloth under his navel, he held his breath.
"Do you feel any pain here?" asked Anwyn when she noticed the tension in his body. "That would be unusual because there is no obvious wound that I can see."
She bent down to examine the skin around Trálír's navel. She carefully probed the skin, trying to feel for swelling or bruising.
Trálír, who was still sitting on the chair with his eyes closed and his head leaning back, was well aware of how close her face and lips were to his skin.
And to the bulge in his trousers, which he damned to all nine hells at that moment.

Trálír felt Anwyn take the damp cloth from his skin and heard her rinsing it in the bowl. He tried to concentrate on the sounds around him to regain control of his body. But Anwyn's proximity and the light, unobtrusive smell of lavender didn't make it easy for him.
"I'll disinfect the wounds now," Trálír heard her say and the next moment he felt an unpleasant burning sensation which he gratefully accepted as he could now concentrate on the pain.
He took a deep breath while Anwyn carefully cleaned the wound with alcohol. When she had cleansed it on his upper arm to her satisfaction, she disinfected the scratch on Trálír's chest, who unconsciously held his breath again as he felt Anwyn's fingers on his skin.
"Wait here for a moment, Trálír," Anwyn said. "I'll get some fresh water and then stitch up your wound."
She took the bowl in her hands, left the house and went to the spring, where she first washed her hands carefully and then poured the water mixed with blood onto the grass next to her, washed out the bowl and filled it with fresh water.
She shook her head as she thought about what had happened that morning. Trálír's surprise visit, the ride, the moment Anwyn kissed the elf, the attack of the sea devils.
It was as if she had experienced several different lives in just a few hours and she felt a little overwhelmed by all the emotions raging inside her.
I'd better concentrate on Trálír and his wound, Anwyn scolded herself. Everything else is irrelevant at the moment.

When Anwyn re-entered the house, she saw that Trálír was sitting on the chair, his head turned towards the door, looking at her.
It seems he has regained his self-control, Anwyn thought and had to stifle a smile. She had been well aware that her closeness and touch had a certain charme on Trálír.
But even Anwyn had to admit that it hadn't been easy for her to concentrate on cleaning his wounds while the High Elf sat half-naked in front of her.
She had been able to touch his stomach muscles through the damp cloth and Anwyn had hoped that he hadn't noticed that she was also struggling with herself and the longing to kiss him. In the end, Anwyn had given in to reason and didn't do it, even though everything inside her had wanted to.

She put the bowl on the table, grabbed the wooden stool that stood in front of her camp and placed it in front of the chair Trálír was sitting on.
Then she turned her back to him, opened her wooden chest, which was only two steps away, and took out a small casket carved from wood.
As she sat down on the stool, she opened it and Trálír saw that it contained a thin hook to be used as a needle. He watched attentively as Anwyn first rubbed her hands with alcohol, then reached for the needle and disinfected it as well before threading in a long horsehair.
She carefully placed her left hand on the wound and began the single-button suture technique she had read about in one of the books which the village healer had lent her. Trálír did not make a sound but watched attentively as Anwyn concentrated on suturing the wound.
"That's a good work," he praised in an appreciative voice when she had stitched the wound. "An High Elf healer couldn't have done it better."
"Thank you," Anwyn replied with a smile and Trálír saw her cheeks redden slightly with pride. He reached for his tunic, but she took it from his hands and shook her head.
"I'll give you one of my father's," she said, rising from her stool. "I don't think you should wear this bloody thing again. We want the wound to heal well."
"But wouldn't your father notice?" Trálír asked, frowning, and Anwyn shrugged with a smile.
"I'll just tell him that a fox stole some of the laundry."

*****

It wouldn't be long now before the sun would sink behind the horizon. Anwyn stood frowning at the door and watched as the dark red in the sky changed to a deep purple and evening slowly fell.
Her father always came home in time for sunset and the fact that he hadn't shown up yet filled Anwyn with fear. Of course, she knew about the dangers of the sea and the coastal areas, but after experiencing for the first time today how narrowly Trálír and she had escaped death, she could not get rid of the thought that something had happened to him.
Trálír was skilled with a sword but if she and her father had faced these monsters alone, none of them would have survived.
Anwyn stood on tiptoe and stared at the sea, which was difficult to see in the twilight. Then she suddenly noticed a movement and narrowed her eyes to see better.

When she recognized her father's boat, she lowered her shoulders in relief. She knew that he had forbidden her to go to the beach, but Anwyn was so happy to see him that she ran across the sand towards him.
"Father," she called to him, who raised his head in surprise. "Why are you only coming home now? I was worried about you."
Anwyn caught up with him and took the heavy basket from him, which was filled to the brim with fish. Together they walked back to the house while he said: "I don't know how to describe it, but I had the feeling that the sea was upset. Something felt wrong, there were even sharks to see."
Unsure, Anwyn looked at her father as he leaned against the doorframe and took off his boots.
"Sharks?"
He nodded. "You don't see them often, so I was even more surprised to see them near the coast."
Anwyn bit her lower lip and stepped quickly into the house to put the basket on the table. She knew that the Sahuagins were capable of commanding sharks. The thought that they would have managed to overpower her and Tralir and drag them into the shallows to be torn apart by the sharks sent shivers down her spine.

Anwyn's father sighed as he entered the small house, which was more or less lit by a single candle, and sat down at the table. He groaned in pain as his joints ached after a long day of hard labor. Anwyn looked at him compassionately. .
"Why don't you lie down on the bed for a while, huh?" she suggested. "Get some rest while I make dinner. And I'll take care of the fish."
Doran looked on sorrowfully from his deep-set eyes. "It will take hours, Anwyn."
"I know, Father," she replied, giving him a gentle smile. "But that shouldn't be your worry."
Slowly he rose from the chair, his face showing the pain that plagued him so much. Anwyn watched with concern as he dragged himself to his bed and lay down on it with a groan.
"I wanted to apologize for my behavior, Father."
The old Fishermen turned his head in Anwyn's direction and looked at her questioningly.
"Your warning about the beach. I wasn't aware that..." Anwyn broke off and shook her head apologetically. "You were right. Everything outside this house is a great danger. I should not have forgotten that."
"Anwyn, child..." Doran smiled sadly, raised his arm a little and Anwyn joined him at the campside. She went to her knees, clasped his hand and looked at him tenderly.
"I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."
"You won't, Father," Anwyn promised and gently pressed a kiss to his forehead while her hand gripped his tightly. "You won't."

Chapter Text

Weeks went by since the Sahuagin's attack on Trálír and Anwyn, and summer had already passed its peak. The leaves on the trees were beginning to change color, the days were getting shorter and the nights longer. The steady wind that blew across the choppy sea was cool and unpleasant. In the early morning, when night gave way to day, the forest and the coast were shrouded in opaque fog, it often rained and sometimes the waves were so high that it was impossible for Anwyn's father to go out to sea.
She knew from years of experience that the winters would be cruel.
At the end of the month of wood, winter announced itself with icy storms and it wasn't long before the frost settled on everything. A short time later, the Blackwater Bay was covered in thick snow. It was no longer possible to go fishing in the cold and for the next few months the people and all the creatures of the land stayed in houses, caves and other dwellings to survive the harsh and depriving winter.

Anwyn, dressed in a skirt, tunic and cloak of brown wool, wrapped a thick home-knitted shawl around herself before leaning forward and pulling her calf-high leather boots over her thick knee-high socks. The approaching cold was getting to her father, who was still fast asleep on his camp in the early morning. She opened the door and closed it quietly behind her, careful not to make any noise so as not to disturb him. The wind tore at her hair and clothes and Anwyn had the feeling that it would almost knock her off her feet because it was blowing so hard. When she was able to open the stable door, she quickly scurried inside and greeted the animals. Anwyn stroked Oksa and the goats behind the ears, who clearly enjoyed her affection.
She hadn't seen Trálír for three days and was wondering why. Had something happened? Had he gotten into trouble at the castle for sneaking away for their meetings? Was he sick or had someone around him fallen ill that he couldn't leave? Or did he no longer want to see her?

This ignorance tugged at Anwyn's heart and saddened her deeply.
When she had finished her daily chores, she sat always on her campside and got lost in her thoughts. She was often silent for hours, simply staring ahead of her.
Her father noticed this too and frowned worriedly, but when he asked her if something was on her mind, Anwyn's answer was always a shake of the head, a faint smile and the words that he shouldn't worry about her.
He had no idea that she often thought of Trálír, that she missed him every minute he was not around. She longed for him, for his voice, his smile, the words he spoke to her.
And she yearned for his kisses, his touches, his closeness to her.
When fall had not yet begun, they had met every other day. Trálír arrived early in the morning and helped her with her daily chores. What was completely incomprehensible to Anwyn at first now felt like normality.
Sometimes Anwyn wondered if this was what a marriage felt like, to feel so comfortable in each other's presence.
They would talk for hours about their dreams, often laughing about the most nonsensical things and before their time together was over they would sink into each other's embrace, exchanging gentle or passionate kisses.

But it had never gone beyond kissing or cautiously exploring each other. Trálír had made no effort to go beyond gentle touches, although Anwyn had often sensed that it had taken him a lot of strength to hold back. She had noticed the tension in his shoulders when she had hugged him, his breathing had quickened when she gently caressed his cheek or lips with her fingers.
The last time they had met, they had found a sheltered corner in the forest and sunk down on the soft moss. Hungry kisses were exchanged, soft words whispered, their touches full of desire for each other.
Trálír leaned over Anwyn and slowly slid his knee between her legs, letting his weight settle on top of her.
His right leg pressed against her intimately and she could feel the bulge in his pants pressing against her hip.
Unconsciously, Anwyn pressed herself against his body and a moan escaped Trálír's shapely lips. Her heart beat up to her throat when she heard him and to her surprise, he suddenly straightened up. Trálír knelt between her thighs and breathed heavily. Anwyn looked at him worried.
"Have I done something wrong?" she asked uncertainly.
Trálír returned her gaze tenderly and shook his head. With his right hand, he gently gripped her chin and his thumb stroked her lower lip.
"Love, I have to slow down," he whispered. "I don't want to rush things. This, between us, this is supposed to be special, Anwyn."
He reached for her hands, pulled her close and then enveloped her in his arms. He kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
"I am not like the other elves who wander through the villages in the dark in search of physical satisfaction. I don't feel like exploiting the feelings of my counterpart for my physical desires. What I want is this."
His index finger slid from her lips over the delicate skin of her neck to the edge of her closed tunic. He stopped over her heart.
"This is what I want," Trálír whispered and looked deep into Anwyn's eyes. "Your heart, your soul. All that you are and feel."
Anwyn swallowed.
"I want you."
With a smile, she placed her hand on his cheek.
"Although I must admit that your body also has a special effect on me," Trálír admitted mischievously with a cheeky grin. „But unfortunately I have to leave you now, Anwyn. As much as I would like to stay.“
Anwyn smiled at his words and slowly straightened up with him. She leisurely ran her fingers through his silky long hair, which he wore loose, and kissed him tenderly in farewell. Hand in hand, they walked together to Arod who stood patiently by a nearby tree and before Trálír mounted, he took Anwyn's hands in his and pressed a gentle kiss on them and rode back towards the castle. Lost in thought, Anwyn walked back to the house.

And now she was standing here in the stable, handing the animals fresh hay and wondering why she hadn't seen or heard from him for three days.
Anwyn scratched Oksa's ears one last time, then turned away and left the stout. As she closed the door, the cold wind tugged at her again so she hurried back into the house.
She opened the door and entered the house. As the sky was covered with dark clouds, hardly any daylight entered their home through the windows.
It was so gloomy in the room that Anwyn decided to light the bowl that stood on the table and was filled with tran.
It was not yet cold enough to light the small open fire between the two campsites and burning the wood would be a waste of winter supplies. So the warm clothes they were wearing would have to do for now.
Anwyn turned towards her father when she heard him moving, groaning in pain.
Doran sat up, brushing back the dark gray hair that reached his shoulders. Tired, he rubbed his eyes with his hands.
"Good morning, Father," Anwyn greeted him with a warm smile. "How was your sleep?"
"Not long enough," he confessed to her and rose from the bed. The long shirt he was wearing fell down to his calves.
"How's the weather, child? Can I go out to sea, fishing?"
Anwyn shook her head. "No, it's storming. The waves are so high the boat would tip."
Doran sighed.
"How about you lie down again, Father? We won't be able to do much today."
"I have to go to the village, Anwyn. There are a few things I need to do before winter descends upon us."
"In this weather?" Anwyn asked, looking at him with disapproval in her eyes. "It wouldn't be an easy road for you. Let me take care of your business."
The old fisherman sank back onto the camp and there was gratitude in his gaze as he looked at his daughter.

*****

It was early in the morning and the sun had only risen a few minutes ago when Trálír walked down the grand staircase to enter the hall. To his surprise, his father was already sitting at the end of the large table that stood horizontally in front of the great throne. To the right and left, two more long tables faced each other while the great fire burned in the center. When it came to celebrations, it was possible to host hundreds of guests in it. And yet the hall felt far too small for him when he and his father were in the same room.

Tearlách took also a seat at the already laid table and greeted his older brother with a nod.
Trálír also nodded to his father and then sat down on the long wooden bench.
He looked at Tearlách, who was sitting at the table with a grim expression on his face, his head resting boredly on his hand; he certainly had better things on his mind than having to join his father for breakfast.
Trálír pressed his lips together as he suspected something bad. Without saying a word, he reached for the bread and cut himself a slice.
"What are your plans for today, my son?"
"I'm going hunting," Trálír replied without lifting his eyes as he heard the words his father spoke. He reached for the butter and caught his brother's gaze, who rolled his eyes in exasperation as he guessed where the conversation with the patriarch would lead - nowhere good.
"In this weather?" he asked in a grumpy voice. Trálír scrutinized him and saw the clear disapproval in his gaze.
"I hardly think a deer will run in front of your bow in this storm."
"I know the forest well enough to know where to find something," Trálír replied and his father looked at him in annoyance, for he had heard the defiant tone in his son's voice all too clearly.
Tearlách couldn't help an obvious chuckle.
"You hunt a lot, Trálír."
"The castle is large and we have many people who depend on us," his son replied with a shrug and took a bite of bread.
Trálír, the elder, leaned forward and rested his chin on his clasped hands. There was suspicion in his voice.
"They're servants," Trálír, the Elder, replied, waving his hand in disinterest. "They are humans, half elves, none of them need meat on the table every day."
"But the elven soldiers of this castle deserve to have meat on their plates? I don't think I agree with you on this one," said his son, looking directly at him and giving his father a displeased look in return. Out of the corner of his eye, Trálír noticed Tearlách leaning forward with an amused grin. It seemed to him as if his younger brother was watching the debate between them as closely as he was watching a drama on the stages of Baldur's Gate.
"A ruler cares for all his subjects, not just those of his own race."
Trálír watched as his father leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms in front of his chest. The dark red velvet tunic stretched across his broad upper body and muscular arms.
"You are no ruler," the older elf said slowly, emphasizing each word individually.
"I am well aware of that, father. You remind me of this often enough," Trálír replied and took a sip of water from a crystal glass that stood next to his plate.
An awkward silence fell between father and son.

Trálír looked at his younger brother Tearlách, in whose gaze he surprisingly perceived a kind of admiration.
In the silence of the great hall, only the clink of cutlery could be heard as his father turned to him again and said in a quietly menacing voice: "They say that hunting is not the reason why you leave the castle so often."
Unconsciously, Trálír's grip on the knife he held tightened. Tearlách saw his shoulders tense and his gaze darken. When it crossed with his brother's, he shrugged and shook his head slowly, signaling that he was not the source of this rumor.
"And what is the purpose, father?" Trálír asked with tension in his voice. "I'm sure you're about to tell me."
"A woman," replied the ruler of Blackwater Bay. "A human woman."
The disgust in his words made Trálír flinch unconsciously. Nevertheless, he remained silent.
"They say you would share the camp with a human woman," his father spat out and Trálír raised his eyes, looking directly at him.
"Sharing the camp? It's sex, father," he replied in a cool voice. "Sex. It is something you should be quite familiar with, for you too have shared many a night with human women. Why shouldn't I be allowed the same pleasure?"
And as he spoke these words, Trálir remembered how, as a young elf, he had often seen human women stumbling out of his father's chamber. The look in their eyes was distraught, their cheeks wet with tears.
"One speaks of love."
Trálír raised a dark eyebrow. "Well, is that so? Amazing that some people know more about my emotional life than I do."
"Oh dear Father, you shouldn't believe those stupid rumors," Tearlách said and Trálír looked at his younger brother in surprise. „Of course the inhabitants of the castle secretly whisper rumors to each other. Love? As if it were about love," he scoffed. "It's no secret that we elves love to indulge our desires in dark alleys. Many a human woman is more open to certain preferences than the odd elf lady. It's easy to get between their thighs, they're like fair game. A few romantic words, that's all it takes.Trálír seems to have found someone who matches his preferences. Why shouldn't he take advantage of that? And why shouldn't we grant him this pleasure?"
Tearlách raised his glass and toasted his brother with a grin. "So let him have his fun. As he said, this is purely about satisfying his physical appetites."
Trálír, the older one, frowned.
"Be that as it may," Trálír said and straightened up. "I think that settles that matter. I'm going hunting now." He climbed over the bench, nodded to his father and gave his brother a grateful look before leaving the great hall without another word.
Tearlách returned this with a generous smile and then turned back to the breakfast that still stood before him.

Chapter Text

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 Land to retreat to the safety of their homes and caves.
But 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 wrath 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, I know, it is storming. I am well aware of that."
Fairre closed his mouth again and nodded slowly. He stood up, put the halter on the hay bale and then walked towards Arod's box.
Trálír watched the stable master as the rage inside him continued to build.
He had to leave this castle now, because if he stayed here a moment longer, near his father, he would do or say things he would certainly regret.
As the Firstborn looked to the side and spotted an old, faded cloak hanging over a horse stall, he grabbed it and put it around his shoulders. Trálír walked then over to Fairre, who had already saddled the stallion.
When the stable master saw his used cloak on him, he asked in an unsettled voice: "Master?"
"I'm just borrowing it," Trálír replied and grabbed Arod's reins to lead him out of the stall. "You'll get it back."
And with these words, he led the stallion out of the stable, swung himself into the saddle and rode at a gallop with Arod through the storm.

It was as if the horse 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 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 again 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, he looked out over the storm-tossed sea and asked himself more questions
What would happen now that his father knew he had fallen in love with Anwyn? Of course Trálír had denied this, claiming it was only about physical desire, but the ruler of the Blackwater Lands knew his firstborn only too well.
Would Tralir, the elder, now take every opportunity to make fun of his heir and his feelings? Would he send one of his soldiers to the village to find out more about this „human“?
The Firstborn was very well aware about the fact that he could not trust his father ... and he knew from past experience that morality or justice did not matter to him. Especially when it came to his human and half-elf inhabitants. Locals had been thrown into the castle dungeons for looking at the ruler at the wrong moment. What would happen to Anwyn, who had fallen in love with him, an elf?
It was just 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 home, 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 home in the distance and Arod immediately fell into step as if he knew they were not far from their destination.
All he wanted now was to hold her in his arms. He didn't want to think about the hidden danger that emanated from his father, about the duties he had, about the throne he would eventually have to take over.
The Firstborn only wished for the chance to listen to her soft voice, to look into her eyes, to feel her fingers gliding through his hair.
Trálír wanted to forget everything, leaving everything behind him while he was to explore her mouth with his. He wished to see Anwyns chest rise and fall quickly with desire and 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. It didn't matter whether it was in the stables, during his daily sword training with the other soldiers 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 somebody.
Arod suddenly stopped and her 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?" the High elf asked into the silence and stopped hesitantly. The few seconds felt like half an eternity to him 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 fisherman was taller than his daughter, almost as tall as Trálír himself.
His 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 man'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 but 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 he 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 a nobleman.
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? Was this a cover to avoid being seen?
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 start this conversation?
Should he talk to the old fisherman about his work? What fish he had caught? Or should he talk about the weather? The firstborn could hardly begin about Anwyn and his feelings for her.
He could face his own father, but this man, the father of the girl who was so dear to him?
Trálír tried desperately to find the right words but he couldn't find a way to express his feelings.
Everything in his mind was a mess, so many thoughts that he couldn't capture in just one sentence.
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. The old man 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. Helplessness could be seen in his gaze.
"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." Anwyn's Father 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. If you lie to her to get under her skirts, I will chase you off this farm myself."
"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 slowly and avoided Doran's gaze, who sighed heavily.
"You know that your love will have no future?"
The Ruler's son 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 have the insane idea of choosing 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. And our kind? They 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, calling her a whore whenever they see her. Whatever you will do, even if it comes from a pure heart, my daughter will suffer. Do you really think your love will protect her from all of the Hate she will experience? From all the tears she will shed night after night?"
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 heartlessly. And although his words were as merciless as a deep stab into the elf's heart, Doran spoke the truth.
And Trálír knew this as well and the suffering and danger that came with it.
This knowledge tormented him deeply.
"But..." Trálír broke off and looked to the ground again. His voice was almost a whisper. "But we are already … in Love … " His Voice cracked. Agony could be heard in it.
"All you are doing is prolonging the foreseeable suffering in the future. With every moment you spend together, she will fall more for you ... and when you abandon her, you leave my daughter behind with a broken heart from which she will probably never recover. Whether you leave her now or in a few weeks doesn't matter. She will suffer. Your task should be to end it now and stop letting her hope for a future together that will never come true."
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 looked for 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.
„So, you expect me to...“
„Yes, I do“, the fisherman replied with a nod.
"What about you?" he asked in a low voice.
"Well, the storm has abated," Anwyn's father 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.

Chapter Text

Anwyn was carrying the heavy canvas sack she had put over her shoulder when she left the village to take care of her father's business. The storm and the ground softened by the previous night's rain made her journey home an ordeal. Her father had insisted that she take Oksa with her, but she knew that the donkey got nervous when it started to storm. To spare him this, she had decided to walk the way to the village and back to the house.
She saw the roof of her home a few dozen meters away and sighed with relief. By the time she had gotten the various items down to the basement and stowed them away, she would fall straight into bed and not move for the rest of the day.
Anwyn noticed that the strong wind had died down noticeably and looked up at the sky, which was slowly clearing. As she made her way to the farmyard, she heard the two goats bleating excitedly.
They are probably happy that it isn't storming any more. Maybe they and Oksa could go out for a few more hours, Anwyn thought and turned to the house.
She paused in surprise when she saw her father sitting next to the closed door. Anwyn frowned.
"Father," she called out, walked towards him and looked at him irritated. "What are you doing out here? It's not storming anymore, but just sitting in the wind won't do your health any good."
Doran looked up at his daughter, his facial expression emotionless.
"You have a visitor," he said and Anwyn looked at him questioningly.
"A visitor? But who would visit me?"
Doran turned away from his daughter and stared silently at the sea. Anwyn wondered why her father was behaving so strangely and opened the door. When her gaze fell into the room, she stopped in surprise.

"Trálír?" Anwyn stared at the elf sitting at her table in confusion. "What... what are you doing here? I... I don't understand." She glanced over her shoulder at her father, who was still sitting on the stool staring out to sea, then looked at the elf with wide eyes.
He gave her a weak smile and pointed to the table.
"Please take a seat, Anwyn."
The young woman let the sack slide to the floor, closed the door behind her and sat down at the table, unsure about the whole situation. She looked anxiously at Trálír, who, to her surprise, avoided her gaze.
"What does it all mean? Why are you here?" she asked him but he didn't answer. Anwyn saw how unhappy he looked and she reached across the table to clasp his hands in hers. She could literally see Trálír slump over.
"Trálír, my love, what has happened? What... what does this all mean? Is something wrong?" Discomfort crept into Anwyn's voice, which intensified as the elf gave no answer but stared silently at their clasped hands. „I mean … you are here ... and my father … at the same time. I don't know what to say or to think about it."
"I have a confession to make, Anwyn," Trálír began, looking at their intertwined fingers.
He's avoiding my gaze, Anwyn thought uncertainly.
"When I told you my name, I wasn't completely honest."
Trálír bit his lower lip, still not looking at her. Anwyn sat across from him in silence, the expression on her face was anxious. When he noticed that she didn't give him an answer or ask a question, he continued: "My name is Trálír. Trálír, the younger."
He lifted his gaze and looked at her uncertainly, but Anwyn's non-existent reaction led him to conclude that she didn't know what he was talking about or what he was getting at. Trálír sighed heavily.
"My father is Trálír the Elder. The ruler of the Blackwater Lands."
He saw in Anwyn's stunned expression that she had understood his words and their meaning. But she still didn't say a word, holding on to his hands as if they were the saving rope in a strong current that would drag her far out into the stormy sea.
"I am his heir and I will be the next ruler," Trálír said with an unhappy voice. He looked at her apologetically.
"What are you trying to say?" Anwyn whispered, shaken.
"I … ehm … have to leave ... this," he said.
"Leave? What do you mean by that? Do you have to go to another country, are you being sent to the front, to a war? Or are you going to leave ... me?"
Trálír shook his head regretfully.
"I have to withdraw from this, Anwyn. I have to leave this behind, fulfill my duty to my country, to my heritage." He pulled his hands out of Anwyn's grip and slowly stood up. She looked at him in disbelief and before he could put one foot in front of the other, she grabbed his right wrist with surprising strength.
"No!" There was a mixture of desperation and bewilderment in her voice. "No, that can't be the reason. You can't leave me like that."
She shook her head and looked at Trálír in horror.
"From the moment you found me, you knew about your status, your obligations and the legacy you must inherit. If you hadn't cared about my welfare, you would surely have found a way to get under my skirts. But you didn't."
Anwyn looked at him with wide eyes. There was a deep offense in her gaze.
"Something has happened. Something that forced you to make this decision. I don't believe you. I don't believe that your heritage and status are so important to you that you would give up on us... that you would give up on this. I know how unhappy you are in the castle, even if you pretended to be just a hunter."
Trálír bit his lips together and looked at her, shaking his head. "I am so sorry, Anwyn, but I have to go and ... leave all of this behind me. It ... it was bound to happen. I should have known that."
"It.was.bound.to.happen?" Anwyn repeated in a whisper, and she felt a mixture of dismay and anger raging inside her like a wildfire. "As if you couldn't have foreseen it, Trálír. Don't take me for a fool."
"I don't, Anwyn," he replied helplessly. "All this is further from my mind than ever. But I have no other choice."
"And why don't you have a choice? What has happened? What will happen if you don't go? Tell me!"

"Please, Anwyn..." Trálír broke off and raised his left hand as a sign that he could not give her an answer.
But her grip on his wrist was as unyielding as her questions.
"No, I won't accept that," Anwyn said, shaking her head stubbornly. "If you leave me, then you owe me the reason why."
Trálír exhaled heavily. "Anwyn..." He shook his head.
"You owe it to me."
The elf looked at the young woman dejectedly.
Because I can't put you in danger, it screamed in Trálír's head but his lips remained sealed. If I don't leave, then my father will find some way to separate us. Whether it's threats, temptations, the expropriation of your farm, he will destroy what we have. And even if you think you can find a way for us to continue this, he will not allow it. And he is capable of the worst things. You have to trust me, Anwyn. Even if he didn't care about my feelings for you, how many of my own people would be against you, against us? I can't trust my father, I can't trust my own brother. You would be in danger and I must protect you. Even if you don't understand it now, Anwyn, it's for your own good. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you because I am in Love with you. And that is why I MUST go.
"Trálír," Anwyn whispered, stifling the rising sobs in her throat. "Please... please don't do this."
He closed his eyes, the pain he felt was clearly visible on his face.
For a brief moment, which felt like an eternity for both of them, they were silent, speechless, wounded.
Trálír heard Anwyn clear her throat faintly.
"You can't leave me without a word of explanation. If you go, leave all this behind you ... leaving me, then you owe me an explanation."

He sighed heavily, looked at her sadly and nodded in the end.
"If I don't go, something will happen, Anwyn. Something I can't prevent and the thought of it … I have to protect you," Trálír finally replied and raised his left hand to her cheek, which he stroked tenderly. "Living by my side would make you unhappy, and that's the last thing I want. You deserve so much more than that."
"Unhappy?" she replied questioningly and looked at him with wide eyes. "Why should a life by your side make me unhappy? There wasn't a single moment in our time together when I felt miserable. You, Trálír, you're the reason why I've been happy for a long time. Every morning when I open my eyes, the first thing I feel is the joy of seeing you again. How can you even think that I am sad and sorrowful when I am with you?"
"But it will happen." Trálír shook his head in despair. "Why won't you understand me, Anwyn? No one will ever accept you at my side. They will treat you with contempt, with open hatred. You'll never be a part of their lives."
"I don't want to be a part of their lives, Trálír. Don't you understand that? What do I care what humans or elves say? What do I care how they treat me? I want to be a part of your life. I want to be by your side."
Anwyn's eyes filled with tears.
"I can't do this to you," he whispered in a broken voice.
"This is not your decision, Trálír. You have no right to take this choice from me, because this is mine. And I have chosen you, with all the consequences it will have."
Trálír carefully pulled his wrist from Anwyn's grip, who hesitantly released it. He gently cupped her face with both hands, leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. He put all the feelings he had for her into this long kiss that tasted so much like goodbye.
He hesitantly broke away from Anwyn, tears shimmering in his blue-gray eyes.
"I love you, Anwyn. Please forgive me."
And with those words, the high elf left the young woman behind and her body slumped under the pain of her broken heart.

*****

Winter had been reigning over the Bay for weeks, burying the land beneath it with huge masses of snow and icy cold. Life in the Blackwater Land had almost come to a standstill. It was so cold that even the hunting dogs were allowed to spend day and night in the great hall.
Just like everyone else, Teárlach thought boredly as he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. A dagger slid back and forth between his fingers, which he skillfully turned on its own axis again and again. When winter had such a grip on the land, the whole existence felt like an endless wasteland. There was no chance to leave the castle, riding and hunting was impossible because of the masses of snow and there were no guests at these times which visited his father. Even the road to the villages were snowed over, preventing Teárlach from enjoying himself in some taverns or between the thighs of a woman. There were one or two willing maids here in the castle, but his father did not like to see him give in to his desires.
Everyone who lived in the castle hid from the cold in their chambers and bunkers and tried to defy the winter by not letting the fires go out in the few large rooms. Nevertheless, one always had the feeling that the cold was penetrating the walls and foundations of the castle.

The only room that gave a feeling of comfort and warmth was the great hall, which Teárlach was only too happy to avoid as his father stayed there from morning to night, dining and talking with his First Hand and the knights of his personal guard.
There was nothing worse for Teárlach than listening to men talking about politics and the historical context of their neighboring countries.
He usually ate his meal in silence, and in the event that he was approached during such a conversation, he showed no interest than nothing was further from his mind than devoting himself to the same old topics over and over again.
Trálír wasn't much help either, he realized. His older brother had withdrawn from everything and everyone with the onset of winter, was in his chamber day in, day out, hardly a word passed his lips.
Must be because he can't warm himself on the body of his human lover, Teárlach thought as he got up from his bed and placed the dagger on the bedside table.
Perhaps he should pay him a visit? It was certainly easier to brave this wasteland together than alone.
Teárlach reached for his boots in front of the bed and put them on. He glanced around his room, which was not lacking in luxury.
Except perhaps a woman lolling naked in the sheets next to him.

As he rose from the bed, Teárlach felt a painful tug in his loins and he let out an exasperated sigh. It had been days since he had grabbed one of the maids and pulled her into a dark corner. Teárlach had muffled her pained moans with his hand over her mouth as he had taken her. How much he had enjoyed her lack of will, her frozen body pressed against the cold castle wall while he fucked her hard.
After he had finished with her, he pressed a gold coin into her hand and smiled coldly while she furtively wiped the tears from her face with her hand.
If she told anyone about her secret meetings, who would believe her?
One would think that she had seduced him on purpose, perhaps with the desire to bear his fruit. A bastard from him which could provide her with a very comfortable existence.
Not that Teárlach wanted offspring, nothing was further from his mind. And should it come to that, he knew enough about magic to take care of it.
The fruit of his loins and the girl who bore it.

Chapter Text

There was a knock on the heavy oak door and Trálír lifted his eyes from the book he was reading. He sat at his desk, some notes in front of him, the cozy warmth of the fire burning in the hearth at his back.
He sighed deeply, for nothing was further from his mind than receiving visitors now.
Looking out of the window, he realized that the sky was already turning dark, the day was drawing closer to evening.
There was another knock, which Trálír silently ignored, his eyes back on the book as he heard the door open.
"I didn't let you in," he said in a cold voice, continuing to stare at the book. "If you knock and there is no answer, it means you are not wanted. Leave."
The soft and amused laughter of his younger brother finally made him lift his gaze, but it made clear that he was not welcome. Tearlách remained standing in the doorway, grinning.
"Are you really denying your younger brother entry?" he asked mockingly and stepped inside when Trálír finally shrugged his shoulders and pointed into the room with his chin.
Tearlách closed the door behind him, walked through the chamber and sat down on the edge of the bed so that he had a direct view of the older elf.
"Isn't it terribly tiring to sit in your chamber every day and read one book after another?" he asked with a furrowed brow. Trálír just looked at him in silence.
"You're probably reading every book in our library for the second or third time, judging by when the last monk or merchant found his way into our castle."
"There are still enough documents and scrolls lying on the shelves of our own monks," Trálír replied with a shrug. „And our library is big enough to distract us for decades.“
"As if that would make it any better," scoffed Tearlách. "It's not much more exciting than sitting at a table with our father. And that reminds me, by the way, that you haven't attended our meals in the last few evenings. Are you getting sick?"
Trálír sighed. "What are you really getting at, Tearlách? You didn't just show up at my place for no reason. And you're certainly not interested in how I'm really doing."
Tearlách shrugged.
"You are not wrong by that, my dearest Brother. To be honest, it's boredom," he replied, his handsome face grimacing.
"That's the nature of winter, Tearlách. It is a time of withdrawal and silence."
"It is but don't tell me you wouldn't feel the same way. The long evenings, the darkness, the cold. No chance to ride out and go hunting."
Tearlách looked at his older brother attentively.
"Or to meet up with your secret lover," Tearlách added maliciously. Trálír raised his eyes and looked angrily at his brother.
"Don't do that," the Firstborn warned him.
"Don't do what?" Tearlách replied in an innocent voice that contrasted with the amused twinkle in his yellow eyes.
"Your lover does not deserve a word of mention? Were you tired of her, or do you retire to your chamber because you are dying of longing for her? Does she have such a grip on you, Trálír? So much so that you toss and turn in your sheets at night, imagining yourself fucking her, feeling her quivering body beneath you..."
Tearlách broke off as Trálír suddenly rose from his seat and pushed the documents off the table with a furious movement. He looked angrily at his brother, raised his hand and pointed at him with his index finger.
"Don't talk about her like that!"
Tearlách raised a dark eyebrow in astonishment. "I see. You have feelings for her?"
There was surprise in his voice. "Look at that, who would have thought you'd develop feelings for a human woman. Is it love?"
Trálír sank back in his chair, the look in his blue-gray eyes dark.
"It doesn't matter anymore," he replied slowly.
"Did she leave you or did you leave her?" Tearlách raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"It doesn't matter anymore," Trálír repeated and sighed as he sank back into his chair.
"Oh yes, it does matter," the younger brother replied. "I assume that she was no longer interested in you. That would explain your mood and your retreat into the world of words, hidden from everything you feel and think."
Trálír remained silent.
"Did she break your heart?" Tearlách asked quietly and, to his surprise, Trálír could hear genuine compassion in his voice. He looked at his brother dejectedly without giving him an answer.
Trálír's silence was answer enough for Tearlách.
"She did," he confirmed to himself. For a moment, he joined the older brother's silence until he finally said quietly, "I'm sorry for you, Trálír."
The latter responded with a snort.
"Please, Tearlách. If it's something I really don't need or want to hear, it's your split words that say one thing and mean another. As if you could really empathize with how I feel."
"You misunderstand me." Tearlách sounded hurt.
"I misunderstand you? How can you speak of love? Brother, I know about your preferences, I know how you treat women. I know about all the things you do in secret. Even the shadow reveals its secrets if you look very closely."
Tearlách gave a snort and looked at his brother with a mixture of vulnerability and annoyance. "You may be right. But maybe that's because I've never experienced what love feels like. Mother passed away when I was born and I was raised by a wet nurse who felt like she came from the Nine Hells. And father? As if he ever cared what I thought or felt. Or would have wanted to. No one cared about me, including you..." He broke off and looked reproachfully at his older brother.
Trálír looked at Tearlách indignantly.
"Your words are not true, Tearlách. How could you believe that you were never important to me?"
The younger one laughed bitterly. "When were you ever there for me, Trálír? Did you take care of me when the nurse locked me up when I cried from loneliness because I had no mother? Were you by my side when father humiliated and paraded me around? Do you remember his malicious laughter when the soldiers made fun of my supposed physical weakness? I don't remember you standing by my side."
"I had no choice, brother. I wasn't able to do it.“
Trálír did not tell his younger brother that their father had forbidden him to do so. Every time he tried to help Tearlách, Trálír the Elder threatened to punish the youngest son even more. To give him an explanation as to why it had been impossible for him, Trálír decided to blame it on his father's expectations.
„Ever since I was born, I've been training for an inheritance that I won't be able to take up in 500 years because father has no interest whatsoever in giving up his throne. Fine, let him do it, I don't care in the slightest, I don't want this inheritance. I don't want to have to carry this damn burden and nothing is further from my mind than following in the footsteps of our ancestors.
I've been trained for decades to fight, I've had to endure countless hours of history, politics, taxes. I live in a swamp of expectations that I don't want to fulfill. And yet I am forced to do so. The only reason I walk on these lands is because he wanted an heir and that was the only thing I should focus on. There was no room for anything else. There wasn't even room for you."
Trálír's voice had become louder and Tearlách watched his face contort with anger.
"Then take the throne," Tearlách whispered, looking at him challengingly. "Take what's rightfully yours."
"What?" Trálír stared at his younger brother, stunned.
"You heard me. Take the throne. I will stand by your side."
Shaking his head, the older elf raised his hand. "Enough, Tearlách. I'll forget you ever uttered those words."
"And instead you just want to carry on like this? Always standing in the shadow of the great and all-powerful Trálír the Elder? Everyone in these lands knows that he is not a good ruler. Why don't you have the courage to take what is rightfully yours?"
"It's not my place to usurp a throne," Trálír replied through clenched teeth.
"Even if you are by far the better and fairer ruler?"
The firstborn took a deep breath. "That's not up for discussion, Tearlách."
"I see it differently, because I see that everything father does goes against your values. We know of the injustices, we know of his hatred towards the half-elves and the humans. And yet we remain silent? Why do you still allow it when you could change it to the better?"
Trálír shook his head in frustration. "I'm not going to continue this discussion, Tearlách. I will not take the throne by force, not under any circumstances."
"You're just a coward, Trálír. And you don't dare do what you want. Such as taking over the throne that is rightfully yours, Father could retire. If you despise all this so much, why don't you leave it behind? Why do you stay here, in this castle, so caught up in all the expectations of others? Why don't you go to your human lover, take her by the hand and disappear with her? Leave everything behind you, flee. Why are you torturing yourself by fulfilling these expectations?"
"Enough!" shouted Trálír, pointing at the door. He had difficulty suppressing his anger. "That's enough. I don't want to hear another word you say! Get out!"
Tearlách clenched his lips in frustration, stood up and left his older brother's room without another word.

*****

The Second Born was filled with hot anger and as he walked down the long corridor, a sense of humiliation filled him at Trálír's refusal to put his proposal into action. In doing so, he offered his older brother the way out he so desperately wanted. If they stood up to their father, if he helped Trálír take the throne, then they would both have a future. Even if he would rather live out his existence as a hunter and tracker, the Firstborn would still be a good ruler. Anyone could be a better ruler than Trálír the Elder. Even Zariel, the Lady of Avernus, would be better than his father, Tearlách thought angrily. He reached the grand staircase, descended it past his father and his men and pushed open the door to the castle kitchen.
Startled, the cook, servants and maids stared at the lord's son as he stepped into the room.
He looked around and when his eyes fell on the young kitchen maid Serah, he pointed at her with his index finger.
"You! Come here!" Tearlách ordered.
Serah, a girl of only 16 and only at the castle since last summer, looked at him in horror.
She knew about him and the things he did. There were two or three maids who indulged his desires and made a small fortune out of it, but others feared him like the devil fears the light.
Serah had heard whispered words in the servants' quarters, words that spoke of pain and humiliation, of tears and agony suffered.
And when the young girl looked into the amber eyes glittering with anger, she knew that all these words were true.
Seeking help, she looked at the cook, who lowered her head and avoided her gaze. The other servants did the same.
Serah suppressed her rising sobs and walked slowly towards her master.
"Faster!" Tearlách ordered and grabbed her upper arm as she came within his reach. Without another word, he left the castle kitchen, dragging the girl behind him as she stumbled over her long skirt. Tearlách opened the door to the storeroom and strode down, dragging the frightened maiden behind him.
As they walked through the darkness, he pushed her in front of him and pressed her violently against the cold and cracked wall. She was rigid with fear as Tearlách tore at his pants, freeing his member. With one hand, he grabbed the back of Serah's neck and pressed her face against the cold stone while he lifted her skirt with his right hand.
"Hells," he cursed through clenched teeth when he noticed the underwear she was wearing. Impatiently, he tore at the thin material and carelessly threw the fabric on the floor.
His fingers slipped between her legs and Serah pressed her body against the wall, an inner instinct to escape from the situation.
"Oh my Love," Tearláchs voice was a breath of air against her ear, his words dark with lust. "You are not eager to see me, maid? I'm almost a little disappointed that such a young and pretty thing is so dried out between her legs like a withered plum. That won't necessarily be pleasant for you. But all the more satisfying for me.“
The maid stifled a sob and bit her lower lip so hard that it began to bleed to prevent her from bursting into tears. Tearlách put his head back and grinned when he pushed himself between her legs, his arousal pressing against her folds.
With just one powerful and relentless thrust, Tearlách slid into the young girl. He groaned again her neck when he felt how tight she was around his cock.
With long and powerful thrusts, he pinned the whimpering girl against the wall.
The young elf quickened the pace and with a few merciless thrusts he speared the the maid deeper into the wall until he reached his climax and filled her womb with his seed. He let himself sink against her body and stroked her hair almost tenderly while Serah cried silently.
He slid out of her and noticed that his member was covered in a little blood. Surprised, he raised an eyebrow.
"A virgin? What a pleasant surprise. Go to the lord of the castle tomorrow, he'll give you a gold coin for your pleasure and the fact that I was your first," Tearlách whispered with a grin and pressed a kiss to the back of her head.
He knotted the leather waistband of his pants and left the crying girl behind him, who slumped down in the darkness of the storeroom and hid her face in her hands, sobbing.

Chapter Text

Anwyn sat at the table, one of her father's tunics in her hands and leaned forward a little to see better in the light of the candles. She gnawed on her lower lip, lost in thought, as she carefully mended the fabric with needle and thread. Her father sat opposite her and silently carved small animal figures from wood he had once collected. Every year when winter receded and spring arrived, when the temperatures became more pleasant and the snow melted, he would visit the villages in the area and try to sell his wooden toys. However, as most of the villagers had hardly anything and many had lost their lives in the harsh winter, he ended up giving the toys to the children for free and making his way back to their home without a coin in his pocket.
The winter had been cruel to the Blackwater Lands and its inhabitants, and so piercingly cold that he and Anwyn had decided to store their table and stool, as well as his daughter's sleeping quarters, in the cellar and share their living space with the donkey and the two goats to ensure that they would not freeze to death. Every villager who could call animals their own lived with them in their home during the icy times of winter, because the stable was not shelter enough to protect them from the cold. When Anwyn was still small and her father had brought the animals into the house to her surprise, his explanation had been that even his father and his grandfather had done this to bring the animals through the winter.

Doran had quickly fetched a few wooden planks from the cellar and put together a knee-high barrier to prevent the animals from wandering around in the narrow space. Anwyn had then lined this makeshift stable with hay so that the animals were comfortable and it was easier for them to replace the used hay with fresh hay by every day.
She had also made a small campsite out of dry grass at the end of the camp where her father slept.
Despite her efforts to protect the animals, the oldest goat died of weakness and hunger early one morning.
The faint bleating came through Anwyn's light sleep and she woke up startled. When she saw the goat lying on the ground, she rushed to it and stroked its lean yet bloated belly, whispering gentle words of reassurance.
Her father had also awoken and looked sadly at his daughter, who could not hold back her tears as the goat grew weaker and weaker and died under her gentle hands.
Finally, Anwyn and her father heaved the goat's body outside and laid it on a table-like slab in the freezing cold.
She went back into the house and stroked Oksa's fur sadly as she listened to her father dismember the goat and set aside whatever they might need for the future. The meat would be preserved with lots of salt, tendons could be used as sewing material and she would take care of the hide so that they could use it accordingly.

That evening she had cooked a hearty soup of bone marrow that her father had enjoyed very much. Anwyn herself had barely eaten a spoonful.
After a while, she looked out the open door and saw puddles of red blood on the frozen snow, forming an abstract pattern of red and white.
The whole morning she spent the time taking the lean meat to the cellar and curing it there. It was so cold that her limbs ached, but it was still a far cry from the freezing cold outside.
And although Anwyn liked the silence itself and the fact that life had slowed down during the long winter, it gave her far too much time to deal with her thoughts and feelings, especially at night when she lay in the dark and couldn't fall asleep.
It had been weeks since Trálír had left her and yet she had not been able to banish him from her heart. It was still filled with all the wonderful moments she and the elf had experienced together.
And when Anwyn remembered a happy moment, it wasn't long before an all-encompassing feeling of sadness and loss almost engulfed her.
Since that fateful day when Trálír had made the decision to leave her behind, she lay on her bed at night and wept in the silence of her loneliness.

She was still sitting at the table in the dim glow of the candle, her father's tunic in her hands, pinning the fabric when she suddenly heard his voice.
"Child, I am worried about you. I see how you have changed, Anwyn. You hardly speak, you hardly eat, your eyes have lost their sparkle."
"You do not have to worry about me. It's winter, father. For the few hours we are allowed daylight, there is little to do. We spend day in and day out in this room, trying to divide up our food so that we can survive the long, icy weeks. Between cleaning the room and the little we can eat, there is no time for conversation. We listen to the crackling of the fire, words hardly have a place in this cold. That will change again when spring comes."
Shrugging, she looked at her father.
Doran sighed heavily.
"I listen to your tears in the night, Anwyn. It worries me."
The young woman stared at the needle and thread in her hand and swallowed.
"It will pass," she whispered, "it will pass for sure."
And with those words, she turned her concentration back to the tunic and tried to ignore her aching heart.

*****

As Trálír slowly awoke from his deep meditation, the first thing he felt was a pleasant warmth on his face. Sleepily, he raised his hand to his eyes and realized that they were bathed in the warm light of the sun. The elf sat up quickly and felt his heart pounding with excitement. He had waited so long for this day, almost longed for it, and finally it had come. With a smile, he lifted his naked body out from under the thick furs and stood in front of the window for a moment. A blue, cloudless sky could be seen and his skin was covered in goose bumps as it was still too cool to stand in the room without proper clothing, lost in thought. Despite everything, he enjoyed the faint rays of sunlight that gently enveloped him.

Spring was not far off, it would get warmer every day, the snow would melt, nature would blossom again, the animals of the forest would awaken from their hibernation and crawl out of their burrows.
He could leave the castle again, roam the woods, go hunting.
With a relieved sigh, Trálír stepped out of the sun and hurried to his ornately decorated oak closet. Thoughtlessly, he reached for his clothes and while he was getting dressed, he decided to forgo breakfast with his father and brother. This was a decision that his father did not approve of, but as long as Trálír turned up for his training sessions and lessons with the monks, he let him get away with it. And Teárlach?
Since the last rather unpleasant conversation with his younger brother and his proposal to overthrow their father from his throne, they had hardly spoken a word to each other. Although they saw each other every morning in the great hall at breakfast, they barely exchanged a word. Just as Trálír had retreated to his chambers over the last four weeks, Tearlách was rarely to be seen. He was rumored to be spending his time with a mercenary named Liulfr which his father had taken into his service before the winter, though there wasn't really any work for him for the next few months. There were rumors that this one was a warlock, but there was no certainty to that claim. Nevertheless, Trálír was worried.
He had often wished he was the second-born, for then Teárlach would have been given the attention he deserved, and he would hardly have felt so drawn to the shadows and the dark side of their existence. He had the ability to impress guests, to flatter them, he loved to bathe in the attention of others. Even in politics, Teárlach would have excelled if only he had been given the chance to prove himself. Instead, he had been completely ignored and he, Trálír, had been forced to face a legacy that was so far away from him.
Nevertheless, he had been shocked by his younger brother's proposal to overthrow their father from the throne. If Trálír was forced to take the throne, he wanted to do so with a clear conscience. To begin his reign by overthrowing the old king was against everything he believed in and stood for.

Trálír had now dressed and left his chamber without a second glance. He quietly pulled the door shut and then walked along the corridor to the grand staircase. On the way there he met some maids and servants and he noticed from their radiant faces that they too were aware that the harsh winter would soon give way to spring.
Striding down the stairs, Trálír surveyed the great hall, saw numerous servants bringing food to the table, saw some of his father's soldiers and Teárlach, who was sitting on the wooden bench with an icy expression and staring ahead of him. His father was nowhere to be seen.
The high elf quickly ran down the few stairs, then kept to the left, past the door to the castle kitchen and straight to the large entrance door, which he opened. Before anyone could even notice that he had almost sneaked out, Trálír ran straight towards the stables. He gave the castle servants a friendly nod when they crossed his path.
Opening the stall door, he could already hear the joyful neighing of his horse, who had missed the rides with his master as much as he had. Smiling, Trálír walked over to Arod and placed his hands on his nostrils, stroking him with a contented smile on his lips.
He looked around but couldn't see the stable master.
Perhaps the old fellow is also enjoying his well-earned breakfast, Trálír thought and left Arod behind him to fetch the saddle and bridle, which he put on him.
Grabbing the reins, he led his stallion out, swung himself onto the saddle and pressed his heels lightly into his flank, causing Arod to fall into a walk.

As Trálír rode carefully down the steeply sloping path from the castle to the sea, he thought of the last few months and the decision he had made during that time.
The decision that he would now put into action and that would lead him to Anwyn. He knew that so many things spoke against their bond; from his father to his own race, from the prejudices of the humans to her father's worries about his daughter's future. Trálír was well aware that there were a great many reasons not to be by Anwyn's side, but he was in Love and had chosen her.
Whether his father would like it or not, whether the elves of the Blackwater country would revile him or his brother would laugh at him for his feelings for a human woman, it no longer mattered to him.
He had decided for Anwyn, for his feelings, for the deep love and attachment he felt for her. If his father didn't like it, even banishment from the court and the country would be acceptable to Trálír as long as he could be by Anwyn's side.
He could make out the roof of the house in the distance and his heart, which had been beating hard the whole time, felt like it would jump out of his ribcage in the next moment. He cleared his throat with nervousness and hoped that Anwyn would be there. And that she would forgive him for his mistake.

As Trálír shifted his weight, lowered himself into the saddle and gently pulled on the reins, Arod stopped. Her swung himself off the horse and looked nervously at the house, the door of which was closed. He glanced over his shoulder down to the beach, sure that he would spot Anwyn's father.
For a long time he had thought about what he would say to him when they would meet again, for he knew how Doran felt about Anwyn.
But it wasn't Doran who had to make the decision that would decide his future. That lay solely in the hands of the woman he loved so dearly.
Trálír looked back at the house, then turned to his horse and patted his flank lovingly.
"Stay, my boy. And don't get the idea to run away again if any monsters crawl onto the beach. At least warn me before you leave me behind," he said and took a deep breath. Then he walked up to the house and knocked carefully on the door. He waited for a response, for a sound that would show him that someone was in the house.
But nothing but silence was the answer.
Another knock, this time a little more forceful but the response to it was the same.
Trálír took a few steps back and carefully opened the stable door. He immediately realized that there was no one in the stable, only the donkey and a goat. Anwyn was still nowhere to be seen.
Could she be in the forest? he asked himself, but immediately dismissed the idea as there was nothing worth getting in the forest. There was still too much snow on the ground, the wood was soaked, mushrooms, berries and herbs would take weeks before they could be harvested.
He put his hands on his hips and looked around questioningly when a thought suddenly occurred to him that made him feel anxious.
The winter had been cruel, they had all had to make sacrifices during this icy time. Nevertheless, he had led a far more pleasant existence at the castle than the people in the villages. There was enough wood, there was enough to eat, no one had to freeze or starve.
Had it been the same for Anwyn? Had she gone hungry? Was she perhaps...?
Shaking his head, Trálír tried to suppress this thought, but it was persistent and whispered dark words of loss and fear.
Since the animals were still in the stable, someone must have survived. The Elf looked again at the beach but could not see the old fisherman's boat anywhere.
Was he at sea or had they used this as firewood? Unsure, Trálír bit his lower lip when he suddenly heard a noise.
He turned towards the source and walked in that direction.

Chapter Text

Anwyn took the clean dishes in her hands and placed them carefully in the wicker basket next to her. Although the sun shone gently down, the spring water was still icy cold. She rubbed her hands together to get some feeling into them when a soft clearing of the throat made her flinch.
"By the nine hells," she cursed and turned around, her hand on her chest to calm her violently beating heart. Then Anwyn's gaze fell on her visitor.
"Trálír?" she whispered. There was bewilderment in her gaze, but then in the next moment her brown eyes darkened and an expression of indifference appeared on her narrow face. Trálír tried to swallow the rising lump in his throat and he literally felt his heart drop into a bottomless abyss when he noticed Anwyn's reaction to his appearance.
The moment he spotted her and the moment she turned and recognized him, he realized that he had been lying to himself all these weeks.
Trálír had spent the last few months imagining how Anwyn's eyes would fill with love, how she would embrace him with happiness, grateful and relieved that he had come back to her.
And now the young elf had to face the unpleasant reality, because in her gaze and in her body language he read a clear rejection of him. She looked at Trálír from narrow eyes, her lips pressed together, her arms crossed in front of her chest.
"What brings you here?" Anwyn's voice was hard, indifferent.
"I ... um ... I wanted to see if you..." He cleared his throat uncertainly. "Whether you're all right."
"We survived the winter," she replied and he searched her face for an emotion, a sign that she still had feelings for him. Was there a hint of a smile? A hopeful look in her eyes?
Trálír's throat tightened as he realized that he found only emptiness. He could read nothing in Anwyn's gaze and there was no movement in her face, no sign of whether she was happy or relieved to see him. The elf looked at her with a rapidly beating heart and noticed that Anwyn's once bright eyes seemed empty, as if she was not here, not at this spring, not near him.
He nodded slowly, unable to get a word past his lips.
"Well, if that's all, then I wish you a safe ride back to your castle," Anwyn said and with those words she kneeled down, lifted the wicker basket and walked past him, ignoring the Elf. Speechless, Trálír stared at her, who left him standing there without another word or glance in his direction.
"Anwyn, please wait," the High Elf called out and followed her in confusion. He was sure that she was aware that he was behind her.
But she walked steadily from the spring straight to the house, opened the door and threw it shut behind her. Trálír backed away in surprise to avoid the slamming door. Stunned, he stared at the old, almost brittle wood, which reminded him that Anwyn was in the house and he was not.
"Anwyn!" Trálír clenched his lips in frustration. "Please open the door."
He sighed impatiently. "Anwyn, please. I need to talk to you."
Another pause, another moment that felt like an eternity. Trálír got no answer.
"Please, let me explain."
Startled, Trálír backed away as the door suddenly opened without warning and Anwyn stood right in front of him, her brown eyes filled with anger.
"Explain? You want me to let you explain what brings you back after all these weeks? Why should I listen to this, to you? Why should I believe your words after you ... after you just left me?" She broke off and stared angrily at the elf. „You have no right to try to explain anything to me.“
"Anwyn, I'm sorry..."

"No! Don't say that!" she replied and raised her hand to cut him off. "Don't you dare! I do not want to hear any explanation from you. You made it very clear where your priorities lay, Trálír. And it wasn't me. You choose your duty over me and I accept that. I had to accept that, I had no other choice. But don't think that you can just come back and undo everything with a smile and a few words.."
"Anwyn, damn it," Trálír replied, shaking his head in frustration. "You were..." He improved. "You are my priority."
"Oh, is that so? I don't remember you showing up here after our last conversation."
"I tried to protect you," Trálír pressed out between clenched teeth. "That was my priority. I did that to protect you."
"And I told you that you didn't have to make that decision. That was not your call." And with those words Anwyn's voice broke. Her mask fell, her emotions were now visible in her gaze and Trálír's throat tightened. He heard the trembling in her voice, the suppressed sobs and he saw her eyes got teary.
"Anwyn," he whispered and gently reached his hand in her direction, but she shook her head and backed away.
Her clear rejection broke Trálír's heart and he struggled to suppress the rising lump in his throat.

The elf shook his head dejectedly and lowered his hand again. His shoulders slumped as he looked sadly at the ground.
"I was a fool," Trálír whispered gloomily. "I was such a fool. I thought I could protect you from everything. From my family, from the arrogance of my own race, from the underlying danger that lies in the dark. But all I did was to leave you behind."
Anwyn fell silent and tilted her head slightly to the side to avoid Trálír's gaze.
"When winter set in ... you were always in my thoughts, Anwyn. Every day, every night, every hour and every single minute. And the more I thought about what I had done, the more I realized that I had made the wrong decision. A decision that everyone who even suspected that I had feelings for you expected me to make."
Trálír sighed, guilt in his dark voice.
"Whether it was my father who wouldn't let me out of his sight or my brother, whose words slowly burnt under my skin like acid. I did exactly what they wanted. And all I did was believe them and ignore my own heart."
He took a step back and shook his head slowly.
"Where did I get the idea to come back here and expose you to all this pain again?"
Trálír took a deep breath. "Forgive me, Anwyn. I didn't mean to. I am … "
He bit his lips, slowly turned around and reached for the door handle when he suddenly heard Anwyn say a word. He glanced over his shoulder uncertainly.
"Wait."
She looked at him and brushed a curl from her forehead that had fallen into her face. He could see in her eyes how much she was struggling with herself. Trálír had the feeling that she wanted to answer him, but couldn't find the right words. In her eyes he saw the battle between her longing for him and his painful breach of trust. His stomach crumbled when he saw the pain in her face, the pain he had caused her. But was there a hope of a new beginning to see in her fawn eyes? He wasn't sure.
Anwyn nervously brushed her lower lip with the tip of her tongue and looked to the side again, trying not to look at him.
"You hurt me," she said slowly. „And it still … hurts.“
"I understand", replied Trálír with sadness in his voice.
She took a few steps back and slowly lowered herself onto the edge of her campsite. Her hands lay in her lap and she knotted them together, which was always a clear sign of her nervousness.
"I would like to tell you so much, Trálír, but the words won't pass my lips," she continued sadly. "I wish I could forgive, I wish we could go back to some time when neither of us felt compelled to make a decision. But this has happened and I don't know what to do. I don't know how I'm supposed to forgive you."
A single tear slid down Anwyn's thin face and she wiped it away in shame.
"I don't even know what to feel or say. It is as if I have lost myself."
Trálír swallowed hard.
Not another word passed her lips and as the silence weighed heavy and dark between them. Trálír cleared his throat and finally said:
"Whatever you wish, Anwyn, I will respect. If you ask me to turn around now, to leave you and never return, then I will do so. If you wish me to reach for your hand and clasp it, then I will honor your wish. Whatever you want, I will respect your decision. With all the consequences."
Anwyn stared at her fingers in silence and raised her eyes cautiously when Trálír suddenly dropped to his knees and looked up at her.
"Whatever you decide."
As she did not avoid his gaze but looked him in the eyes with uncertainty and revealed her wounded heart, Trálír gathered all his courage and carefully reached for her hands, which she did not withdraw. He gave her a gentle smile, clasped her fingers and simply looked at her. There was no expectation, no pressure, no compulsion.
Just him and her.
"Do you want me to stay?" he asked softly, his heart stopping at his own words as he feared she would answer in the negative.
"I don't know," she replied in a low voice, biting her lip uncertainly.
"Would you allow me to visit you again tomorrow?" Trálír asked, his voice sounding strained. Relief flooded through his body as he saw her nod.
He gave her a tender smile, released his hands from hers and stood up. Anwyn looked up at him and in her brown eyes he read so much uncertainty that his heart ached.
He suspected that he had a lot to make up for.

*****

The day began for Anwyn at sunrise. When the first light of the sun fell into the house, Anwyn woke up, sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She looked at her father lying on his side, his face turned towards the wall. But she could tell from his quiet breathing that he was fast asleep. As quietly as she could, Anwyn rose from her bed, opened the chest and took out freshly laundered clothes, which she placed next to her. In the chest was a narrow band of dark green silk that had once belonged to her mother. Anwyn reached for it and while she put her long curls up in a knot with one hand, she took the silk ribbon with the other and wrapped it skillfully around her hair. Although she had tried to keep her hair up as neatly as possible, a few curls sprang out at the sides and framed her face. Anwyn sighed softly and finally gave in, for as much as she had tried, her hair was just too stubborn to tame. She grabbed her clothes and shoes and slowly slipped out of the house. She quietly pulled the door behind her, careful not to make any noise.
It was chilly and there was still snow on the ground, which was slowly turning into the snowmelt they were familiar with.
Anwyn bent down and slipped on her shoes to protect herself from the cold wetness of the ground. She heard the goat grumble softly to herself and muttered: "Patience, little one. Patience."
Yawning, she walked to the spring, undressed and quickly began to wash herself. The sun had only been in the sky for a few minutes, so the cold of the night could still be felt. Her whole body was covered in goose bumps as she soaked a simple linen towel, wrung it out and then hurriedly washed herself with it. Unlike the last few weeks when she only did a cat wash, this time she soaped herself with the lavender soap and wondered if she did it because she knew Trálír would visit her.
How much she had wished in all that time, in all those sleepless and tear-filled nights, that he would return to her.
And when he suddenly stood behind her unexpectedly yesterday, when she heard him clear his throat and saw him, she was filled with a rage and a pain so deep that everything inside her cried out to hurt him as much as he had hurt her.
She even felt the urge to throw herself at him, to beat her fists against his chest. She wanted to inflict such deep pain on him as she had experienced when he had made his decision.

In the end, however, Anwyn had chosen ignorance and she had sensed how confused and hurt he was by her behavior.
She wished so much that he would just leave and take all the pain inside her with him and the next second she wanted him to step through the door, pull her into his arms and kiss her heartfeltly. Anwyn had been so frustrated by all the emotions she was feeling that she had finally sought a confrontation with him.
And as she listened to his words, filled with guilt and grief, her anger and resistance faded. As Trálír knelt before her, she felt the need to put her hand on his cheek and tell him how much she had missed him. But something had held her back.
Still, Anwyn couldn't tell him that she had finally decided against him.
She had no idea where all this was going, but the thought of losing Trálír again was too painful.

Chapter Text

Anwyn knelt down, dipped the towel generously into the cold water and gritted her teeth as she washed the soapy lather from her body. She dried herself quickly, slipped into her underwear and put on a dark green woolen dress with a round collar and sleeves that reached to her forearm. She put the soap in the wet towel, picked it up along with her nightgown and underwear, went back to the house and walked in quietly so as not to wake her father.
Anwyn put the soap back in the box after wrapping it in a piece of cloth, then slipped out of the house again and began her daily chores. Concentrating, she washed the laundry, hung it over the drying rack, fed the animals, took them out into the run and cleaned the stable. Then she went back into the house and prepared breakfast with her father. While Anwyn cut the cured meat into small pieces, she glanced anxiously at him, who was still lying on the campsite. It was only when she saw his chest slowly rise and fall that she felt a deep sense of relief. Sometimes her father's age and his hard work made her worry that he was overextending himself, but he had considered fishing on the high seas too dangerous to teach her.
If she would notice in the future that his body would no longer have the strength to go to sea, Anwyn would sell the boat and perhaps start an apprenticeship with the village healer to ensure their livelihood. But knowing her father and his stubborn behavior, he would rather throw himself off his boat and drown in the depths of the sea than be without work. Anwyn sighed and noticed him sitting up with difficulty, his eyes drunk with sleep.
"Did I oversleep?" he asked, rubbing his tired eyes.
"There's plenty of time to go fishing, if that's what you mean," Anwyn replied, shaking her head. "The sea will still be full of fish, so you don't have to worry about that."
Doran gave his daughter an exhausted smile and slowly got up. He also reached into his box, fished out some clothes and left the house to wash up. While he did this, Anwyn prepared the food. It wasn't much, but it would be enough. The winter had been hard, but they had survived it. Some people in the village had not been so lucky. Especially the old, sick, weak and children had died as her father had told her yesterday when he had been to the village to run some errands.
The door opened, Doran entered and sat down at the table. She handed him a plate and sat down on her stool as well, grabbed the bread and some meat and ate in silence. When they had finished their breakfast, the old Fisher nodded goodbye and left for the beach. Anwyn stayed behind, cleared the table and took the dishes to the spring to wash them.
She suddenly heard the neighing of a horse and had to smile.
I would recognize that neigh anywhere, Anwyn thought, and put the harness in her basket, which she took under her arm and walked towards the courtyard. As she entered, she saw Trálír, dressed in narrow brown trousers and a white tunic, get off his horse and tie its reins to the stable. He heard her footsteps and turned around, his hand slightly raised in greeting. Anwyn returned his nod timidly and strode towards Arod, who was pawing with his hooves. She put the basket down, approached him slowly and paused in surprise as the large stallion took two steps towards her and gently nudged her with his nostrils. Laughing, Anwyn scratched his blaze, which the horse responded to with a satisfied neigh.
"Arod," she whispered and leaned against him slowly.
"He missed you," said Trálír and looked at both of them.
Anwyn gave him a smile and when she realized this, she cleared her throat uncertainly. She took a step back and looked at the high elf shyly.
"I... I don't know what … or how to begin." Anwyn began and paused. She shrugged her shoulders uncertainly.
"Do you have work for me?" he asked and looked around, causing Anwyn to react with a laugh to her own surprise.
"The high elf Trálír, heir to the Blackwater lands, comes to me and asks if I have work for him?"
Trálír nodded. "Yes."
Anwyn raised an eyebrow, shook her head slightly, but then answered: "There's just the daily work of a fisherman to do."
"Gutting fish and processing them in brine," he replied and she nodded in confirmation. "Good, then let me gut the fish. That's a job I know how to do."

Trálír had been standing for hours at the table which he had carried out of the house and placed in the sun to gut the two baskets of fish. Anwyn then took them to the spring, washed them and put the fish in a bucket of brine which she put in the cellar for a whole day and night before they were smoked.
Sunset was still a long way off and she knew that it would be another three or four hours before her father would row back to the beach, hopefully with a big catch because now that winter was almost over he could deliver the fish back to the Blackwater Castle which would at least provide them with a small income.
While Trálír took care of the fish leftovers and disposed of them, Anwyn wiped the table clean again with a wet cloth. The elf, who returned with an empty bucket, took the table between his hands and carried it back into the house. He wiped his wet hands on his thighs and stepped out of the door.
"I saw there's only one goat left," he mentioned, looking towards the barn.
"She didn't survive the winter," Anwyn replied gloomily.
"Maybe you should buy a billy goat?" Trálír suggested and looked at her, who was looking towards the stable. "That way you could be sure to have milk for half a year when the goat mates and when it's old enough you can slaughter it or sell it on."
Anwyn bit her lips. "We don't have enough coin to buy a goat," she confessed quietly.
"That will change."
Surprised, Anwyn turned to Trálír, looking at him in confusion.
"I will make sure that your father gets the coins he deserves for his efforts. I looked at the reports of the castle warden and it was clear that your father was paid far too little," he explained and shook his head when she tried to object. "I don't want to give you a gift, Anwyn. These extra coins are what you've been entitled to since the moment your father started to deliver the fish to the castle. And I can see to it that you get your hands on the bag of coins or I can see to it that what you are entitled to is brought in goods. It could be a billy goat or a couple of chickens. Maybe even two pigs."
Anwyn's smile she gave him was tinged with sadness.
"The barn will soon fall apart and it would be far too small for more animals, Trálír. The wood is old and weathered and where would there be a run for chickens? Your suggestion sounds too good to be true, but I believe that it will hardly be possible to implement it in reality."
"Well, if you want, I'll take that task in hand. You need a new, larger coop? I'll build it."
A chuckle erupted from Anwyn and she looked at him in amusement. "You want to build a stable?"
Trálír nodded seriously. "And a run for the chickens."
Anwyn laughed.
"You also thought I couldn't gut fish and yet I'm quite skilled with my hands."
A slight grin slid across Trálír's lips and his blue-green eyes sparkled with amusement.
"There's always something to fix at the castle. My father is certainly not keen of me helping to repair a roof or helping one or two castle residents, but I'm happy to do it. You don't have to worry about anything. I will deduct the wood from your father's outstanding wages and have it brought to you. And let me tell you that this is not a gift from me or some kind of compensation for what I have done. It is the reward that is due to your father."

*****

Two weeks had passed since Trálír's first visit after the long breakup. The snow had melted, the temperatures were getting warmer, the first early bloomers were in full splendor.
It was early in the morning and Anwyn and her father had just finished their breakfast when suddenly voices and unfamiliar noises were heard. Doran paused in his movement and looked at his daughter in confusion.
Anwyn returned his gaze and put down the dishes she was holding. She took a deep breath because, unlike her father, she knew what all this meant.
Over the last few days, she and Trálír had been immersed in the implementation of their plans. They would remove the overgrowth behind the house and the run and cut. He thought about cutting down some trees so that they would have enough space for a larger run for the animals and build two more enclosures for the chickens and the pigs that were to be purchased. There would also be a slightly larger field where Anwyn would grow herbs and some vegetables, as well as a larger stable for all the animals except the chickens. This work would take weeks, but hopefully by winter they would have put all their plans into action.
Anwyn watched as her father started moving, opened the door and then stepped out into the cool of the morning. His suspicious gaze swept over the two half-elves sitting on a cart pulled by a strong horse.
Doran's expression hardened.
"What are you doing here?" he called out to the two young men who were bringing the cart to a halt. Anwyn stepped behind her father.
"We've come from Blackwater Castle and are supposed to start our work here," the young half-elf said and got down from the coachman's seat, while his companion did the same.

"What work?" the old fisherman asked irritably, staring questioningly at the two young men as Anwyn walked past him and nodded confirmatively to the half-elf. "You know what to start with?"
The two half-elves answered the young woman's question in the affirmative and began to unload the wagon. Doran turned to his daughter, frowning, and looked at her suspiciously.
"What's going on here?" he demanded to know. Anwyn took another deep breath to get ready for the coming conversation and pointed to the house. "I'll explain everything to you. Let's go inside, father."
She waited until he walked past her and sat down on a stool at the table. Doran frowned questioningly. Anwyn closed the door behind her and sat down opposite the old man. Her eyes rested on her father's face.
"For years, you've delivered much of your catch to Blackwater Castle during the spring and summer," Anwyn began, watching him nod slowly but affirmatively. "And we both know that you have never been rewarded accordingly. Your earnings barely keep us alive and even if you were able to double your catch, you would not be rewarded for it. The criminals on the black market in Helmark would pay you more for your catch than the lord of the Blackwater Castle does."
Doran crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked at his daughter attentively.
"Whatever happened in the past will change, father. In future, you will be paid for your work in accordance with common decency. And for the many years in which you have not been paid properly, you will now receive compensation. And I have decided that we will receive this compensation immediately in materials and goods. The men will remove the bushes and some trees behind the house, level the ground, tear down the run to build a new and bigger one. There will also be another run for the chickens we are going to buy, two or three pigs, a new larger barn and a field where I can grow vegetables and herbs, maybe even some berries."
Disbelief was on Doran's face.
"I ... I don't understand ... that was your desicion? How did you manage that? Why is this happening? Did you go to the Blackwater Castle? And if so ... why should you have been listened to? You're just the daughter of a poor fisherman."
"I decided that because I know very well that you are too proud to accept the wages you are entitled to."
"I've already been paid," her father interjected, frustration rising in Anwyn.
"Yes, that's true," she nodded in confirmation. "But you haven't been paid with the coins you're entitled to."
"And how do you know that?"
"I just know," Anwyn replied calmly.
"Our worldly concerns are none of your business, Anwyn," Doran said, his voice somber. "I care for you and my wages are my business. Those are things that should be in the hands of a man."
Anwyn struggled to suppress her eye roll.
"You can hardly provide for yourself alone with your wages, father. We live in poverty and we would continue to live in poverty if we did not accept what is rightfully yours. I knew you wouldn't give in, so I made this decision."
"Which was not yours to make," the old fisherman growled through clenched teeth. Anwyn looked at her father for a long time before addressing him.
"I've seen the documents, Father. I know what you deserve and I know how much Blackwater Castle owes you. I will not give up what is rightfully yours. And I will not give up anything out of your stubbornness because you are too proud to accept it."
"You've seen the documents?" Raising an eyebrow, the old man looked at his daughter. Then he nodded knowingly.
"The elf, wasn't it?"
His gaze bore mercilessly into his daughter's.
"Yes, the elf," Anwyn replied calmly.
"So he's buying his way under your skirt with his father's gold?"
Anwyn swallowed.
"I will forgive you for those words, father, for I know you cannot think clearly in the heat of the moment and anger permeates your mind. But I will not tolerate you seeing me, your own daughter, as for sale. I am not a whore and Trálír does not treat me like one."
"Damn that elf," Doran roared and slammed his fist on the table. Sheer rage was reflected in his eyes. Anwyn flinched in surprise.
"Damn him! Tell the men outside to load up their gear and get back to this damn castle right now. I don't want his help. I want this elf out of our lives for good and never to come back here again."
"No, I won't do that." Anwyn shook her head, unfazed by her father's anger.
"I'll take what's coming to us."
"What does he really want, huh?" Doran asked, looking at his daughter suspiciously. "He won't do this out of kindness, Anwyn. Don't be stupid."
"There are no bad intentions behind his idea. He is not like his father. He's different from him and he's so different from those of his people. And I appreciate that about him."
She looked at her father, the look from her brown eyes piercing.
"And I trust him."
Doran's laugh sounded bitter.

"You're naive, child," he said in a reproachful voice. "This elf will not bring you luck. And I remind you that he has already left you once."
Anwyn nodded slowly. "He explained his reasons to me."
"What are they?" her father asked cunningly and Anwyn had a bad feeling that she couldn't put her finger on.
"I don't know if it's really that important, father," Anwyn said. "It's not about me and the elf, it's about what's rightfully yours. You've been cheated out of your wages for years and the only thing on your mind is that Trálír wants to get under my skirts?"
"He's the ruler's spawn," Doran growled angrily. "They are of the same blood. Do you really think he would be different from his father? What makes you think he's so special?“
"I just know it," she replied simply.
The old fisherman let out a frustrated sigh. "Why won't you understand that this elf will only bring you misfortune?"
"And why do men always think they have to tell me what's good for me? I'm old enough to make my own decisions," Anwyn replied, also frustrated. "And even if the decision is wrong, it's still my own right to make mistakes."
"Anwyn, I ... ", her father began, but she interrupted him. "I know you're acting on the impulse to protect me, father. But I don't need your protection. And I don't need Trálír's protection either. I, I alone, make my decisions. And that is that we take what is rightfully ours. And as for Trálír, the future will show what will happen. I refuse to send him out of my life because he is who he is. He can't help his status any more than I can."
Anwyn rose and went to the door, which she opened. Before she stepped out, however, she turned once more in her father's direction.
"It's still early in the morning and I'm sure the fish will be plentiful if you head out to sea now."
And with these words, the young woman left the house, pulled the door shut behind her and walked towards the two half-elves.

Chapter Text

Several hours had passed since the conversation with her father and Anwyn had already cleared away the bushes while Ulthred and Conall, the two half-elves from the Blackwater Castle, took care of the rest of the dense undergrowth to create more space for the planned run. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Trálír was riding into the courtyard on Arod.
She couldn't help smiling as she saw him dismount from his stallion and fasten the reins to the stable door. Then he lifted his gaze until he caught sight of Anwyn and she saw a smile appear onto his lips. A pleasant warmth filled her and she raised her hand in greeting.
"Anwyn, it's good to see you," the high elf greeted the young woman as he walked over to her. "I see Ulthred and Conall have already begun their work."
She nodded in affirmation as she glanced over her shoulder and watched Ulthred, the elf with the long blond hair and light blue eyes, strike the thicket with an axe and pull out the loose branches.
"Come into the house with me, I will make you and them some tea," Anwyn suggested and waited for Trálír to follow her. While she placed a kettle already filled with water at the fireplace hearth in the house, Trálír sat down at the table and watched her unobtrusively.
She wore a slim-fitting dress made of light green linen, the sleeves went down to her wrists and the neckline of her robe was circular, but revealed the hint of her breast. The hem of the dress was embroidered with dark green and white petals. Her long hair was tied back at the nape of her neck, yet there were several strands that had come loose and were falling into her face. As she turned around, Trálír quickly turned his gaze forward to where they were camped until he remembered that this was not the time to focus his attention there. He quickly looked up again and saw that Anwyn had followed his gaze. A slight smile twitched at the corners of her mouth but she didn't say something, instead reaching for a small pot in which she kept dried mint.

"My father is now aware of our plans," Anwyn began and placed the pot and four mugs on the table.
"Judging by the sound of your voice, that was not a pleasant conversation?" Trálír asked sympathetically and watched as she sat down at the table opposite him. She shrugged her shoulders and her expression spoke of dissatisfaction.
"It wasn't an easy conversation," Anwyn admitted with a frustrated sigh. "He thinks he's already been adequately paid."
"But that's not the case," Trálír replied.
"I told him that too, to which his reply was that as a woman I should have no idea about such things."
The high elf grimaced unwillingly.
"But the real problem with this whole thing is that he doesn't want you to be around me."
Anwyn looked straight at Trálír and he nodded slowly. "I certainly can understand his reaction."
"Yes, I can, too, to some extent. I know that his reaction is based on the fact that he wants to protect me. But this need and the right to get what he deserves are two different things."
Trálír looked at Anwyn for a long time before addressing her. "If Ulthred and Conall are still on your farm, I assume you have prevailed?"
She couldn't hide a small smile that made her brown eyes sparkle with amusement.
"You're right about that."
"And how did you manage that, Anwyn?"
"Perhaps by being a little more stubborn than my own father," she replied with a grin.
"Then we will be able to implement your plans?" Trálír asked and watched as Anwyn stood up, went to the fireplace and placed the kettle of boiling water on the table, whereupon she took half a handful of dried mint from the pot and added it to the water.
"Yes, we will," she confirmed happily. Her face beamed with satisfaction and seeing how happy and relaxed she was also filled Trálír with happiness.

He got up from the table, rolled up the sleeves of his black tunic to his elbows and gave Anwyn a wink.
"I'll get to work then," he said cheerfully and left the house. Anwyn watched him walk through the door and smiled to herself.
Even though she knew that the last few weeks had been anything but easy for her and she still wasn't quite sure if she could forgive Trálír, she enjoyed his presence and was happy that he could be a part of her life again. When she lay on her bed at night, her body exhausted from the hard work of the day and the tiredness in her bones, her last thought was of Trálír.
And the first thought she had when she woke up in the early morning was also of him. Anwyn sighed at the fact that she was in love with him, lock, stock and barrel.
She opened the small box with the tea leaves and took out a small, very thin cloth which she placed over the muzzle so that the hot water could flow through it and the mint leaves would not fall into the mugs.
Anwyn took the first two cups in her hands and brought them to the two half-elves who had already torn a quarter of the dense bushes out of the ground. As she handed them the mint tea, they smiled their thanks and leaned against the spout while Trálír was busy throwing the torn branches into a pile. Anwyn went back, took the two remaining mugs and brought them to Trálír, who accepted his gratefully and brought it to his lips.
"Oh, no no no!" shouted Anwyn and quickly put her hand on his arm to stop him from drinking the tea. Trálír raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Are you planning to poison me?" he asked and a smile spread across his beautifully curved lips.
"I would never do that but the tea is hot and I don't want you to scald yourself," she explained with a laugh and took the cup back from him, which she placed on the ground next to her. A few steps away from the half-elves, Trálír also leaned on the spout and stared out at the sea. Anwyn did the same.
They stood in silence for a few moments, enjoying each other's presence, when Anwyn leaned forward and handed him the mug of tea, which he gratefully accepted with a smile.
"Am I allowed to take a sip now?" Trálír asked, amused, and Anwyn laughed at his words. She nodded affirmatively. "It will still be hot, but you certainly won't scald your lips or tongue anymore."
Trálír took a sip and then held the cup in his hands while still staring at the sea.
"Anwyn, there is something that..." He broke off and pressed his lips together. Anwyn's gaze was on his face and fear suddenly filled her. If he left her again, she would not be able to bear it. She felt her hands clench convulsively around the wood of the spout.
"I'm worried that your father... that he..." Trálír shook his head. "I just don't know how to put this into words." There was helplessness in his blue-green eyes as he looked at Anwyn.
"You fear meeting him?"
"Well, after what you said, he isn't thrilled that I am... that I am now close to you again. He made it clear to me the last time we met that I would only make you unhappy. His demand that I leave you was obvious."
Anwyn looked at Trálír in confusion with big brown eyes.
"Wait a moment ... he did what?"
Trálír hesitated for a moment, but then decided to continue. "The day I told you that I had to leave you, it was not only the worry about my family and the fear that I would put you in danger, but also your father who told me that…" He broke off and cleared his throat, embarrassed. "His words were that I should leave you sooner rather than later so that your pain over the loss would not be too big. His words about leaving you were clear."
Anwyn looked at Trálír, stunned. "He... he persuaded you to take this decision?" she asked with a weak voice.
"In part, yes," Trálír replied softly. "But ... but I can understand why he did this, Anwyn. He loves you, he wanted to protect you and he only wanted the best for you."
Anwyn scoffed. "He wanted the best for me? All I wanted was to be near you. And that ... he took that away from me."
Her voice broke and she closed her eyes to hold back her rising tears.
Trálír quickly placed his tea on the ground next to him and gently cupped her face.
"Anwyn, please, look at me," he whispered pleadingly and after a few seconds she opened her eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks, which Trálír softly wiped away with a gentle movement of his right thumb.
"I know that this all seems unfair at the moment and that anger and rage may have you in their grip. And yes, perhaps your father did not behave properly at that moment. But in the end, I made the decision to leave. It was my decision, because I could have stood up to him and my family, which I didn't do. I was too weak and listened to others and their expectations rather than my own heart."
Anwyn's sobs broke out anyway and Trálír pulled her gently into his arms. His lips brushed her cheek and he whispered close to her ear in a broken voice: "I'm sorry. I am terribly sorry. I never meant to hurt you so much."
As Trálír felt Anwyn's sobs ripple through her body, he carefully pulled her a little closer to him. He encircled her waist with his arms and clasped his hands behind her back.
Trálír felt her upper body sink against his chest, her face hidden in the hollow between his neck and collarbone. Anwyn's tears soaked the fabric of his tunic as he ran his hands soothingly up and down her back. He gently pressed his lips to her forehead until she slowly relaxed and her sobs subsided.
"I will never leave you again, Anwyn. I promise you that."
Trálír felt Anwyn shift her body a little to look up at him. There was an unspoken question in her brown eyes, which shimmered almost golden in the light of the morning sun. Words that Anwyn was unable to utter, for she feared his answer.
Are you sure?
"Yes, I'm sure of it. There will be nothing that will separate me from you, Anwyn“, he replied to the unspoken question he could see in her gaze.
Trálír leaned forward slowly until his lips tasted hers. Carefully, Anwyn opened herself to his kiss so that he could explore her mouth until their tongues were in a tender embrace.
She is as soft and sweet as wild honey, Trálír thought as he deepened his kiss. A soft groan escaped Anwyn's throat and Trálír pulled slowly away from her.
He was breathing heavily, but his hands still held Anwyn's face gently, his thumb caressing her cheek.
"I love you," he whispered in a raspy voice, brushing a lock of hair from her face with his left hand.

Chapter Text

"We've made good progress," Trálír said in a satisfied voice and watched as Ulthred and Conall mounted the wagon and raised their hands in farewell. He and Anwyn returned the farewell greeting and watched as one of the elfs gave the horse the orders to turn the wagon skillfully in the courtyard and make their way back to the castle.
"Tomorrow we'll take care of the rest of the bushes and start cutting down the trees. According to Conall's calculations, we have a lot to do because the space we need requires more room than I thought," the high elf continued and looked at the piece they had cleared of the bushes, plants and weeds growing there.
Anwyn followed his gaze and then asked with a hint of uncertainty in her voice: "Then the cost will go up?"
Trálír turned his gaze back to Anwyn and his smile was understanding while he could see her uncertainty reflected in her eyes. "You don't have to worry about that. All the years that my father has not rightfully paid, your earnings would be enough to have a second farm built. There will be enough coin left over to let you live a comfortable life for many years to come."
"I can hardly imagine that," Anwyn admitted in a low voice, shaking her head slowly. "Since I was born, our life has always been ... it's been a constant struggle for survival."
"Those days are over now, Anwyn," Trálír whispered and reached for her hands, which he clasped in his own. "I know your life has not been fair and you have suffered long enough. Now it is time for your father's hard work to bear fruit."
He saw Anwyn nibble on her lower lip, lost in thought and avoiding his gaze. It only took a few seconds for Trálír to guess what thoughts were troubling her.
"I know you think I'm only doing this because I have feelings for you and you're afraid this is some kind of payment for the time I spend with you, aren't you?"
Anwyn looked up at him and nodded hesitantly.
"I wish my father were a fairer ruler, who treated every inhabitant in his land equally. But he is a fool, trapped in old values and prejudices, and it pains me to see him driving the wedge between elves, half-elves and humans ever deeper. I am the heir to his throne and though I wish it were not so, I have been given this duty. I want to live up to this title, to create a land that flourishes and where everyone is well off when it is my time to rule over this country. There will always be differences in the wealth and lifestyle of the inhabitants, but I want everyone to be treated fairly. Your father is just the beginning."

Anwyn smiled at his words, cupped his face with her hands and kissed him gently.
"Thank you," she whispered close to his lips.
He cleared his throat and tenderly stroked a lock of Anwyn's hair out of her face. "We will appear at the same time tomorrow."
"Is there anything I can help you with?" Anwyn asked and Trálír shook his head. "It's not necessary, but if you insist, we can certainly find something for you to do."
Anwyn's broad smile made Trálír's heart beat faster and he leaned forward once more to kiss her. As his tongue slowly and gently explored her mouth, he felt Anwyn lean lightly against his chest, their hands clasped between each other's bodies, when suddenly there was a clearing of the throat.
Surprised, the two let go of each other and took two steps back while they both became aware of Anwyn's father, who was standing in the courtyard a few meters away from them with a sour expression and a dark look on his face. Anwyn couldn't help but feel a dark blush coloring her cheeks and she cleared her throat uncertainly. Trálír took a deep breath, turned to Anwyn and said in a firm voice, "Tomorrow, same time."
He let go of her hands, turned to her father and nodded respectfully to him before walking over to Arod, swinging himself into the saddle and leaving the courtyard.
"Take care of the fish," Doran ordered his daughter in a harsh voice and walked past her without giving her another glance.
Anwyn raised an eyebrow in annoyance and bit back the words that were on her tongue. Angry, she reached for the basket full of fish he had caught, which her father left behind her.

It was late in the evening when Anwyn put the last fish in the brine and sighed with relief. Her back ached from standing for so long and leaning forward for hours. Her hands were red and swollen from all the salt she had used and her stomach growled, reminding her that she had eaten nothing except breakfast in the morning.
And although her body was clearly telling her that it didn't want to do without food, Anwyn decided to ignore it. All she wanted was to fall into camp, pull the fur over her body and sleep.
She wiped the salt off her hands with a cloth, extinguished the candle that dimly lit the dark cellar and left.
Before she went back into the house, however, Anwyn walked to the spring in the stillness of the night, sat down and let her hands slip into the cool water. At first she felt a burning and stinging pain as the water wet her skin until it felt numb. The fact that she no longer felt the pain was a comforting feeling.
Finally, she rose and walked through the darkness back to her house. Anwyn opened the door quietly and saw her father sitting in front of the fire place, his back to her, lost in thought.
"Have you eaten dinner?" she asked her father, closing the door behind her.
Doran let out an unintelligible growl. Anwyn sighed heavily.
Now that Oksa and the goat were living in the stable again, Anwyn and her father had a little bit more space in the small house, which they had refurnished with the table, two stools and Anwyn's campsite.
She walked silently to her clothes chest, opened it and took out a robe for the night. Turning away from her father, Anwyn quickly slipped out of her dress and put on the nightgown. Only then did she slip off her shoes, which she placed next to the clothing chest.
Exhaustion and tiredness filled Anwyn, but she did not want to go to bed without addressing what she had heard from Trálír today.
"How long will you keep up this spectacle, father?" Anwyn asked quietly into the room. Doran gave her no answer, which she had expected and was no real surprise to her. "Are you going to punish me for the next few days, weeks or months with your silence and your ignorance of the fact that I am demanding the right that has been denied you for years?"
Nothing but silence was the fisherman's answer to Anwyn's question, who sighed heavily once more.
"I will not let it go, father. Neither from the fact that we are taking what is rightfully ours nor ... " She broke off as she saw her father's shoulder muscles tense at her words.
"Nor will I banish Trálír from my life," she continued quietly.
"Don't forget he's done this before," Doran said into the room, loud enough to make sure his daughter could hear him. "And now that winter is over, he’s coming back and you're throwing yourself at his neck like a mangy bitch."
Anwyn raised her eyebrows at her father's hurtful words.
"For loathing him so much for the fact that he is a high elf, you behave no differently from his own race. You too are tainted with the same prejudices as Trálír's own father and the elves around him."
Anwyn wearily brushed her hair from her face and shook her head wearily at his behavior.
"Besides, like his father, you also demanded a decision from him in my favor, didn't you? Only you didn't really act in my favor. You were one of the people who pushed Trálír into a decision."
"And he made that decision," Doran replied, emphasizing each word individually.
"Yes, I am well aware of that, Father," Anwyn replied. "And despite everything, I trust him."
Doran looked over his shoulder at his daughter and anger glowed in his eyes.
"You trust him even if you've cried yourself to sleep every night?"
"Yes."
He shook his head in annoyance and looked back at the fire, a clear sign that he wanted to end the conversation. Anwyn lowered her head in exhaustion at her father's stare. She was too tired to remain in this discussion that would lead nowhere.
With a soft sigh on her lips, Anwyn stood up, walked to her camp and settled down. Despite her dejection after the conversation with him, it only took a few breaths before she fell into a deep sleep.

*****

It had been thirty days since the work on the farm had begun. All the bushes had been cleared, Conall and Ulthred had felled some trees and chopped their wood into firewood which was now stored in the cellar. They had also already dismantled a quarter of the old outlet.
Next to the left side of the House, Trálír and Anwyn had created a large bed which was already planted with vegetables and herbs. Anwyn had bought the seeds for it at the market in the village. Just a few steps away from the bed was the run for the chickens she wanted to buy.
Anwyn's heart was almost overflowing with love as she had watched Trálír concentrate on building a chicken coop over the last few days, where the hens could find shelter in bad weather and retreat to brood. Now he and the half-elfs were busy dismantling the old coop completely and building a new enclosure for the pigs that were also to be acquired.
All the work of the last few days had progressed well, but building the new pen would take another while. They needed more space for all the animals they were planning to buy and the idea of an upper floor for a hay storage was on the table. Trálír and Conall estimated that the new barn would be three times the size of the current one.
While Trálír and the half-elves were busy with the chores, Anwyn took care of the daily housework, mucking out the stable and preparing the fish and octopods that her father brought back every evening from his daily catch.
As they now also had more coins, Anwyn was able to provide them with adequate food, which the three men were happy to accept. They did not spare compliments when Anwyn handed them their daily meals. Although it would have been possible to give the weekly catch to Ulthred and Conall, her father insisted on making the long and arduous journey to the castle with Oksa.
And to his surprise, the sack of coins was twice as heavy as usual when the old fisherman accepted the bailiff's payment.

As Ulthred and Conall appeared early in the morning, Doran could not avoid meeting the half-elves on the way to his boat. In the early days, he punished the two young men with ignorance, but as they did not refrain from greeting him politely and respectfully, he began to return the greeting with respect after a while.
He still remained silent towards Trálír, but at least he nodded to him when he crossed his path. When the sun set on the horizon and Doran returned from the sea, his daily catch stowed in one or two baskets, he saw the two young half-elves leave the courtyard.
Next, his gaze found his daughter and the high elf standing close, hands clasped together, their eyes lost in each other's gaze.
Even though Doran was not pleased that the ruler's son had found a way back into their lives, he could not help but notice how happy and content his daughter seemed.
When he saw how her mouth twisted into a beaming smile when the elf whispered something to her, Anwyn's father had to admit that it reminded him of the love for his deceased wife. For he too knew the feeling of absolute bliss and the knowledge that one had found oneself in the love of the other.
And he still could feel the terrible loss and the deep pain of being left alone, whether it was because you were abandoned, your beloved companion fell ill or died.
In the case of his wife, the god of death, Myrkul, did have the last word, taking her from him two years after the birth of his daughter.
He had still not gotten over the death of his beloved and the worry that Anwyn would also have to go through such pain made him even more suspicious of Trálír and his intentions.

Chapter Text

While the men worked on the new enclosure at lunchtime, Anwyn went to the cellar and reached for the stored food she had bought at the market just two days ago. And she had been well aware of the stares when she bought more than just a loaf of bread and some butter. She heard the baker's wife whispering suspiciously with a friend as she bought a bottle of wine from old Nemus and her heart sank.
Anwyn suspected that the villagers knew about "the elf", his two half-elves and were talking about what was going on in their court. How had it come about that the poor fisherman and his daughter were now able to acquire things that went far beyond their status? They had always been poor.
And why was this high elf at their court? What was his purpose? And who was this elf? Did he come from the castle, was he a wood elf, mostly hidden from human eyes?

From the looks of the mostly female villagers, Anwyn guessed that they thought she was one of those women who gave in to the physical desires of an elven companion and was possibly rewarded with a few coins. She had sighed as she accepted the bottle of wine, thanked the old man and turned her back on the market. Still, the stares of the female villagers burned uncomfortably at her back.
She knew that her father had warned her that something like this would happen, that she would be ridiculed and insulted, that they would call her an elf whore behind her back, but Anwyn had decided in favor of Trálír, saying that she wouldn't care.
But now that she was aware of the whispered words and the disparaging looks, Anwyn realized that it hurt her.
Elves and humans were filled with the same prejudices, shaped by years of hatred between the two parties, and neither wanted to believe in the goodness of the other.

Anwyn put the bottle of wine in the basket and left the cellar. She placed the full wicker basket on the ground in the middle of the courtyard, went back into the house and then spread a large blanket on the earth on which she placed the basket and then put the food on the center of it. She smiled thoughtfully as this meal reminded her of the picnic she had shared with Trálír in the forest when they had gathered wood.
She called him, Ulthred and Conall to her, who turned away from their work and were surprised to find this makeshift picnic.
"I thought this little surprise would taste better to you all than wheat porridge with boiled carrots," Anwyn said softly and smiled when Trálír reached for her hand and kissed her gently on the cheek. She was always a little uncomfortable at first when Trálír did this in front of the two half-elves, but they were obviously happy for their master, who was able to show his love for Anwyn so openly here in this simple fisherman's hut.

All four settled down and Anwyn watched with a smile as the men ate heartily and savored the food. When they noticed the bottle of wine, all of them started laughing as soon as Trálír opened it with a broad grin and poured them all some alcohol into their cups.
She knew from Trálír that his father made Conall and Ulthred work hard in the few fields that lay near the castle, but his son knew of the talents of the two men. Ulthred was a gifted craftsman and Conall was very skilled with numbers and units of measurement, so the planning of the new stable was in his hands.
Tralir had also told her that the slim half-elf with the long, light brown hair and green eyes had been the father of a little boy of two years. Ulthred, on the other hand, was planning a betrothal to a young half-elf who also worked as a maid at the castle.
If it were up to Trálír, both half-elves would work in the position in which they had proven themselves to be skilled and talented, but his father obviously saw things differently. Half-elves had no business in highly regarded workplaces, no matter how talented they were.

However, as his father did not really care about his servants and left this to the lord of the castle, Trálír had taken the two men aside and asked them if they were interested in working for him. They had gratefully accepted this opportunity to escape the hard and monotonous work in the fields.
The next day, Trálír had gone to the Lord of the castle and made him understand that the tasks that now fell to Ulthred and Conall were given by him and no one else.

While Trálír and the two half-elves engaged in a lively conversation about the numerous wines from Faerun and their flavors, Anwyn leaned back a little and rested her palms on the blanket. She enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her skin, listening to the sound of the waves in the background and the voices of the men.
Thoughtfully, she realized that she felt comfortable in the presence of the half-elves, who had treated her without prejudice since their first meeting.
They themselves were more unprejudiced than the villagers had been towards her and her father in recent years.
At every meal they ate together, they engaged Anwyn in conversation, listening with interest to what a fisherman's life was like, what work he had to do and how Anwyn helped him. When she told them that she was interested in herbalism and healing, Conall was particularly interested in what she had to say.

He told her that his son often struggled with stomach aches or other well-known childhood illnesses, but that he was reluctant to go to the elven healer in the castle.
The healer hesitated to treat the little boy because he was not of pure elven blood.
To her astonishment, Anwyn realized that the half-elves were even worse off than the humans as far as their reputation among the high elves was concerned. There was no land they could call their own, no home. They were outsiders.
For the elves, half-elves were too human, for the humans they were too much like elves.
They also had to contend with prejudice, devaluation and ignorance. The healer of the Blackwater Castle made this particularly clear to Conall by only taking a brief look at the child and then sending him and his father away again with the words that the child would recover on its own. Conall suspected that the healer considered the half-elf so worthless that he did not want to waste his herbs, ointments or oils on the child.

Trálír knew about the healer's behavior as he had confessed to Anwyn when he listened to Conall's stories, but since the healer was held in high esteem by his father, he was perfectly allowed to treat half-elves like Conall and his family like this without being held accountable. They had not consulted a human healer as the half-elf and his wife feared that they would be treated in the same way as the healer at the castle.
Anwyn then asked Conall to explain what his son was suffering from and promised to do everything in her power to help him.
When Ulthred and he reappeared the next morning, Anwyn was already waiting for them excitedly outside the house. While Ulthred freed the horse from the cart that was pulling it and took it towards the stable, Anwyn approached Conall and handed him several small cloth bags containing herbs and various teas as well as three small jars of ointments for different illnesses and injuries. Inside each of the sachets was a small detailed description of how they should be used.
Conall stared at Anwyn in bewilderment at this generous gift. There was a mixture of deep gratitude and disbelief in his green eyes, as he was not used to being helped as a half-elf.

Touched, he reached for Anwyn's hands, squeezed them tightly and whispered a quiet thank you which affected her deeply as she sensed the sincerity in Conall's voice.
A few days later, he presented a home-baked cake made by his wife and some pickled fruit as a thank you for her help, which Anwyn accepted with surprise and emotion. He then asked her if he was allowed to recommend her as a knowledgeable herbalist among the half-elves he knew. Anwyn hesitated, for she did not see herself real healer, but Ulthred and Trálír also confirmed that she was perfectly capable of treating others. So far she had never treated anyone except now Conall's son and she admitted to herself that this made her feel relieved, for the thought of treating someone other than her father or the half-elf's child made her nervous. She doubted her abilities, but kept trying to remind herself that she had been able to ease her father's pain and had also helped Conall's son.
And Trálír had reminded her that she had cleaned and stitched up the wounds on his body after the battle with the Sea Devils. None of those injuries had become infected and had healed well.
When Anwyn replied that this was most likely due to his elven blood, Trálír did not accept this objection.
When he looked into her brown eyes, he recognized the doubt in them and so he leaned down to Anwyn, kissed her gently on the forehead and whispered: "Don't doubt yourself, my love. You are capable of so many things."

*****

The days and weeks had flown by, the inhabitants of Blackwater Bay had long left the harsh and depriving winter behind them and the grass moon was also coming to an end, which the citizens noticed from the fact that the temperatures were steadily rising, the sky was mostly cloudless and the sun shone down on the land and the bay for many hours.
Despite the warm weather, there was still a steady wind blowing from the west, churning up the sea so that the waves broke powerfully on the coast.
Every day Trálír, Conall and Ulthred had come to the farm and done their work, which had progressed well. It was the month of change and they had already built the run for the chickens and the pigs. They were working diligently on the largest enclosure for the goat and the donkey, which could also live in the fenced area for the next few weeks while the old barn was being torn down and the new one built.
Trálír had suggested that Anwyn visit the market in Silverdew with him to buy the cattle.

Silverdew, a town on the border to the Blackwater Lands, was about a four-hour ride away. If they left that early morning, they would have enough time to acquire the animals and return before nightfall.
Anwyn could see the excitement in Trálír's blue-green eyes, his face beaming at the idea of spending almost an entire day alone with her.
For a brief moment, Anwyn allowed herself to dream of riding to the city and walking through Silverdew next to him, even hand in hand, where no one knew them, feeling as if their future was not so terribly uncertain and dark. Perhaps it was commonplace in the town to see an elf with his human companion, perhaps no one would judge their love for each other. Or maybe it was possible that the inhabitants of the bustling city were too busy to pay attention to a simple young woman and an elf at her side.

Chapter Text

For a brief moment, Anwyn surrendered to the thought of accompanying Trálír before she called herself to her senses. He was the son of the ruler and the inhabitants of Silverdew would surely recognize him. If a man of the human race were to walk beside him, some would frown but not question thei Heirs companion. It would be different with an unknown woman at his side and Anwyn was sure that the questions and speculations of the inhabitants would find their way into Blackwater Castle and to his father.
And that was the last thing she wanted for Trálír. Besides, it would nearly be impossible for him to disappear under the eyes of the ruler and the castle inhabitants for almost an entire day, as the young high elf had obligations every day. And Anwyn herself was sure that her father would hardly allow her to do so, even if his attitude towards Trálír had improved in recent weeks. They still didn't speak to each other, but they greeted and said goodbye with the appropriate respect.

At Trálír's suggestion, Anwyn had nodded hesitantly and asked him to bring up his plan again when the purchase of the animals approached, but she knew that she had only postponed the conversation between them and not resolved it.
Now she stood in the center of the yard and watched the elf lay brick upon brick as the men had decided to build a wall to enclose the yard. This decision had been made after they had realized that although it would not be a problem to leave the animals in the enclosure at night while the stable was being built, this would increase the opportunities for the inhabitants of the forest to hunt and see the newly acquired animals as prey. Moreover, not only foxes, martens, bears and wolves were a danger, but also many other beasts from the depths of the forest and even the sea. A third of the wall was already up and Anwyn could see the sweat soaking Trálír's beige tunic, as today was an unusually hot day. The elf wiped the sweat from his forehead as Anwyn walked towards him and handed him a cup of water, which he gratefully accepted and drank quickly. Anwyn took the mug from him again and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. A smile slid across the elf's noble face and his left hand clasped hers while his thumb gently massaged the surface of her hand.

"The sun has been beating down on you for hours, don't you want to take a break, Trálír?" Anwyn asked anxiously.
"Just let me use the remaining bricks and then we'll stop working for the day," he replied and she frowned questioningly at his words.
"Lay down our work?"
She looked at Ulthred and Conall, who were busy dismantling the old spout.
"Yes. It's unusually hot today and I'd rather spend the time in your presence instead of burning alive while I build the wall."
He looked up at her and grinned mischievously.
"And what would that look like, dear sir?" Anwyn's voice sounded amused.
"You'll find out when the time comes, Mylady!"
Anwyn shook her head with a laugh and went back into the house.
She also felt uncomfortable in her skin because of the heat and decided to change her dress for a skirt and blouse made of a lighter fabric. Since she expected to be alone with Trálír for a while, she opened her wardrobe and chose clothes she rarely wore.
Anwyn pulled a calf-length dark red skirt with ruffles from the bottom row, which she only wore once a year, when her father celebrated his birthday. The skirt had once been made by her mother and Anwyn could dimly remember sitting at her mother's feet and listening to her quiet words while she was busy sewing. The skirt was made of sturdy cotton and as it was so rarely worn, it still looked as if it had only recently been acquired. For the top, Anwyn chose a white blouse with a V-neckline enclosed by a ruffled edge. The sleeves reached Anwyn's elbows and were also finished with ruffles.
Like Trálír, she wore her hair half-open, so that the lower part of her curls reached almost to her waist.
She took off her current simple black linen dress, reached for the blouse she then put on and the skirt that followed. Anwyn sat down on the edge of her camp and reached for the brown leather sandals that were also in the wooden chest.
She heard the voices of Trálír and Ulthred outside the door, stood up and opened it. Anwyn glanced at Conall, who was already sitting on the coachman's seat, while the blond half-elf raised his hand in farewell, looking at Anwyn and called out: "We are leaving for today!"
Anwyn replied with a soft smile: "Have a safe journey back to the castle!"
She watched as Conall and Ulthred skillfully turned the wagon around and then made their way towards the castle. Trálír strode out of the stable and closed the door behind him.
"I'd rather Arod was in a safe place before he gets the idea of galloping around alone on the beach and meeting other beasts who would love to have a piece of him," Trálír said as he walked towards Anwyn.

"Then we're not going to the beach today?" Anwyn asked in a soft voice and saw him shake his head in the negative.
"No, it's far too hot for that. Let's go into the forest, it's shady there and the risk of running into someone should be low," Tralir replied and grabbed Anwyn's hand.
"And if we meet a bear, you'll throw yourself at it and break its neck with your strong hands, won't you?" Anwyn asked with amusement, walking hand in hand next to Trálír towards the forest.
"So I have strong hands?" Trálír asked, raising a dark eyebrow playfully.
"Well, I couldn't help but pay attention to your hands when you put one brick on top of the other."
Trálír laughed.

"Yes, I have to admit that my hands know what they're doing."
He looked at Anwyn and, sensing his gaze, she returned it with a smile.
"And that involves more than swinging a sword, gutting a fish or stacking bricks. I am also quite skilled with my hands in more delicate matters."
Anwyn looked wide-eyed at the tall elf striding beside her.
"Well... then..." She cleared her throat sheepishly and Trálír had to bite his lower lip to suppress the grin that rose inside him. His words were meant playfully, but he couldn't help but notice that his voice sounded far lower than usual, tinged with suppressed lust. He felt the desire for Anwyn in his loins and for a moment he feared he had gone too far with his innuendo, but her hand was still in his and she continued to walk with him deeper into the dark and cool forest. Her cheeks, however, had turned slightly reddish.
"I am also very skilled with a bow and arrow," Trálír added and waited for Anwyn's reaction, but she walked silently beside him, her cheeks still tinged with a slight blush when she suddenly said in surprise, "Our clearing!"

Trálír nodded with a smile and relief flooded through him when Anwyn looked up at him, her eyes shining with joy.
"This is where you found me when I hurt my ankle!" she exclaimed, pointing with her free hand at the tangle of roots she spotted. Then her eyes fell on the yellow primroses growing between the trees and she remembered the bouquet of flowers Trálír had given her the next day.
"I didn't think I'd ever come back here," Anwyn said quietly and then turned to Trálír, who stood silently beside her and looked at her tenderly.
"It's been a long time," she continued emotionally.
"Unfortunately, I didn't think of a picnic basket or something to drink," Trálír said and shrugged apologetically.
"We'll save that for next time," Anwyn replied with a smile that slipped over her full lips and made her fawn eyes sparkle. She pulled Trálír with her as she walked straight towards a small hollow covered in a thick carpet of moss. Anwyn let go of his hands, leaned forward and untied her sandals, then stepped onto the moss carpet with bare feet and grinned with satisfaction.
Why shouldn't I do that as well? Father isn't here and nobody, except her, can see me, Trálír thought and was surprised at himself as he also bent forward and stepped out of his boots. As his bare feet sank into the cool moss, he breathed in contentedly.
"That feels good, doesn't it?" Anwyn whispered and reached for his hands again. Trálír nodded affirmatively.

She slowly let herself slide to the ground and pulled the high elf with her. As the two of them sat in the moss, Trálír watched Anwyn slide her fingers into the lichen and close her eyes.
"I love nature," she whispered, slowly lowering her head into her neck. "She is such a generous friend who enriches our lives with her presence."
"A druidess has been lost to you," Trálír said softly, his grip on her hand tightening. "And a cleric probably."
Anwyn laughed, opened her eyes, which shimmered softly, and looked at the high elf with a tender smile.
"There is no god I pray to," she confessed to him quietly.
"Nor do you have to. Take me as an example."
Anwyn raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"I don't pray to the gods either. Instead, I worship you."
Surprised, she wanted to respond to his words, but Trálír quickly leaned forward and captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. Heat filled him as he felt Anwyn return his kiss and open her lips for him so that he could savor her mouth with a sensual dance of his tongue.

She leaned towards him, her hands detached from the moss and with her fingertips she slid over the delicate skin of his neck and intertwined her fingers in his nape. Trálír released his lips from hers, leaned back a little and looked at Anwyn, her cheeks flushed from the rising heat she felt in her body. Her lips glistened swollen from Trálír's long, hungry kisses.
In her fawn eyes he read the desire she obviously felt. She nodded at his unspoken question and gave him permission to continue.
Anwyn sank into the soft moss and with her hands still entwined at the nape of Trálír's neck, she gently pulled him down with her.
His tongue slid slowly and teasingly over her lower lip as he drank in her breath.
Gently, Trálír settled down, supporting himself with his arms at Anwyn's sides.
He released his lips from the intimate kiss they were sharing and slid them from her mouth to the lobe of her ear, which he gently took between his teeth and nibbled on. Anwyn's breath caught and with a slight grin he allowed himself a slow, sensual lick down the side of her neck to the hollow of her collarbone.

His left hand was on her waist and with the light pressure of his thumb he tenderly massaged her skin, which was covered by the fabric of the blouse. Nevertheless, Trálír had the feeling that he could feel the heat of her body through the garment. With his right hand, he gently reached under her thigh and lifted it slightly as he shifted his body and slowly nudged between her legs with his leg.
His hard member pressed against Anwyn's body, which she perceived with a slight sigh that slipped over her lips.
With the tip of his tongue, Trálír slowly slid from her collarbone across her throat to her lips, which she opened willingly, inviting him to explore her intimately. As he tasted her mouth with his tongue, he felt the grip on his neck tighten and her body unconsciously stretched towards him.
Trálír's right hand slid to the waistband of her skirt and under the fabric of her blouse. When Anwyn felt his fingertips on her bare skin, her breath caught for a moment. Her skin seemed to burn with desire and she felt a deep, longing pull in her abdomen. She released her grip on his neck and her fingers slid through his long, black hair.
While Trálír's fingers explored, Anwyn loosened his hair, which he wore half-open so that it fell into his face. Their kiss became more urgent, more passionate, her breath betraying her and her lust.
Trálír's index finger traced tender circles around her navel as they lost themselves in intimate kisses.
The elf released his lips from hers, breathing heavily, and slowly straightened up. Anwyn let out a disappointed moan as she felt him pull away from her and opened her eyes. The look in her fawn eyes was clouded with lust.
"Trálír?"
The high elf straightened slightly and knelt between her legs, a tender smile on his finely curved lips.
"Would you allow me to take off your blouse?"

Anwyn hesitated for a moment, but then she looked into Trálír's eyes. The look he gave her made Anwyn feel like she could trust him with her life and she knew that he would never do anything against her will. She nodded with a smile and straightened up so that she was sitting opposite him. He reached for the waistband of the blouse and pulled it up, Anwyn stretching her arms up to help him undress. She was wearing a simple bra that was knotted in the back.
Trálír leaned forward, placed his hands gently on her shoulders and another long and intense kiss followed. His hands slid from her shoulders to her collarbone, then his mouth followed and he pressed gentle, feather-light kisses to her neck. She felt his fingernails leave a light mark on her heated skin and his hands slid from her chest to her back, where he skillfully undid her bra. He slipped his fingers under the straps, lifted them slightly and pulled the piece of fabric off Anwyn's body. Without thinking about it, she crossed her arms and covered her breasts with her hands.

Trálír put the bra aside and saw how she had placed her hands protectively in front of her naked upper body.
He kissed her tenderly and placed his hands over hers.
A long kiss that made both their hearts beat in unison, each other's breath drunk, the heat in their bodies that they both felt like molten lava burning through their bodies. Trálír leaned forward slowly and pressed his lips gently to Anwyn's knuckles before kissing each fingertip tenderly. Another kiss followed, another sensual dance of their tongues, a savoring of their senses. Anwyn let out a soft moan as Trálír's index finger slid along the curve of her breast.

"You are beautiful," he whispered and his voice sounded raw.
He slid his body down a little so that his face was level with her belly. When his tongue left a wet trail on her heated skin from the edge of her skirt to her belly button, Anwyn arched her back. Trálír felt her fingers pressed into his shoulders with desire. He gently circled Anwyn's nipple with his tongue and focused his gaze on her under half-lidded eyes. His arousal increased immeasurably when he noticed her half-opened lips, the closed eyes and the long eyelashes that cast a shadow on her reddened, slightly heated cheeks. He felt the slight shiver that ran through her body as he gently stroked her breast with his hand while he lavished his mouth on the other.
His erect member pressed against Anwyn's thigh and he gently grinded against it.

With sensuous short licks Trálír teased her bud before he took it in his mouth and sucked on it. Anwyn gasped.
He released the bud with a plop and pressed his forehead between Anwyns full breasts, breathing heavily and biting his lower lip to control his desire. At that moment, it was about Anwyn and her alone.
Trálír closed his eyes and licked over her sweaty skin while his fingers trailed to her skirt.
With the fingers of his right hand he pulled up the fabric of the skirt until it gathered at her hips.
His hand slid to the waistband of her underpants and over the fabric, eliciting a whimper from Anwyn. Trálír swallowed hard as his fingers feel the damp fabric, a testimony to her desire for more, for his touches, for him.

He reached for the edge of the underpants and without saying a word Anwyn pushed her hips upwards to make it easier for him to remove the piece of fabric.
Trálír pressed a tender kiss to the inside of her calf and felt the tension in her muscles, the slight trembling of her body that he could feel under his lips. He let the tip of his tongue glide over the skin to the threshold between her thigh and her sex.
Trálír alternated between tender bites, the long and sensual savoring of her skin to short, playful licks.
Then he ran his index finger through Anwyn's folds and her body literally trembled under his touch.

Long, slow caresses of her sex, the feel of her wetness, the smell of her lust almost made Trálír lose his senses. As his index finger slid to the bundle of her nerves, the elf listened to Anwyn's whines and moans. In a tender dance of his fingertips, he felt Anwyn on the verge of losing control. He smiled as he closed his mouth around her clit and gently sucked on it while his fingers glided through her folds, slowly and teasingly. Anwyn's body shook with desire, her legs began to quiver uncontrollably and her fingernails pressed painfully into Tralir's back as she climaxed with his name on her lips.

Chapter Text

Trálír swung himself off the saddle and handed Arod's reins to Fairre, the old stable master who was standing in front of some hay bales with another servant, saying, "Unsaddle him and take him to his stall."
He nodded to both men, then turned away without a word and walked towards the Great Hall. He struggled to keep a motionless expression on his face on the way there which was in stark contrast to the excitement he had felt since he had first kissed Anwyn and explored her body.
His hardened cock pressed tightly and painfully against his breeches.
Each step was a bittersweet pain and he counted the seconds as he put one foot in front of the other. All he wanted was... well, to touch himself. Ever since Anwyn had experienced her first climax on his lips, Tralir had wanted to give in to the heat and longing pulling at his lower abdomen. He didn't want to force himself on her, so he had decided to return to the castle, lock himself in his chamber, and give in to the desire for his own climax.
When the high elf had crossed half of the hall, another elf suddenly stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop. Trálír raised an eyebrow impatiently.
"What is it?" growled Trálír irritably and the elf, dressed in the armor of the Blackwater Castle, suddenly looked at him uncertainly.
"Sir, your father demands..." he began and was immediately interrupted by the Firstborn.
"That can wait! Tell him I am busy." Trálír looked at the soldier warningly, causing him to take a step to the side, clear the way and look to the ground. "And I don't want to be disturbed."
He walked past the soldier without a word and climbed the many steps until he reached the corridor to his chamber. When Trálír was finally able to open the door, he stepped inside, shut it behind him and locked it quickly. Then he slumped back against the thick wood, leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
He could still taste Anwyn on his tongue, still feel the pressure of her lips on his, hear her sighing and whispering his name as she climaxed.
Trálír undid his laces and slid his hand inside his pants. He breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers encircled his hard member. He suspected that only a few quick strokes would be enough to bring him to climax, but Trálír wanted to savor the feeling. The knowledge that it was him, his fingers and his tongue that had almost driven Anwyn out of her mind, increased his excitement immeasurably. Heavy breathing he licked his lips and felt his member twitch as he could still recall the taste of her. He remembered her eyes glazed over with lust as he lay between her thighs and slid his tongue over her folds and clit. He could still feel her twitching beneath him, her fingernails pressing into his shoulders.
His hand moved slowly into a teasing rhythm and he imagined Anwyn doing this, imagined her hands touching his member from the shaft to the tip. Long, slow movements with her fingertips as she knelt in front of him until she tightened her grip. He thought of her slowly gliding along his shaft with her fingers until to the tip, where she lubricated his member with his pre-cum. Trálír bit his lip to suppress the groan that was rising in his throat.
He imagined how Anwyn would tilt her head slightly to one side, her fawn eyes sensual and demanding at the same time, a smile on her lips as she approached his member.
Trálír groaned as he saw in his mind's eye how Anwyn pressed it to her lips and gently kissed his tip.
His strokes became faster, more pressing and he saw her tongue gliding along at his pulsating member while her hand was still at his shaft, gently massaging it. The pleasure, the heat inside him became stronger and stronger. Trálír arched his back from the door, moaning deeply with lust.
He saw her lean back slightly, the tender smile he loved so much on her lips. Anwyn slowly sank back, her soft body sinking into the damp moss, and she opened her thighs for him. When Trálír saw that her body was already yearning for him, her lips swollen and glistening, he groaned, tightened his fingers around his pulsing member, and fucked his fist while imagining it sinking into Anwyn's tight heat.
„Gods, fuck, FUCK… ngh“, he moaned as he came and spilled over his shirt.

*****

It was early in the morning and Anwyn's father had already left the house a few minutes ago to hopefully return with a good catch at the end of the day. Anwyn herself stood in front of her storage area and glanced at the shelves Trálír had placed on the wall a few days ago so that she could examine her growing collection of herbs and ointments. On the last shelf hung several different collected plants to dry, which she would then grind or process into powder.
Sometimes when she lay on her bed at night, she dreamed of having her own little hut just for herself, where she could devote herself entirely to her knowledge of herbs and healing. She dreamed of numerous shelves full of oils, ointments, teas, small boxes full of dried marigold, chamomile, sage and coneflower, water mint, lemon balm, wormwood and peppermint, which she could use for various purposes. Even though Anwyn had only helped Coran's child so far and was unsure about treating other people who might find their way to her, she still secretly dreamed about it.
Since winter had finally left the Blackwater Lands, she had returned to the village every tenth day and had retreated with the healer to his bower for hours, asking questions, listening to his words, thanking him when he had let her choose new and unread books from his large collection, which she had studied in the evening by the light of the oil lamp until her eyes had literally closed from exhaustion and she had almost fallen asleep at the table.
Trálír had given her a blank notebook with the words that she could use it for her notes and Anwyn had complied. She had written everything down and made a note about every single plant she had held in her hands. Every herb, every mushroom, every plant she knew that she had found, what effect it had and how best to use it, she described in great detail.
Since Trálír would be visiting the High Elves of Blackmoor on this day, he had promised to ask a healer friend of his for seeds for royal blue, red dragon's bane, white seven-star, blackmoor leaf and the common shade vine. Each of these plants was a shade plant and could only be found in dark places, so Anwyn planned to plant them in a narrow bed at the back of the house, as this would always be in the shade and thus ensure that the plants would thrive; if Trálír managed to acquire the seeds.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Anwyn was snapped out of her thoughts. Surprised, she turned away from her camp, took the few steps to the door and opened it.
"Conall?" There was surprise in her voice. "Why are you knocking on the door? Is there anything you or Ulthred need?"
Anwyn was puzzled by the half-elf's appearance at her door, for normally he and his friend started work as soon as they reached the courtyard.
They greeted Anwyn when she left the house and began her daily chores or when they met in the courtyard as soon as she appeared. Since the day the two half-elves had appeared, there had never been a moment when anyone had knocked on the door of the small house.
"May I come in?" the slender half-elf asked, looking at Anwyn uncertainly.
"Of course," she replied and opened the door. "Please, have a seat."
Conall nodded, entered the house and sat down at the table. Anwyn did the same, took a seat opposite him and looked at him questioningly.
The half-elf cleared his throat uncertainly and Anwyn gave him an inviting look to begin.
"My wife asked me to tell you..." He broke off and took a deep breath, gathering all the courage he needed to tell Anwyn why he needed her help. "You were a great help to us when it came to treating my son, and I know from our lord that you don't really consider yourself a healer. But I think you have an innate understanding for plants, humans and half-elves too." Conall smiled faintly.
"There is someone who needs your help, Anwyn. She's from Blackwater Castle and works as a scullery maid, but my wife knows her well and has been looking after her since she started working at the castle last summer."
Anwyn looked at Conall in a waiting manner, giving him the time he needed to explain everything to her.
"My wife approached me yesterday in this rather delicate presence and asked if you would ..." He broke off again, the look in his green eyes nervous. "No one would help the girl in this situation. The elf healer would refuse because she is human and the healer in her own village? If someone found out about her condition? I don't like to imagine what the girl would have to endure." Pain showed on Conall's face.
"Then she is carrying an unborn child?" Anwyn asked cautiously and the half-elf nodded hesitantly.
"She's waiting on the wagon," he replied.
"Send her to me," Anwyn said with an encouraging smile and Conall rose with relief.
"Thank you," he whispered, gave her a grateful smile and left the house. Just a few moments later, there was a timid knock at the door.

"Come in," Anwyn called, pointing into the house as the door slowly opened and a young girl appeared in the doorway. She stared at Anwyn with big blue eyes, uncertain and afraid.
"Please sit down," she said and watched as the girl slowly sat down on the stool. She bit her lower lip uncertainly and avoided Anwyn's gaze, whose heart tightened as she looked at the intimidated, slender maid. Something about her touched Anwyn deeply.
"Would you like some tea?" she asked and the young girl nodded hesitantly. Anwyn wanted to give her the time she would probably need to open up to her.
She poured the chamomile tea she had freshly brewed in the morning into two cups and sat down.
Still avoiding Anwyn's gaze, the girl sat opposite her. Her hair, which reminded Anwyn of wheat on a warm summer's day, was tied tightly at the nape of her neck.
Her face was narrow and pale and an unusual hardness lay on her countenance. But Anwyn read such deep sorrow in her blue eyes that it belied the hard expression on her young face.
"What is your name?" Anwyn asked in a low voice.
"Serah," the girl replied hesitantly, almost whispering, after a few seconds.
"Do you want to tell me why you seek my help?"
She nodded slowly and took a deep breath, as if she had to gather all her courage. But in the next moment she failed to put her thoughts into words and her eyes filled with tears.
"Would you allow me to summarize what Conall said?" Anwyn asked in a soft voice and Serah nodded once more. Their eyes met for a brief moment, then she lowered her gaze and stared at the cup of tea in her hands in front of her.
"You're carrying a child, aren't you?" Anwyn asked softly.
Instead of an answer, a tear trickled down Sera's pale cheek and Anwyn carefully and gently placed her hand on Serah's intertwined fingers. This touch caused the young kitchen maid's heart to break and she began to sob uncontrollably. Anwyn tried to suppress her rising tears, for Serah's obvious suffering also pained her deeply. She cleared her throat and wished she could take the girl in her arms, tell her that everything would be all right, that the future would not be hopeless. But she had to wait for the girl to confide in her and so she sat opposite her and listened to the sobs that filled the house.
After a while, Serah calmed down enough to finally raise her eyes and look at Anwyn. There was such pain in her blue eyes that even Anwyn could hardly bear it. Something told her that it wasn't just about the unborn child.
"When was your last cycle?"
"Seven times a Tenday," Sera replied quietly.
"Did you feel any signs like morning sickness or bloating? Is your chest tight?" Anwyn asked intently.
"Yes," the young girl replied hesitantly. "I know these symptoms from my mother when she was pregnant with my brother."
Anwyn nodded.
"I know my next question won't be pleasant, but I have to ask it to be sure." Her hand was still on Sera's interlaced fingers and she gently stroked them with her thumb to reassure the girl. "So there was a union with you and someone else?"
Serah closed her eyes in agony and nodded. Anwyn felt her heart stop, for the obvious pain and deep sorrow on her face made her realize that this child was not conceived in love.
This fruit had been born out of pain and hate.

Anwyn knew about the women who, even in a happy or stable relationship, were sometimes forced to resort to abortion. In some cases, the mother's health was in danger, while other women had to decide against pregnancy because they were too poor to raise the child.
There were also women who were impregnated by a man other than their own husband, often against their will. When Anwyn had read up on the subject and decided to help in such cases, she had sworn to herself that she would not judge the woman's decision. It was not her place to judge others, regardless of the reasons for deciding against pregnancy and the birth of the own child.
She knew that there were many healers who refused to help women in such a situation, mostly in the hands of herbalists. But there was no one around who could have helped except the village healer. He had never been a friend of aborting pregnancies, but when his daughter was abused by a stranger and became pregnant, he had to ask himself whether he would help or not. The healer had decided against it and lost his beloved daughter when she and the unwanted child died in childbirth.
Since then, he did everything he could to spare others this pain. And this was also the reason why he passed on all his knowledge to Anwyn.

Chapter Text

The pain in Serah's eyes reminded Anwyn not only of the helplessness of the current situation, but of a suffering that went much deeper, an agony that was almost unbearable for the young girl.
A misery that Anwyn had often heard of and seen when women turned to the village healer when strangers, robbers or many a friend had forced themselves on them against their will. Sometimes even a woman's own spouse did the same thing to her.
A violated girl or woman, punished with an unwanted fruit in her womb, would be immediately chased from the court of the Blackwater Castle. They had no use for a pregnant servant or an extra eater. She would hardly be welcomed into her home either. Many of the human inhabitants of Blackwater Bay lived on the edge of poverty and an extra eater at their table was a great burden for so many families. If Serah were to return to her home, punished with the brat of a stranger, she and her family would be ostracized.
If her family didn't clearly stand behind her, and Anwyn wasn't sure they would, she would be in danger of being driven from home and hearth there as well.
If that happened, there weren't many options left for her.
One was to carry the pregnancy to term, give birth and abandon the newborn in the forest, which for many was a common way to dispose of a child. If she kept the child without the support of her family or a man by her side, she would have no choice but to eke out an existence in poverty. For women who chose this path, the only way to get coins was through prostitution.
And those who chose this path did not have much of a future. How many times had Anwyn heard that a drunken, violent punter had lost control and the whore had lost her life.
This child would never have a chance, and neither would Serah.

Anwyn nodded slowly, let go of the girl's hands and stood up. She walked to her storage place and searched the shelves above for the herbs she needed, weighed them and packed them with a note on how to take them before pausing and turning around.
"Can you read, Serah?"
The girl nodded slowly. "Not well, but Conall's wife can and I know she'll help me."
Anwyn continued and then turned to her, several small bags in her hand that were labeled.
"You will drink this," she said, pointing to the bag with the least weight. "Put the herbs in a piece of cloth and run hot water over them so that none of them fall into your cup. It looks little, but tansy is highly poisonous and life-threatening, Serah. It will kill the fruit in your womb, but too much of it and you would suffer terrible convulsions, hear and see things that are not true. In the worst case, you could die. You must be careful."
The young girl nodded gravely.
"Here are some opium poppies and willow bark tea. Take the opium poppy in the dose I've written down for you, that way you'll be able to get through the worst of the pain. You will probably get a fever, so have Conall's wife make you some willow bark tea, it will reduce the fever."
"How long...?" Serah broke off, ashamed.
"A few hours to three days, Serah. Don't drink more than a cup of tea even if it takes a day or more for nothing to happen. It will come to an end, you must not lose patience and think you have to boil the herbs one more time. It would kill you."

There was fear in the kitchen maid's large, blue eyes.
"Make sure you are not alone, that there is someone to watch by your side. You will bleed a lot, more than your normal cycle. Make sure you have fresh cloths and warm, clean water."
Anwyn placed the cloth bags filled with herbs on the table and reached across the old wooden board for Serah's hands, which she took in hers.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking as she watched the girl to stifle the sobs that were rising. „I am so sorry this happened to you.“
Serah swallowed the lump forming in her throat, tried a weak smile and then reached into the pocket of the apron she was wearing. Anwyn watched in amazement as she pulled out a golden coin and placed it on the table.
"You don't have to do that," she said, shaking her head. "I don't want that coin. You don't have to pay for my help."
Serah shook her head vehemently. "I don't want that gold," she said, her voice trembling. "It's dirty."
Anwyn understood immediately that this gold coin lying on the table between them had been used to "reward" her after the forced intercourse.
"Since we both don't want this gold near us, we should get rid of it, shouldn't we?"
Anwyn gave the girl across from her a gentle smile.
"Are you expected at the castle, Serah?" Anwyn asked, and she replied, "No, they think I will come late noon.”
"Then you have some time. What do you say you accompany me to the Wheeping Cliff? When we get there, you can throw this coin into the sea and it will disappear into its depths for all time."
Anwyn noticed something like a hint of hope in the young kitchen maid's gaze as she gave a quiet yes in reply.
"Then follow me."
Anwyn turned away, walked to the door and went to open it, but when she heard no footsteps behind her, she glanced over her shoulder and was surprised to see that Serah was still sitting on the stool. She looked at Anwyn, her lips pressed together, her whole body tense, which Anwyn noticed in her stiff shoulders and fingers and her faltering breath.
"Is there anything else you want to tell me, Serah?" she asked gently, turning back to her.
The maid swallowed, took a deep breath and slowly stood up. Closing her eyes, she reached for the fabric of her skirt and pulled it up to expose her legs and thighs.
"By the gods," Anwyn whispered in shock and looked at the numerous cuts and hematomas on her skin with widened eyes.
Serah's blue eyes were still closed when she dropped her skirt and opened her blouse instead, exposing herself to Anwyn. In addition to several cuts under the girl's chest, she discovered bite wounds next to her navel and above her pubis.
A burn on her left hip bone was already inflamed, swollen deep red and pus had formed under the burnt layer of skin.
"Can you help me?" Serah whispered in a broken voice.

Anwyn swallowed and took a moment to regain her composure.
"Please remove your clothes except for your undergarments. I will fetch fresh water to clean and treat your wounds," she said, trying to suppress the trembling in her voice. She opened the door of an old cupboard and reached for a bowl, took it out and left the house. When she had closed the door behind her, she slumped against the door for a moment and closed her eyes.

The sight of the sliced flesh, the thought of rough fingers pressing violently into the tender skin, so hard that the blood had pooled, made Anwyn's breath catch in her throat.
It must have been an unbearable pain for the young girl as the flame approached her skin millimeter by millimeter. All the pain Serah had endured when she had been bitten and beaten, all the blood that had flowed...

Anwyn rubbed her eyes, suppressed the rising lump by clearing her throat and took a deep breath of the salty sea air. She walked past the half-elves, who looked at her tensely.
Conall's gaze was restless and Anwyn tried to give him an encouraging smile, to show him that he had no reason to worry. She failed miserably.
Did he know about what had happened? Did he have any idea what this girl had suffered? Or had Serah concealed all this torment from him and his wife and only mentioned the bare minimum?
Anwyn walked to the spring and drew water into the bowl. She noticed that her hands were shaking and she scolded herself.
Pull yourself together, Anwyn. You shouldn't show her what this does to you.

Anwyn got up and carried the bowl filled with water to the house. When she opened the door, she saw Serah sitting on the campsite, the clothes she had taken off pressed protectively against her upper body.
Her slender figure sat slumped on the bed, her head hanging forward, her gaze fixed blankly on the floor. When she heard Anwyn close the door behind her, she looked up at her.
"I will now explain what I intend to do to you," Anwyn began quietly. She placed her hands on the clothes Serah was still clutching as if it were a protection against all the adversity that had befallen her.
"May I?"
Anwyn waited until the maid nodded to indicate that she could continue. Anwyn gently touched her wrists.
"I will now examine you and assess what treatments you need. Then I will clean your wounds with fresh water, disinfect them with some alcohol and then treat them with ointment to prevent the wounds from becoming infected. Using the ointment will also speed up the healing process."
Anwyn stood up again and reached for a small bottle on the bottom shelf, which she uncorked and used to disinfect her hands. She held out her hand to Serah and helped her to stand up. While she inspected the wounds, she didn't let go of the girl's hand, who was sobbing quietly and clinging to Anwyn's grip as if it were her last resort.
From her knee up to her breasts, there were numerous cuts, almost too many to count. Some of them were already healing, other cuts were fresh, the tissue swollen and hard.
Anwyn decided to lance the festering blister, as she needed to give the pus a chance to drain. However, she would save this procedure until last as she knew how painful it would be for Serah.

Anwyn took two steps around the girl as her gaze fell on her whip-scarred back. She gasped in shock.
"How often does he beat you?" Anwyn asked, stunned, and reprimanded herself at the same moment. "I apologize, I shouldn't have asked you that," she added.
The silence between her and Serah weighed heavily in the room and she wasn't expecting an answer when she girl suddenly replied in a whisper: "Sometimes only every Tenday."
Anwyn closed her eyes as she heard Serahs's words.
"Then there are days when he does that several times..." She broke off as she felt Anwyn's fingertips on her ravished skin and a tremor ran through her body. "Some days it starts before the castle's inhabitants wake. I try to hide from him, but he always finds me. It's as if he knows every nook and cranny, even the darkest corners. He can see in the shadows and when he finds me, he punishes me over and over again. Several times a day."
Anwyn took a clean cloth, dipped it in the clear water and began to carefully clean Serah's wounds.
"I had heard the rumors about him when I began my service at the castle," Serah continued in a low voice. "I knew that two or three maids were having fun with him and talking about his preferences. But what he... what he does to me... I had no idea..."
She began to cry.

"I know that the gold coin in your possession is something that reminds you every time of what you've experienced," Anwyn said slowly, now carefully cleaning the cuts on Serahs stomach and thighs. "But this coin could be a way out. You could at least leave the castle, the Blackwater Lands, and make a new life for yourself far away from here."
"No, I can't do that," the girl replied, shaking her head. "He threatened to kill my family if I left the castle. And I know that he will put it into practice without hesitation."
Anwyn, who was cleaning a wound under Serah's right breast, looked up at her and their eyes crossed. Hopelessness clouded the young maid's gaze.
"Can't you turn to someone? Confide in someone who could prevent this?" Anwyn asked, stunned.
Serah scoffed. "The lord of the castle cares nothing for the humans or the half-elves who work for him. Nothing could interest him less. Maybe some of them know about what he does, but they don't care. No one cares … no one cares about me."
Anwyn considered for a moment whether she should tell Serah that she could turn to Trálír, but she was unsure whether she wanted to and whether she could take the risk of being open about the fact that she knew Trálír.
"I wish I could help you, Serah," Anwyn whispered, concerned.
"But you do," the maid replied and closed her eyes while Anwyn washed out the wounds and then began to clean them with alcohol. She bravely tried to ignore the burning pain, but a painful whimper slipped from her lips more often than not. When Anwyn had cleaned and treated all the injuries except for the burn blister, she asked Serah to lie down on the camp to lance the burn blister with a needle that had already been disinfected.
She groaned in agony as Anwyn gently pressed against the tissue to drain the pus and then disinfected it.
"You can get dressed now," Anwyn said and held out his hand to Serah so that she could stand up. "Do you need my help?"

She shook her head and began to dress while Anwyn turned away to give her the privacy she deserved.
"I know you are not expected at the castle until evening, Serah. Perhaps you would care for our donkey while I make a salve for you to use on the burn. It will take a while and Oksa would certainly enjoy some carrots waiting for him in a basket. You can get him out of the stable and take him to the run, he'll find his own way there."
While Anwyn was treating the maid, it occurred to her that the journey to the Weeping Cliff would be too strenuous, so she decided to suggest taking care of the animals instead. She knew from her own experience that animals could have a healing effect on a wounded soul.
"Really?" Serah asked in surprise and Anwyn glanced over her shoulder. She nodded with a smile.
"He really likes being stroked, too. Especially behind his ears."
Serah returned Anwyn's smile shyly and stepped out of the house. She heard the stable door open and the soft voice of the kitchen maid speaking gently to the donkey.
Anwyn would boil seaweed and marigold in water and leave to cool. Then she would carefully stir in cold, liquid fat and cover it with a boiled linen cloth until the ointment had reached the consistency she needed.
Finally, she would write a letter for Conall's wife, listing the various herbs and ointments, how to use them and what to look out for. And she would end the letter with an urgent request not to leave Serah alone when she took the dried tansy as tea.

Chapter Text

DON'T YOU DARE TO RUN AWAY FROM ME, WHORE!
Anwyn hurriedly glanced over her shoulder but apart from the darkness, the shadows and the threat within, she could see nothing and no one. Yet she sensed the danger that was at her heels and she knew of the pain and suffering that would await her if she was unable to escape.
Panicked, she tried to find a way in the darkness through the confines of the ... forest? Was this a forest? Was it low-hanging branches that brushed against her body? Was she struggling through dense bushes that prevented her from making progress?
Anwyn could see nothing, not even her own hand in front of her eyes, and stumbled through the dense, impenetrable darkness, filled with fear. The sound of her own breathing and the loud pounding of her heart rushed in her ears, as loud as the crashing waves of the sea on the steep coast of the Blackwater country.
She ran straight ahead, hands outstretched to avoid bumping into something unknown, when she felt something or someone touch her arm. Anwyn flinched in fright, lost her balance and stumbled a few steps before finally falling to the ground. Her hands touched something soft, warm... damp.
Anwyn felt the sobs rising in her throat and tried to get up, but her feet sank into the unknown ground, preventing her from escaping.
Where was she? In a forest, a moor, had she lost her way, had she been brought here? Why couldn't she see anything? Why didn't she know what had happened?
You can't escape me, Anwyn.

The dark, menacing voice was so close to her ear, so close that she could feel the heat of the lips on her skin and Anwyn screamed. Panic surged through her body, her mouth went dry, her throat became so tight that she felt as if she would suffocate in the next moment.
"No, no, no," she whispered in fear and struggled to sit up. She tried to find a foothold on the floor with her fingers, but Anwyn suddenly reached into an almost viscous liquid that was also clearly trying to pull her down. Was this water?
She tried desperately to fight her way through the slimy liquid, but the more she moved, the deeper she sank. Just a hand's breadth more and she would completely sink into it.
And then the realization hit her as she recognized the metallic, sweet and heavy smell.
Blood.
Anwyn heard the scream that erupted from her own throat as if from far away when she suddenly felt something grab the back of her neck. Something sharp pressed against it and she suffered an unbearable pain as the unknown thing pierced the skin of her throat, violently tearing the flesh to shreds, severing muscles, nerves and arteries.
Anwyn became aware of the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes when she felt the warm blood pouring out of her.
Did you ever think you could escape from me?
A whisper close to her face, a demonic grin that she could not see but could still feel.
Just like the hot breath of the stranger who pressed his lips to hers and absorbed the rest of her, drinking her essence, feasting on her life.
The world around Anwyn became darker, blurred until she could only see the glow of yellow eyes, like amber, and she disappeared into the depths of the night.

Anwyn awoke with a gasp, her heart racing as if it wanted to burst her chest, her body drenched in cold sweat, her breath hitching. A sob was on her lips.
She threw off the thick fur that threatened to crush her, stumbling from her camp through the darkness until she reached the door, which she tore open in panic. The coolness of the night was almost comforting to Anwyn, but she was unable to calm herself. More uncertain steps followed, stumbling slightly, until she noticed the sand of the beach beneath her feet.
All strength left her and she sank to her knees, whereupon she vomited with sobs.

Anwyn didn't know how much time had passed since she had knelt here on the sand, her arms wrapped around her torso and staring into the darkness. Exhausted, she turned her gaze to the east and realized that the sky was slowly brightening. From far away, she heard a single wolf howling, probably in search of a mate.
Anwyn rubbed her eyes with the fingers of her right hand and slowly rose to her feet. A tremor ran through her body and she froze under the clammy fabric of her night robe.
But instead of heading back to the safety of the house, she made her way to the spring. The still faint light of the half moon showed her the way.
When Anwyn reached the quietly bubbling spring, she stopped, took a deep breath, stripped off her night robe and underwear and stepped into the cold water.
The spring poured into a two-man-wide riverbed that reached her shoulders at its deepest point. Anwyn walked to the point where the water reached her knees and lowered herself until she was sitting on the bottom, her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She rested her chin on her folded upper arms and closed her eyes, exhausted, as the cold water flowed around her body.
It was so cold and Anwyn froze so much that her muscles tensed and her body gave the signal to warm up, causing her to shiver and her teeth to clench.
Still, the cold and the numbness gave her a feeling of comfort, as it allowed her to focus on it and lessen the helpless and panicked feeling of the nightmare.

Lost in thought, she ran her hands over her forearms, then over her knees and shins until she was almost manically rubbing every inch of her body under the water.
As the feeling of threat increased again, Anwyn remembered the dark, almost evil-sounding voice and its words and she felt the rising sobs in her throat that she could not suppress.
She began to cry as she tried to remove the feeling of this creature's grasp from her skin by pressing her palms hard over and over again. Anwyn didn't realize that she was scratching her skin bloody with her fingernails until her tears slowly subsided.

But as soon as she closed her eyes, she saw the hopeless look in Serah's sad eyes, saw the wounds on her body, She knew that this young girl, who felt she had only just outgrown her childhood, was carrying a fruit that had grown from the desire to abuse power.
If Serah survived the abortion of the fruit, what would happen next to her? How long would it be before this monster would impregnate her again and she would have no choice but another abortion or an inevitable future on the streets of Blackwater Bay in abject poverty and at the mercy of all the dangers? How many times would she have to endure beatings, bites, whippings, humiliations in the future? How many times would he rape her again?

Anwyn rubbed her eyes once more, exhausted, and tried desperately to find a solution for Serah. Would it be possible to take her in? Now that they had come into some wealth, they wouldn't really need help, but the young maid could give her and her father a hand. She could give Serah a safe place if the stranger's threat to murder her family didn't hang over the young girl like a sword of Damocles. And the wounds Anwyn had seen on her made it clear that her tormentor would carry out this threat in bloody fashion.
Should she turn to Trálír, tell him about the suffering this girl was going through? Was she allowed to pass on the knowledge entrusted to her with the risk that the man who did this to her would find out and continue to torture her? Who was it and what position was he in? Would it even be possible for Trálír to intervene? And what would happen if the tormentor managed to escape and took revenge on Serah first?

Would Anwyn's interference mean Serah's death? And if she did not interfere, what future would await the young maiden?
No matter how many questions she asked herself, no matter what options opened up to her, there was no way that Serah would not end up worse off than she was at the moment.
It was hopeless and Anwyn gave up, depressed. She dipped her hands into the water, shaping them to hold the cool water inside and wiped the tears from her face.
Freezing and shivering all over, she rose from the riverbed and realized that the sky was already fully illuminated.
She quickly slipped back into her clothes and then walked back towards the house. When she opened the door, she looked straight into the tired-looking face of her father, who was glancing at her with concern.
Anwyn stood in the doorway for a moment, not knowing what to do or how to interpret her father's look. She turned her face away and slumped down on her camp, thinking that she would change her damp clothes when her father made his way to the spring to wash himself as well. But he didn't move a step, just stared at her in silence.

"Anwyn, is something bothering you?" His voice was quiet and his daughter looked at him in surprise. She hadn't expected a normal conversation to be possible between them after all the disagreements they'd had over the last few days and weeks.
"No," she replied, barely audible, and she shook her head.
"Hm."
Doran took a step closer and cocked his head to the side to get a better look at her.
"Have you been crying, child?"
"I was just having a nightmare, Father. There's nothing for you to worry about."
The old fisherman nodded hesitantly.
"But if something is bothering you, then ..." He broke off and took a long, deep breath, as if he needed to find the courage to continue. "I know that we've barely exchanged a word with each other in the last few weeks. Nevertheless, I want you to know that you can always come to me if something is tormenting you."
Anwyn sensed that these words did not come easily from her father's lips and nodded slowly.
"Thank you for your words, Father," she replied and smiled faintly. Doran returned the smile carefully and then turned to the door through which he stepped to leave the house.
Anwyn felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes once more, which finally slipped down her pale cheeks with a quiet sob that slipped over her lips.

Chapter Text

Trálír raised his hand in greeting as he rode into the small courtyard and spotted Conall and Ulthred busily sawing the wooden planks to the correct length and width for the final run that had already been marked out. Both half-elves returned their master's greeting and then turned back to their work, while Trálír swung off Arod and patted him on the neck, to which he responded with a satisfied neigh.
He opened the door of the old stable and led the stallion into the large stall where the donkey and the goat stood. Oksa pricked up his ears and scratched his hooves in a friendly manner as Arod trotted up beside him and gently nudged him with his nostrils. Trálír watched with a smile as his stallion and the donkey feasted together on the fresh hay in front of them and closed the gate then. But before he left the stable, he reached for a linen bag attached to his saddle and untied it.
With a smile on his finely curved lips, Trálír left the stall behind him, walked to the house and knocked on the door. Since he had not discovered Anwyn in the yard or with the animals, he assumed that she was busy inside with some housework or something similar. Perhaps she was sorting out herbs.
But the door was not opened for him, nor did he hear any noises from the house. Frowning, Trálír opened it and stepped into the room only to discover that there was no one inside. He pulled the door shut behind him and turned towards the two half-elves. When they heard the approaching footsteps, they both looked up at the same time and nodded again to their master in greeting.
"Do you know where Anwyn is?" Trálír asked and Conall replied with a nod: "She went into the forest a while ago in search of some herbs."
"It probably won't be long before she comes back," Ulthred added. "She told us not to worry about her."
"Should there be any reason for us to worry?" Trálír inquired, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He watched as Conall and Ulthred exchanged an uncertain look.
"I don't know if it's my place to say this," Ulthred began hesitantly.
"But?" asked Trálír and an unnamable apprehension rose up in him.
"But she looked a little pale," Conall said, shrugging his shoulders apologetically.
"Did she look ill?" The half-elfs could clearly hear the concern for Anwyn in the high elf's words.
"Rather depressed," Ulthred slipped his lips. "It seemed to me that something was bothering her, something I couldn't put my finger on."
Trálír nodded. "Thank you for entrusting me with this. I really appreciate it," he said in a grateful voice and then pointed to the unfinished wall. "Then I guess I'll get on with building the wall."
He smiled at the two half-elves, turned away and walked to the wall that was also under construction. Trálír knelt down and put the linen bag to one side before he set about mixing the lime and sand already in storage with water so that he could make the mortar he needed to build the bricks.
As he mixed it, he wondered if anything in the last few days had indicated that something was troubling Anwyn. But he couldn't remember a moment between them when she had been unhappy or depressed. Perhaps she had had another argument with her father yesterday, when he had had to pay a visit to the wood elves? That would certainly be a reason for Anwyn's obvious gloom, which the half-elves had also noticed.
The ruler's son resolved to do everything he could to stop her feeling down.

Concentrating, Trálír placed one brick on top of the next while the sun burned down on him relentlessly. Spring was not yet over and the hottest weeks were yet to come, but the elf, who had been laying brick after brick for some time now, was still sweating. The sweat collected under the long, black hair on the back of his neck and ran slowly down his spine, dampening the fabric of his tunic.
Suddenly he heard Ulthred's voice and glanced over his shoulder. When his gaze found Anwyn's, a smile stole onto his lips. He straightened up, patted his hands on the fabric of his trousers and brushed his long hair out of his face.
Anwyn greeted Conall and Ulthred and then became aware of Trálír walking towards her. She gave him a gentle smile which he returned lovingly. As they stood in front of each other, Trálír leaned forward slightly, placed his right hand on her cheek and gave her a long, tender kiss which Anwyn returned with her eyes closed. A sigh escaped her lips as Trálír pulled away. He noticed that she looked exhausted, her skin was pale, dark shadows lay under her eyes and the look in her brown eyes was tired.

In her left hand she carried a basket filled with several plants and herbs. She placed her right hand lovingly on Trálír's hip.
"I missed you," she confessed in a whisper and the elf raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"I was only separated from you for a day and a night," he replied with a smile and gently ran his fingers through her loose, wildly curled hair.
"Too long," Anwyn whispered and stole another kiss from Trálír's lips.
"You were in the forest?" he asked with interest and Anwyn nodded in confirmation.
"Stocking up on dried herbs and plants is always a good decision. Would you like to follow me into the house?" Anwyn asked, pointing to her home.
"I'll be right there."
As Anwyn made her way to the house, Trálír turned and walked back to the unfinished stonework and reached for the linen bag that lay in a shadowy alcove. Excitement filled his heart and he hoped to please Anwyn with this gift. Trálír entered the house and saw her spreading out the herbs and plants on the table. With a smile, he stepped behind her, put his arms around her waist and placed a kiss on her shoulder. He felt her flinch slightly and a shiver ran through her body as he pressed his lips to her skin that was not covered by her dress.

„Don't keep me from my work," she said and Trálír heard the smile in her words.
He let go of Anwyn, stepped around her and sat down at the table. Placing the bag on it, he looked up at her.
There was wonder in her eyes.
"Did you bring your own food because you don't like mine anymore?" she asked with amusement and Trálír grinned mischievously.
"Open it," he told her and watched intently as she took the linen bag in her hand to do so. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"I assumed you wouldn't think about it," she confessed quietly, looking at the contents of the bag with emotion.
"Tztz," Trálír replied with mock reprimand. "As if this would slip my mind. You've been talking about it at least every other day."
Anwyn grinned.
"Merdarion is very particular when it comes to his collection, but he couldn't deny his old and good friend his wish. And now you have the opportunity to grow Royal Blue, Red Dragon's Bane, White Seven-Star, Black Bog Leaf and the common Shadow Vine, just as you wished."
"I can hardly believe that you are making this possible for me, Trálír. The wood elves' shade plants are hard to come by and if you want to buy them you need a lot of gold."
In response, Trálír gave Anwyn a radiant smile which she rewarded with a heartfelt kiss.
"How did you get on yesterday, Anwyn?" he asked, hoping that she wouldn't hear the tension in his words. As soon as he had asked the question, he noticed how her eyes clouded over and her smile seemed forced.
"It was a day like any other," she replied and smiled weakly. Trálír grabbed her hand tenderly and looked at her insistently.

"If there's something that's troubling your heart, Anwyn, you can share it with me. You don't have to keep your worries to yourself."
"I... someone visited me yesterday..." Anwyn broke off and bit her lower lip. Trálír noticed that she was avoiding his gaze. He gently stroked her hand with his thumb.
"Someone needed my help."
"That's good, isn't it? It seems that some of the inhabitants have found their way to you through Conall's praises," Trálír replied unconcernedly. "At least one resident. Were you able to help?"
"A little, I think." Anwyn's voice was quiet.
"Do you still doubt your abilities?" he asked her, frowning.
"No, not that," she replied, shaking her head. "She was... she was so young and the injuries she had were terrible. It wasn't easy for me to treat them."
The elf looked at her doubtfully. "When the Sea Devils injured me back then, neither blood nor open wounds could stop you from treating me. What was so different about these injuries?"
"Nothing," Anwyn hastened to say. "Maybe I was just insecure and emotional because the girl was so young and I felt sorry for her."

She turned around and placed the bag of seeds on the bottom shelf above her camp when Trálír suddenly stood up, put his hands around her waist and lowered himself onto the furs with her.
"Trálír!" Anwyn exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing?"
"I think we've earned a little time out," he replied in a low voice and pulled her into his arms.
"Here?" The elf heard her concern in her voice.
"Yes, right here, right now," he replied and nibbled tenderly on her lower lip. "Nothing and no one will disturb us. Now is not the time to think much."
Anwyn looked at him with wide eyes.
"But it's the right time to feel each other," he whispered with his lips against her mouth and felt her lean against him and return his kiss longingly.

Chapter Text

„On your knees. And put your delicate hands in front of you.“
His voice was dark with lust, soaked in the desire to use her body, to claim her for himself.
The few candles burning in the chamber cast their dim, ever flickering light into the room and seemed to make the body of the woman lying before him, her naked skin covered in sweat, shine with an almost golden glow. The candlelight intensified the color of her long, red hair, which resembled the flame of an all-consuming fire.
A sensual smile on her finely curved lips, a foray of her tongue gliding seductively over her lower lip, a fire blazing in her emerald green eyes.
"Now."
Khara, who had been leaning on her elbows and looking at the elf in front of her with a smile, slowly and seductively straightened up and turned her back to him. She reached into her hair with her right hand and put it over her shoulder, knowing his preferences. She heard his breathing intensify, could imagine his yellow eyes darkening with lust, how he bit his lower lip as he watched her spread her legs and slowly and provocatively lower her upper body onto the mattress. Her elbows pressed deep into his bed, but she still had the opportunity to look over her shoulder and at him. Her nipples, stiff with arousal, rubbed against the fabric of his bed.

Teárlach knelt behind the half-elf and watched as she lolled in front of him, pushing her arse upwards and giving him an excellent view of her wet, glistening pussy. She was literally dripping for him and he bit his lower lip with desire, savouring the pain he felt.
When Khara realized that he wasn't touching her, she began to make slight circular movements with her buttocks to encourage Teárlach to finally put his hands on her.
Teárlach knelt behind her, his hand slowly stroking his erect cock, his tip already wet with precum.
Needy little slut, he thought with a smirk, his ember eyes burning with desire.
Khara began to whine about the abscence of his fingers, his tongue and his cock. All she wanted was to feel him inside of her.
Teárlach's lips twisted into a lascivious grin as he became aware of the half-elf's whine.

He took his hand off his erection, brought his fingertips to his lips and moistened them with his tongue. And without a word of warning to Khara, he guided two of his fingers into her cunt in a single slow motion.
A loud moan slipped from her lips as she felt Teárlach's fingers deep inside her, so deep that the knuckles of his hands pressed against her entrance.
His disinterest in Khara's desires was evident as he inserted another finger, ignoring the longing burning in her clit. When the pretty half-elf began to press her hips against his fingers to relieve the desire inside her, he stopped mid-motion and slapped her buttocks with his other hand, making her wince.
‘Did I allow you to fuck yourself on my fingers?’
His voice was dark and there was a hint of threat in his words.
‘N... no,’ Khara stuttered.
‘No, WHAT?’
‘No, master,’ she corrected herself and he heard the slight tremor in her voice.
‘Good girl,’ he cooed and rewarded the half-elf by sliding the three fingers out and then plunging them back in in a single powerful movement. Khara clenched around his moving fingers which slide fast in and out and Teárlach knew that she would love to get fucked senseless by him. But not yet.

With every movement of his fingers he listened to the lustful moans of Khara which became louder with every single thrust he did. She couldn't help but roll her hips against his fingers one more time, causing Teárlach to pause instantly. He slid out of her and heard her whining about the loss of his fingers. He was clearly annoyed about her behaviour and he slapped her again, harder this time.
‘Teárlach,’ she gasped and his right hand, wet with her desire, grabbed the back of her neck and pushed her into the pillow. He saw her fingers clawing into the sheet as she couldn't breathe. He leaned over her, his hard cock pressing welcoming against her damp folds.
‘Didn't I tell you to hold still?’ the Firstborn asked quietly, his voice menacing. ‘Or do you want to be punished? Is that what you really want? That I fuck you so hard that you can hardly walk for the next few days? Or maybe you would like to choke on my dick? You just have to beg for it.’
He loosened his grip on her neck so that Khara could turn her head to the side and finally gasp for air again. Teárlach saw that her face had reddened from not being able to catch her breath, but her eyes were clouded with lust and her lips were half-open. His hard cock twitched at the knowledge that Khara thoroughly enjoyed being treated like this. But even if she liked it harder, she had no idea what else Teárlach had in store for her.
‘Beg for it, slut,’ he urged her.

‘Hngh,’ Khara moaned as she felt Teárlach slide his fingers slowly and tantalisingly inside her, crumpling inside and feather-lightly touching the spot which set her on fire.
‘Beg!’ he demanded.
‘Fuck me, please,’ she replied with a moan, her words a pleading entreaty to the high elf behind her.
‘And how do you want it, my dear?’ he asked in a whisper, his fingers thrusting wildly as Khara's legs began to shake.
And that was the moment when Teárlach's fingers slipped out of the heat of her body and penetrated her with a single powerful thrust. Khara screamed in pleasure.
‘Gods, please, please fuck me, Teárlach, please,’ she begged him as she would beg for her life. And she had no idea that her life was really in his hands, which only increased Teárlach's arousal.
Teárlach plunged his hard cock into her wet cunt, fucked her hard like she begged for it, filled her to the brim and enjoyed feeling her clenching around him while his thrusts became faster and faster. The room was filled with the obscene slaps of his hips slapping against her ass.
‘You are taking my cock so well, Love,’ Teárlach whispered as he leant his body over her, his fingers on her neck, pressing into her tender skin. As he approached his climax with deep and fast thrusts, his fingers slid from Khara's neck over her chin to her lips. Greedily she sucked on his fingers while Teárlach slid his tongue over her shoulder blade and plunged into her lips.
Khara moaned, biting Teárlach's fingers, which he answered with hard, deep thrusts until he finally poured himself into her with a loud moan.
She felt his body collapse on top of her before he slid out and fell next to her, breathing heavily.
Breathless, Khara turned her face to Teárlach and looked at him, stunned.
‘Teárlach,’ she whispered in a trembling voice. ‘I didn't come.’
He turned his face to her and raised an eyebrow.
‘You should earn an orgasm, Love,’ he answered with a cold smirk. ‘You've done nothing more than spread your legs, darling. Is that all you are willing to give?’
‘I could suck your cock,’ Khara suggested, biting her lower lip with relish.
‘And that's all you want to do?’ he asked, bored, while the pretty half-elf placed her right hand on his chest and slid down over his toned abdominal muscles in a sensual, slow movement. Before she got anywhere near his flaccid member, however, Teárlach grabbed her wrist and stopped her. Khara flinched at the sudden pain that shot through her arm.
‘As much as I would consider the offer at another time, it doesn't really seem appealing to me now,’ he said, his voice dark, his smile cold. ‘Come up with something better.’

For a brief moment Teárlach could see how hurt Khara was at his words, as the pain was reflected in her green eyes and on her face for a few seconds. But as quickly as this expression had slipped over her face, it disappeared again. She seemed to think for a moment and he saw her beautifully curved lips form into a smile.
Teárlach looked at her intently.
His grip still around her wrist, Khara nevertheless took the opportunity to slide her index finger slowly up and down his navel.
‘The little kitchen maid who has enjoyed your attention a time or two,’ she began, looking slyly at Teárlach.
‘Yes?’ His voice was curious and Khara felt satisfaction that filled her.
‘It seems you have been successful.’
Teárlach frowned.
‘Meaning?’
‘You planted a bastard in her, Teárlach,’ Khara replied, mockery colouring her voice. ‘But it seems to be quite easy with humans. Getting elves pregnant is a little more difficult, isn't it?’
‘Careful, Khara,’ Teárlach replied as the grip on her wrist tightened and she winced at the pain that shot through her hand and arm, feeling like liquid fire in her muscles and tendons.
‘She got rid of the bastard. Lying in her room for days with severe cramps and heavy bleeding.’
‘She lost it?’
Khara's laughter was filled with malice.
‘Lost it?’ she replied with a raised eyebrow. ‘She helped it along. A few herbs, hot tea and your fruit slipped out of her lap.’

‘She aborted it?’
Khara nodded with a cool smile. ‘Apparently she didn't value becoming the mother of your child, Teárlach.’
A dangerous fire glowed in his yellow eyes. ‘You should watch your dirty mouth, whore. If not, I should fill your pretty lips with my cock to avoid that you spreading such filthy lies.’
‘When I just suggested you to suck your cock, you weren't very keen,’ Khara replied shamelessly.
In the blink of an eye, Teárlach released his hand from her wrist and grabbed her by the neck, his fingers pressing painfully into her flesh.
‘Careful, I said,’ Teárlach repeated softly. ‘Know your limits, Love.’
Khara stared at the elf with widened eyes.
‘But I must confess that you deserve a little reward. This news is worth something to me.’
Teárlach loosened his grip on Khara's neck and let himself sink into the sheets. With a smile drenched in lust, he pointed between his legs, which he slowly spread apart.
‘Take a seat between my legs.’

Khara eagerly complied with his request, straightened up and sat down between his lower legs. When she realized that his member was getting harder, she bit her lower lip in anticipation. A soft, longing moan slipped from her lips.
‘And now ... up with your ass. And spread your pretty lips for me.’
Khara was only too happy to comply with this request. She leaned back using her right hand to support herself.
And then her left hand trailed down from her full and heavy breasts over her flattened belly down to spread her lips to open them for Teárlach to see.
‘Lean back, Love and let me see how wet you are.’ His voice was filled with lust, dark of desire. He licked his lips while he was watching Khara touching herself. His hand stroked slowly his hardened cock and he lubricated himself with the pre-cum on his tip. Khara moaned as she glided her index finger slowly through her dripping folds. Teárlach sat up, leaned forward and grabbed her chin with his left hand so that she could not avoid him, trapped in his grip. He pressed his lips to her mouth in a hard, hungry kiss and bit her lower lip the next moment.

His lips glided from her mouth to her neck and he sucked brutally on her delicate skin while his right hand worked his cock in long smooth motions. With the left hand he pressed his finger painfully into Khara's skin, grabbed her ass and pressed her against him. She closed her eyes in pleasure and her head sank back into her neck.
Teárlach felt her hand moving faster while he sucked and bit her neck. The heat in the elf built up, making him tense and squirm against his fist until his pumps grew rapid, untamed and fast so that he spilled himself over his hand and her belly.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as the orgasm surged through his body. He looked at Khara which was so close to come as well.
Teárlach smiled when he pushed her so hard that she lost her balance and with a surprised cry slipped off the bed and fell to the floor. He let himself fall into the sheets, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he slowly caught his breath.
‘Get the fuck out of here, Khara. I'm tired of your face.’
‘What?’ The half-elf straightened on her knees and looked stunned at Teárlach.
‘Do I really have to repeat myself, Love? Get lost.’
‘But... but...’ she began and Teárlach raised a dark eyebrow. The next words were a clear warning to her.

‘If you think you have to say another word or have the audacity to touch yourself until you reach your climax, I will either cut out your tongue myself with the dagger lying here next to my bed or it will cost you a finger or two. Do you really want to take that risk?’
Khara shook her head quickly.
‘Good girl,’ Teárlach cooed, a smile on his lips that didn't reach his eyes.
‘Now get out of here. I will not repeat myself again.’
The half-elf stood up hesitantly, took two steps to the side and reached for her clothes lying on the floor in front of the bed.
‘Do not dare to touch them,’ warned Teárlach.
‘Forgive me, my Lord, but I must dress before I leave your chamber,’ she replied in a whisper, fear filling her voice.
‘Is that so?’ asked Teárlach, amused. ‘I am your master and I order you to leave my chamber immediately. Naked. And if anyone sees you, if anyone smells your obvious desire for me or, you are to look forward with your chin up. And you will do the same when my cum drips down your thighs. None of my whores should be ashamed of being fucked by me. Have a little pride that you put your body at the service of your master for a few silver coins.’
Khara closed her eyes and bit her lips to stifle the rising tears.
‘As you wish, my Lord.’
She turned, strode to the door and opened it. When she heard Teárlach's cruel laughter behind her, she started to sob.

Chapter Text

Serah.
An ominous whisper in the darkness. The light of the full moon only dimly illuminated the dark chamber through a narrow hatch in which the young girl slept on several layered furs. Comfort was alien to the servants of Blackwater Castle; their lord, the ruler of these harsh lands, did not care whether they were well or not. According to Trálír the Elder, a roof over their heads and some food should be enough for the human rabble.
Seraaah...
A deep sigh, the slow opening of drowsy eyes and a moment to realise where she was.
It took Serah a few moments to recognise the familiar shadows of her small chamber in the darkness. The outline of the old wooden stool, a narrow table whose front left leg was too short so that it always stood at an angle.
A plate, a cup and a tin knife next to a thick wax candle, next to an old box in which she stored the few clothes she owned. These were all her possessions. She had the few coins she received from the bailiff at the end of every third Tenday sent to her family immediately. There was a messenger at the castle who distributed the servants' earnings to the families in the neighbouring courtyards.
Teárlach's gold coin was still in the healer's house. After she had been treated by Anwyn, she was allowed to look after her donkey and the little goat. Serah felt transported back to her childhood and forgot for a while all the suffering she had experienced at Teárlach's hands. It was just her and the animals, nothing else. It was only when Conall called her name and signalled that they would return to the castle that everything came flooding back to Serah. She said goodbye to the healer and allowed her to take her in her arms and stroke her back reassuringly. There was sadness in her eyes as the young herb woman parted from her.
When they arrived at the castle, Conall bent down to her and asked her to accompany him. Uncertain, she followed him and entered the small house in the forecourt of the castle that he shared with his wife and child.
She sat silently on a stool while Conall handed his wife a letter which she read.
The half-elf finally turned to Serah and asked for the herbs and further instructions on how to use them. They decided together that they would retire to her chamber the next evening after her service to perform the abortion.
To explain Serah's absence, Conall's wife invented a severe fever and would also take over the kitchen maid's duties so that she wouldn't get into trouble while she took the time to induce abortion.
It had been a painful few days, strong cramps that made Serah feel like her body would tear apart in the next second, a burning fever that made her see unrecognisable shadows, senseless words that slipped from her pale lips and all the blood that flowed out of her and made the fruit in her womb slide out. More cramps, unbearable pain, blood and more blood, the feeling of fading, of approaching darkness, of losing herself.
After three days, Serah returned to reality, weakened, broken.
Conall's wife urgently advised her to rest for a few more days or at least not to carry any heavy loads, but the young kitchen maid did everything as before so that no one could even suspect what she had been forced to do.
Nevertheless, she felt the stares at her back when she entered a room and sometimes the whispering of those present stopped abruptly and everyone turned back to their work. The only one with a knowing smile on her lips was a pretty half-elf with long red hair. Serah didn't know her name, as she was in charge of cleaning the chambers, but her throat tightened when she glanced over Serah's body as if she knew what had happened.

Serah yawned and stretched her arms to loosen the muscles when she suddenly touched something soft and warm. Startled, she flinched and recognised the glow of yellow eyes in the darkness. She wanted to scream when his hand pressed over her mouth and a quick movement with the other hand pinned her wrists above her head.
"Ssshhh, Love. Don't be scared. I won't do anything to you when you promise me to behave."
Serah stared fearfully at the high elf with widened eyes.
‘Do you promise?’ he asked and she nodded in panic.
Teárlach smiled coldly as he took his hand from her mouth and placed it between her breasts to feel her racing heart under his fingers. The thin fabric was barely a barrier between his hand and her bare skin.
„And you promise to be a good girl, Serah?“
‘Yes, master.’ Her voice was barely audible.
Teárlach leaned forward slowly so that his face was only a few handbreadths away from hers.
‘Things have come to my ears,’ he began, his gaze burning into her blue eyes.
By the gods, please help me, Serah thought and her body began to tremble, which Teárlach noticed with a raised eyebrow. He smirked.
"Oh, little One. The gods won't help you. They never do. I am the only one who decides about you and your miserable little existence. So tell me, are the words that have come to my ears true?"
‘What ... what words?’ she asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty as hot tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
Teárlach laughed.
"Really? You really want to claim you have no idea what I'm talking about, child? Don't act more stupid than you are," he snarled. "I'll give you another chance. Be smart enough to take it, you want to spare yourself my punishment, be sure of that."
Serah began to cry.
‘Speak!’ the highelf ordered.
‘I bore your fruit,’ she replied, sobbing. ‘And ... and ... I lost it.’
Teárlach clicked his tongue contemptuously.
The smile that followed was neither gentle nor full of pity, no ... his malicious smile intensified the sadistic pleasure in his yellow eyes.

"Poor little girl, still in the need of lying to me? Didn't you promise to behave?" Serah's stomach clenched in fear at his words. ‘Isn't it more like you made sure to lose my fruit in your womb?’
‘I... I thought you wouldn't want a child.’
"Oh, you are right about that, my dear. But I don't like the fact that you decided to get rid of my fruit. It would have been such an event."
Teárlach's fingers slid down the fabric of her nightdress to her belly and increased the pressure as they reached her pubis. An agonised moan escaped Serah's lips, an endless stream of tears slid down her cheeks and wet the fur that lay beneath her head.
"It would have been such a magical night, you lying naked on my altar, your thighs spread, your body trembling in anticipation of my sprout sliding out of you. I would receive your blood with open hands, feast on it, praise it and offer our common flesh to the dark forces."
The tip of Teárlach's tongue licked his lips with relish, his smile full of dark desires.
‘You foolish child have no idea how powerful blood can be.’ He shook his head almost pityingly. ‘And how much power this bastard would have given me if it had slipped into my hands and I had offered it up piece by piece.’
Serah gasped in shock, staring at Teárlach with panic filled blue eyes.
‘That means...’ He pressed his thumb against her mound covered with the fabric of her nightdress. She groaned in agony.
„I will fuck another bastard in your pretty, tight cunt.“
Serah screamed which was music to Teárlach ears as he ripped the nightgown, spread her legs brutally with his hands and glided into her with one, single thrust.

Thick tears welled up under Serah's closed eyelids and slid down her cheeks as she felt Teárlach pour himself into her with a few brutal thrusts and collapse on top of her, breathing heavily. His head sank into the hollow between her neck and shoulder and she felt his hot breath on her skin. Serah felt relief because when he had reached his climax, usually her agony was coming to an end. Normally he slipped out of her without another word and left the chamber or wherever he forced himself on her.
She was no longer a human, a young woman, a living being. Tearlach had degraded her to nothing more than a dirty piece of cloth that was used to wipe the dirt from a body and then thrown to the floor.
The maid had stopped counting how many times he had bitten her during the act, how many times his fingers had pressed painfully into her flesh as if he wanted everyone to see that she was his. He did nothing but mark her, make her his property. Sometimes he beat her, feasting on her when she desperately tried not to cry and hold back her tears. A dark desire seemed to fill him when he hit her so hard that she began to bleed, because at such moments he lost control completely. His thrusts became uncontrolled, feral, it was as if something dark inside him was crawling out of the shadows and taking over.

Serah waited for Teárlach to slip out of her, to rise up, but nothing happened. She opened her eyes carefully and looked directly into his eyes. Startled, she flinched as an amused grin appeared on his face.
‘And now you're going to tell me who helped you with the abortion.’
Serah's eyes widened with fear and she replied quietly: "No one. I did it on my own."
Teárlach raised a dark eyebrow in surprise.
"Is that so?" he asked, a threatening undertone in his voice, and she hurried to nod in confirmation.
"To perform an abortion and survive you must have a certain amount of knowledge, Love. Even if you are of extraordinary beauty, Serah, you are no more than an ordinary kitchen maid who can decipher a few words with difficulty. You cannot have acquired this knowledge. And now tell me, who helped you?"
‘No one,’ Serah repeated anxiously and Teárlach sighed in frustration.
‘I wanted to give you the chance to simply trust me, but something inside you seems to want me to cause you pain.’
Teárlach's hand shot out, wrapped around her throat and squeezed. In the heat of the moment, Serah grabbed his wrist with her hands and desperately tried to free herself.
‘Tell me who helped you,’ Teárlach growled through clenched teeth, a dangerous fire glowing in his amber-coloured eyes.
‘No,’ she replied, gasping.
‘No? NO?’ Teárlach began to laugh. "Very well, if that's all you want. There are other options for me."
Serah tried to swallow but Teárlach's hard grip on her neck made it impossible.
"I could think of several methods that would be anything but pleasant for you to make you talk. Be it a dagger or perhaps two to open your skin with a long and precise cut to let me consume your insides? Or perhaps we want to test how long it takes you to lose your breath when a rope presses into the tender flesh of your neck while I tighten it?"
The girl whimpered in fear.
‘But there is something even worse than what I could do to you physically,’ Teárlach whispered and the corners of his mouth twisted into a cold smile. "We elves have the great gift of being able to look into the mind of another. You can deny me your words, Serah. You could cut off your tongue so that you never have to betray anyone and yet it only takes a split second and I can see everything in you. Everything you want to hide from me will open up to my gaze. There are no secrets from me."
‘No, no, no, no,’ Serah screamed and tried to pull away from him in a panic, but his grip on her neck was firm and his body pressed hers into the furs, making it impossible for her to escape.
She sobbed when she saw how he closed his eyes, but how the eyeballs moved back and forth under the closed lids, how his face showed that he was reading her thoughts.

Serah felt Teárlach violently invade her mind. She couldn't find the words to describe this feeling, but it was like a violent intrusion into her inner self. She felt him digging through her memories, seeing her as a child, examining her family, sensing feelings and memories and she felt his physical arousal as he saw himself pushing her against the wall for the first time and forcing himself on her.
Gods, please help me, she thought desperately and a stream of tears slid over her cheeks. She heard Teárlach chuckle.
‘I already told you the gods won't help you,’ he whispered in a voice of pleasure at her ear, pushing through the branches of her memories.
‘Ah, I see.’
He laughed softly. "You left the castle in a horse and cart with two half-elves. Are they also from the castle, do they work and live here in the castle courtyard? Are they known to me and should I perhaps punish them for helping you?"
‘No, no,’ Serah croaked, realising at the same time how hopeless her words were.
She squeezed her eyelids shut and hoped desperately that Teárlach would not see any more of Conall, his wife and Ulthred in order to protect them. Deep down, she suspected that her attempt would be in vain and an unbearable fear filled Serah. She felt Teárlach's interest turn away from the half-elves and he continued to wind his way through her memories like a snake.
"On one side the sea and on the next the impenetrable forest with all its secrets. It seems that the path to this healer took some time,’ Teárlach continued mercilessly. "I see a house, poor, almost as if it would collapse with the next gust of wind, built on a narrow strip of land between the sea and the forest, literally torn from nature. And almost unrecognisable when you ride right up to it."
Serah groaned in agony.
‘A drying rack?’ he asked in surprise, so close to her face that she could feel his breath on her skin. "A fisherman's hut? You went to a fisherman?"

She felt how he continued to slowly and steadily drill through her memories. ‘A woman!’ Terlach gasped in surprise and Serah's heart stopped beating for a moment. ‘Is she the healer you came to see, Serah?’ There was interest in the high elf's dark voice. ‘Let me see more!’
Another sob slipped from the maid's lips, knowing that she could not resist his command. "Long, brown curly hair, a slender figure. I imagine she is a beauty. Show me more, Serah. Show me what the healer looks like."
There was excitement in Teárlach's words. "She is remarkably young, perhaps a year or two older than you. And of extraordinary beauty. Her eyes remind me of a young fawn, unaware that it will soon be led to the slaughter. So unsuspecting."
His grip on Serah's neck loosened and he placed his hand on her cheek, like a tender gesture between two lovers. Her stomach tightened painfully in disgust.
"Full lips, ready to be lavish. And freckles speckling her pretty skin. Charming. Surprisingly, she's not an old hag, but a young woman."
Slowly and tantalisingly, Teárlach let the tip of his tongue glide over Serah's tear-stained cheek and licked them away.
‘I'm sure she would also enjoy getting to know me in a more intense way,’ he whispered, his voice filled with lust.
‘No, by the gods, no,’ she gasped and shook her head, her eyes wide with fear.
Teárlach grinned devilishly.
‘Don't do this, please, I beg you,’ Serah sobbed and put her hands on his shoulders. She had to overcome all her disgust and force herself to make the gesture. Teárlach raised a dark eyebrow in surprise, his amber-coloured eyes glistening with pleasure.
"Oh Love, you don't want to share me? That is kinda adorable but I am always eager to fuck a pretty, tight cunt. And she looks like she would enjoy it a lot."
"No, please, don't do that to her. I'll do anything ... anything you ask for, anything you want,’ Serah sobbed, trying to stop the constant stream of tears. She forced a weak smile that didn't reach her eyes because the look in her blue eyes was filled with pain.
"Do you realise that your promise to me can mean anything? That I can do whatever I want with you?"
She nodded trembling.
Teárlach smiled, suddenly grabbed the young girl by the shoulder and turned her onto her belly in one fluid movement. His hand on the back of her neck, he pressed her face to the fur and penetrated her unprepared with a single, violent thrust.
Serah's screams were muffled by the fur in front of her face.

Chapter Text

"Can't you watch out, you silly goose?" The older kitchen maid's voice was annoyed. She glanced angrily at Serah, who had sunk to her knees to pick up the potatos that had slipped out of her basket a moment ago.
"I'm so sorry for it," the young girl mumbled exhaustedly, picking up the vegetables scattered across the floor.
"The young thing can't even lift a basket of potatos. Too weak to carry anything? Perhaps it would be appropriate to scrub all the floors on her knees if she can't stand upright," Serah heard the older woman grumble. Her shoulders slumped and she avoided looking at the servants in the kitchen, overcome with shame.
"Perhaps she shouldn't spread her legs for our master every night," said the pretty chambermaid who now entered the kitchen, a disparaging smile on her beautifully curved lips. Serah's breath caught when she heard her words.
"Enough!" came from the cook, who pointed a cleaver threateningly in the direction of the red-haired half-elf. "Don't treat the child like that. And you, Ravin..." She glared angrily at the older maid. "... you'd best refrain from making such comments. I don't want any bickering in my kitchen!"
She put the cleaver on the table, walked over to Serah and also got down on her knees to put the potatos in the basket. She saw tears gathering in the girl's eyes and said quietly: "Leave the basket here and go into the chicken coop to clean it. You can take your time and rest there. I'll tell everyone you're busy."
Serah raised her eyes gratefully and nodded.

"You don't look well, child. Maybe you should ask the healer for advice. If you continue to be so weak and can no longer do your work, they will chase you from the castle."
"I'll try," she replied weakly and slowly rose to her feet. Without raising her eyes, she walked past the servants and the half-elf who glared at her and left the kitchen. The few steps to the large chicken coop made Serah pause breathlessly when she finally reached the gate. She closed her eyes, gasping for breath and feeling as if she would lose her senses at any moment.
When she opened her eyes, she was only vaguely aware of her surroundings and she staggered into the stable, hoping that no one had been watching her. Eventually Serah's legs gave way and she sank into the chicken droppings on the floor. Gasping for air, she let her head sink into her neck and closed her eyes.

For a few days now, she had been suffering from unimaginable back pain, as if something or someone was reaching into her muscles, nerves and flesh and pulling them forcefully from her bones. Every movement was so unspeakably painful that Serah could hardly think straight. An agonising fire seemed to consume her abdomen and she felt it radiating throughout her body. She was not a healer, but she knew how a fever manifested itself. When she had awoken in the morning she had put her hand on her forehead and was shocked to realise how hot her skin felt.
And she was tired, so infinitely tired. All Serah wanted to do was crawl into a dark corner, close her eyes and sleep ... sleep so that she could hear nothing, see nothing, so that no one would take any more notice of her. Especially not him, the demon in the shape of a high elf, the one with the amber-coloured eyes.
The one whose name haunted her to the darkest corners of her soul.
Last night, when she was alone in her small chamber, she had taken the rest of the willow bark tea, but it seemed to have no effect because instead of subsiding, the fever continued to rise.
Serah felt a light touch on her hand lying on the floor and slowly opened her eyelids, which felt so unbelievable heavy. A faint smile slid across her pale face as she became aware of the chick curiously nipping at her skin with its beak. She opened her hand and watched as the chick climbed onto her palm and settled down as if coming to rest in its nest. The warmth of the chick in her palm reminded Serah of her childhood when she and her brother had to tend the chickens, sheep or pigs. Her dog Aria had always been by her side and she missed her dearly. What she would give to be able to press her face into the warm, soft fur and forget everything around her.
She was so tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep when a thought nevertheless formed in her mind. Her master, the cook, had spoken words that might be a way to escape this hell. If she did her work more badly than well, if she behaved lazily and inattentively, she would be thrown out of the castle without hesitation. The few coins she earned would not be given to her, but she would have the opportunity to leave the castle. And Teárlach would have no way of harming her family, because she had not escaped.

A faint feeling of hope began to germinate in her heart.
She would not return to her family to avoid putting them in danger, Serah realised immediately. Perhaps it would be possible to return to the young healer? She knew from Conall that the herb woman was planning to expand the farm and devote herself more intensively to the art of healing, perhaps they would need someone to look after the animals, take care of the household or process the fish that her father brought back from his daily excursion on the sea every early evening?
Serah didn't need much, maybe one or two dried fish, a handful of porridge, she would sleep with the animals in the stable. She didn't expect to be paid with a few coins for her labour, she just longed for a safe place.
She tried to take a deep breath, but the pain in her back was so strong that she winced and closed her eyes.
Everything felt dark and heavy, but there was hope.
Hope for her.

*****

The night of the new moon.
The last few days before this special night had almost felt like an eternity for Teárlach as he walked through the darkness.
Only the light of the torch he carried in his left hand illuminated the unusually large crypt in which his footsteps echoed through the darkness.
He walked past numerous richly decorated coffins of all the former rulers of this land, most of them adorned with magnificent tombs.
Teárlach wore a contemptuous smile on his lips as his gaze glided through the gloomy hall.
"Nothing more than dust," he whispered coldly. "Nothing remembers you more than your names on some meaningless annals that tell of your great triumphs and conquests. If these are burnt, there will be nothing left to remind us of your existence. And all the great names of the rulers of this land will disappear into obscurity."
Teárlach had reached the end of the tomb, walked to a corner covered in cobwebs and got down on his knees.
He removed a stone from the last row and then pressed a hidden button which caused the wall to shift as if by magic, revealing a staircase that led deep into the darkness. Teárlach stepped through the entrance and closed the wall, which slid back into its previous position by pushing up a lever on the wall. Even if he didn't have a torch to hand, he would be able to find every single step leading down into the seeming nothingness in the dark. He had known the way to the secret chamber since he had wandered bored through the castle many years ago as a young high elf. Since his father had focused on teaching his older brother all the knowledge he would need as heir to the throne, Teárlach had been left to his own devices. Of course, he was also trained with numerous lessons from the monks living in the castle, but while he had already reached his level of knowledge, Trálír had to fulfil numerous other tasks day in and day out.

Nevertheless, Teárlach was also trained in the art of swordplay, he knew how to handle a bow and arrows, he could use a pike, axe and glaive. However, he was never given the chance to use them. Once there was a war with Bloodstone, which his father won in a tenday, but Teárlach was forced to stay in the castle while his father rode tall in his saddle, Trálír beside him, leading the army.
What he would have given then to go to war too, to swing his sword, to overpower the enemy, to wade in their blood. Instead, he sat in his chamber like a little boy, frustrated and angry.

He was too young for the war, his father had said.
Teárlach scoffed at this memory and felt the familiar anger rise up inside him. He was only two years younger than Trálír and yet he had to stay in the castle.
Sitting in the great hall bored him to no end, as all his father's men had gone to war with him. And even if one or two of them had stayed in the castle, it was far from their minds to start a conversation with the second son, who always lived in the shadow of his older brother. He avoided the monks, who would have been perfectly willing to enrich Teárlach with their knowledge, like a vampire avoids daylight. He had amused himself once or twice with a maid and had mostly spent the rest of the day wandering bored through the castle. Lost in thought, he entered the mighty crypt, reading the names of the former rulers he knew from his history lessons with the monks. He was enjoying the silence of the crypt, the solitude in the semi-darkness, when a small mouse caught his attention. He watched as the mouse moved through the crypt in search of food, but its search was in vain, there was nothing to satisfy its hunger. Teárlach frowned as he saw the mouse crawl into the right-hand corner under what appeared to be a loose stone and squeeze through.

This was a clear sign that there was something behind the stone wall. A secret chamber perhaps? Was there gold or precious stones behind the wall, hidden from the eyes of the castle's inhabitants? Such a secret room was not uncommon in many castles. But how could it be that nobody in the Blackwater Castle could have noticed this?
He lifted himself from the coffin he sat on and walked to the corner, got down on his knees and looked at the loose stone. With his fingertips, he tried to loosen the stone, pushing it millimetres to the side, backwards or carefully forwards. It took a while before Teárlach was able to release the stone from its setting and, to his surprise, he found a small button behind it. Curious, he pressed it and looked up in surprise as the wall slid aside through an invisible mechanism, revealing a view into the black darkness.
Teárlach stood up and stepped curiously towards the opening. He recognised nothing but blackness. The air was stale.
And the fact that he could not recognise anything in the darkness surprised him, for as a high elf he was capable of darkvision what meant that he was able to see in dim light within 60 feet of him as if it were bright light. And in darkness he was able to see so far as it would be in dim light.

With some effort, however, he recognised a landing and the steps seemed to lead downwards. He quickly turned around, took one of the torches from a pillar and slowly and carefully walked down the stairs, which seemed to have no end. The walls were only a few centimetres away from Teárlach's body and someone with a wider build would not be able to walk down this narrow corridor. Teárlach lost his sense of time as he took one step after another that led him further and further down into the depths.
It won't be long now and I'll be standing right at the Gate of the Nine Hells, Teárlach thought and couldn't help but feel a sudden sense of dread. The high elf walked down the stairs for what felt like an eternity when he suddenly stood in front of a heavy door made of black wood. Unfamiliar signs were carved into the wood, a script he couldn't make out. There was no door handle and Teárlach brought the torch close to the wall, looking for another loose stone, touching it in search of something that would show him how to open the door, but he could find nothing.
Teárlach sighed, bit his lower lip thoughtfully and then, on an inner impulse, placed his right palm on the door. Suddenly, the unfamiliar signs began to glow and it was as if they were burning into his skin down to the bone, but Teárlach did not flinch for a second. Instead, he gritted his teeth, noticed the pain which felt like his skin was melting in this unbearable heat until the moment when he no longer felt the burning in his hand. And just then, the door opened for him and allowed him to enter a world that was completely unknown to him.

Surprised, he paused and raised the torch a little higher so that the light could displace the darkness, but the room was so large that the diffuse light of the torch only showed the floor in front of him and two candelabras nearby for a few steps before the rest of the room was once again hidden in darkness. One could almost call this room a scriptorium as he walked through the unknown chamber. Teárlach discovered a large table covered with several inkwells and quills, with scrolls and books. The secret room was filled with numerous cupboards, chests of drawers and shelves full of books. But he could also recognise countless potions and oils, elixirs, dried plants and herbs.
There were numerous candles and two smaller fire bowls in the room, which Teárlach lit. He looked around in amazement but couldn't recognise a trigger. But there seemed to be something, because the air was fresh and the smoke from the fire seemed to be drifting away. The more candles he lit and the more light filled the room, the more he realised what he had stumbled upon.

The monks found it difficult to talk about the things that had once happened in the long history of the Blackwater High Elves that did not conform to the image of the powerful, wise and just ruler. Names were not mentioned, but once there were two high elves who turned out to be warlocks. Their names were erased from the annals after their demise, but they continued to live in the shadows of history.
A grin appeared on Teárlach's face as he walked through the room, spotting two doors to the right and left. Interested, he skimmed the titles of the books, all of which dealt with black magic, necromancy and blood magic. There were countless essays about Avernus, the Nine Hells, the lords and demons that ruled it.
Books about the numerous monsters and beasts that populated the world of Faerun as well as about the various races and their history.
The library of Blackwater Bay was large and had many books, but it was hard to compare with the mass of books in this secret realm.
Neither gold nor gems were to be found here, but Teárlach had discovered a far greater treasure for himself. Knowledge.
Knowledge of the dark magic of Faerun.
He smiled.

And the smile was still on his shapely lips as he opened the door to his left and entered a bedchamber. The bed was richly decorated, the walls hung with the heads of various monsters such as gnolls, harpies, displacer beasts, the eye of a Beholder and even the head of a Cambion. Numerous portraits were carved into the wood of the bed frame, Faces of various demons, devils, souls burning in the hellfires of Avernus for eternity. Several diaries were stacked on top of each other on a secretary and a shelf that hung above it. Teárlach took the top book and sat down on the bed, leafing through it with interest. His interest was piqued although he was unaware that an unfamiliar presence was watching from the shadows, aware of the darkness in the high elf's heart.

Chapter Text

Now the exact point in time had arrived that Teárlach had been eagerly anticipating for days and nights, the moment he had already imagined dozens of times. More than two and a half tendays had passed, enough time to be absolutely sure of what he was planning.
And who his first victim would be.
The young kitchen maid, Serah ... he had grown tired of her at the point she had given herself up to him completely and done everything he wanted. When he had forced himself into her innermost thoughts, he had noticed the first deep rift in her consciousness. When she offered him to do anything he wanted, she had no idea what was in store for her. Because that night he fucked twice her mouth, twice her cunt and one time her ass. And she broke.
After that there was literally nothing left in her, he saw the emptiness in her eyes, saw the strength draining from her limbs. Teárlach had taken over her life and it felt good, made him stronger, more powerful.
Nevertheless, there was still one thing that wouldn't let him go. It was easy for him as a high elf to penetrate her thoughts, but it was something completely different to force her to do things that he ordered her to do and that went against her will. And that was exactly what he intended to do on the night of the new moon.
Teárlach was full of joyful excitement as he stepped into his secret realm, undressed and picked up the black oil, which consisted of several poisonous and powerful herbs, including belladonna, spotted hemlock and tansy, whose poison the maid had used to abort his fruit. Concentrating, he drew the signs of the dark language on the ground to encourage the power he needed to impose himself on Serah's spirit.

*****

Serah, my child, wake up ...
A comforting darkness inside her, cosy warmth enveloping her weak and tired body and nothing in her mind. Grateful oblivion of all the cruelty she had suffered.
She heard the voice, a voice that was familiar to her, that triggered a longing for home and the feeling of warmth, of understanding, of deep love.
"Mother", Serah murmured sleepily.
Wake up, child ... come to me ...
Her mother's warm, loving voice spiked through the oblivious sleepiness and Serah slowly opened her eyes. Something in her mind told her that she was lying in her little chamber, but it felt different, strange and yet ... familiar?
Slowly, the young girl straightened up, touching with her hands for the ground on which she lay and feeling the soft fur under her fingers. When she swung her legs powerlessly over the edge of her bed and they touched the ground, she winced. It wasn't the cold stone floor she was used to, but the ground consisted of something sharp. Were there small, sharp pebbles? Thorns?
The contact with the unfamiliar, sharp surface hurt Serah and she pulled her legs back onto the camp.

Serah, my child, please come to me. I’ve missed you.
Her mother's voice was imbued with the deepest love for her, with warmth, with longing. And yet it sounded urgent, almost pleading.
"The floor, mother," Serah whispered uncertainly into the darkness. "It hurts."
I know, my child. I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't urgent. You have to help us.
At her mother's words, Serah felt her heart skip a beat or two in her chest. A cold fear crawled up her spine, wrapped its icy claws around her neck and squeezed slowly and steadily.
"Help? Why do you need my help, mother? What happened?" she asked, frightened, as a dark premonition took hold of her.
Please, I beg you, come to me. We need you.
Her mother's whisper in the darkness sounded like a cry for help in Serah's consciousness. She took a deep breath, swung her legs to the ground once more and stood up.
The Maid tried to ignore the sharp pain that cut into her soles as she slowly put one foot in front of the other. She felt the flesh on the soles of her feet open up and warm blood flowed out of her, soaking the unfamiliar ground with her lifeblood.
"Mother, where are you?" Serah's voice sounded pleading in the darkness and she repeated her words as she heard no answer from her mother. The blackness around her was cold, oppressive, overwhelming, draining.
One step at a time, she thought and stepped into the ever-darkening shadow.
You are close, I can feel your presence. Don't stop, child, we need you.
Hurry up, love. You don't want anything to happen to them, do you?

Serah gasped in panic, looked quickly to the side, but couldn't recognise anything in the darkness. But his words, his voice, lingered in the dark. He, the demon in the shape of a high elf, her master. Teárlach.
She stumbled through the darkness, lost her balance and fell to the ground. Something sharp cut into her palms, her arms, chest, stomach, legs, everything that touched the ground. Blood soaked her robe and as her face was only a hand's breadth from the ground, she could now recognise what she had been walking on all this time.
Broken glass? Was this glass? But it was dark grey, milky, almost dirty. What was that?
That, Serah, is the rest your soul... Broken, dirty, blown to smithereens. Nothing but small pieces of your consciousness. What you once were.
A cruel laugh.
And what you will never be again.
Serah sobbed, pressed her palms into the shards and straightened up.
"Mother? Where are you, mother?" she screamed fearfully into the darkness. "Please speak to me!"

There! She could hear something in the blackness, something that sounded like her mother. Serah ran towards the spot, panting, her chest burning with pain with every breath that filled her lungs.
How was it possible that Teárlach was here in her dream? It was a dream, wasn't it? It felt like one ... and then Serah felt warm blood dripping down her skin and despair spread through her. Where was she? What was this? Was this reality? Would she really be able to see her mother or was this just another perverse way for Teárlach to torture her?
Just try to open your eyes, Love. If this is a dream you can leave it in an instant.
Serah suppressed the rising sobs in her throat, continued to walk over the shards that cut deeper into her open flesh and for a brief moment she thought: Wake up, Serah. It's just a nightmare. You can wake up.
But nothing changed and hopelessness crashed over her like a mighty wave. Suddenly she recognised shadows in front of her and the closer she got, the more she could make out. Her parents' house.
"No," she screamed, running to the door and trying to open it but it was locked. "No, no, no! Open the door, open the door! Mother, please! OPEN THE DOOR!"

She desperately shook the door handle until it gave way, the door opened and Serah fell into the room.
The wooden floor was soaked in blood and next to her she saw a small, severed child's hand. She screamed.
Whispers, unintelligible words, the wailing of the suffering.
Serah opened her eyes and looked into the dead eyes of her younger brother. Her father lay beside him, numerous wounds covering his body. A gnoll was feasting on his intestines and bared its teeth when it saw Serah.
Help me...
Her mother's pleading request.
Serah raised her eyes and saw her mother standing in front of her, the former white dress soaked in blood, a stillborn child in her hands.
Her fruit, born from the loins of the devil.
Teárlach stood behind her, a smile on his lips.
"You can help her," he whispered, still smiling.
Tears streamed down Serah's cheeks as she sobbed: "I'll do anything, anything. No matter what you want, just please let my mother go."
"All you have to do is give your life in return for letting your mother live."
She nodded weakly. Teárlach's smile widened. He extended his hand in her direction and suddenly the image of her mother, her dead brother and father blurred. It was as if her home lay in the shadows while reality flooded back into her consciousness. Her chamber, she stood in the centre, the crooked stool in front of her.
"Stand on it," Teárlach ordered and Serah hesitated for a moment. This was reality, wasn't it? Her mother, her family, the blood, the corpses ... it was all just a dream?

„Move." His demanding voice in her mind and the girl felt one leg lift up and stand on the stool. Horrified she realised that her body was doing what Teárlach asked of her. She pushed off with the other leg and climbed the stool on which she was standing, swaying and trying not to lose her balance.
"Direct your gaze upwards."
No, Serah thought. No, I'm not going to do that.
She tried to close her eyes, but she could feel Teárlach refusing to do so. It almost felt like he was putting his hand on the back of her neck, forcing her to look up. Her eyes widened as she realised in shock that a noose was tied around the wooden beam that, among other things, held the ceiling structure in place.
And now put the noose around your tender, sweet neck, Serah.
"No," she screamed, "No, this is all just a dream. My family isn't dead, it's all just ... you're inside me, you're forcing these images on me. That's not true. IT'S NOT THE TRUTH!"

Against her will, her hands reached for the noose around her neck and then pulled it tight. Serah cried out, sobbing. She heard Teárlach laugh and her chamber disappeared into the shadows while her weeping mother still stood before Teárlach, Serah's fruit in her hands.
One step. Just one step.
"No, I don't want this," the young girl whispered, sobbing. "I don't want to die."
Now!
She took a step into nothingness, felt herself falling into the void, her gaze fixed on her mother, who closed her eyes with an agonised scream as Teárlach plunged a dagger into her sternum and drew it up to her pubic region. The last image that burned itself into Serah's consciousness was her master reaching into the cut and pulling the skin from her mother's body with a powerful tug as the life drained from the young maid's wriggling body.

Chapter Text

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 wardrobe handed to him as well. He was uncomfortable having his garments 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 and soldiers 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 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 First Hand. 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 First 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."
The Firstborn 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 the older elf 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 Serah," replied the First 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 and he 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.
"Serah was ill, Mylord. 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 observed those present.
He occasionally searched the thoughts of the servants, but found nothing new. It was generally assumed that Serah 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 Serah 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 Serah 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 Serah's mind, when he had forced images on her that she thought were real, but which only came from his dark imagination. And how satisfying 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 the maids 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 smirk, 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.

Chapter Text

The sun was already well past its midday zenith. Anwyn sat on a stool in the shade of the old stable, her chin resting in the palm of her hand, staring out to sea, lost in thought. Her eyes kept glancing westwards towards the Blackwater Castle, but nothing and no one had been seen for hours.
Like every morning, she had woken up full of vigour and although each of her days was accompanied by hard physical work, she had looked forward to midday with joy, knowing that Trálír had also announced his arrival for today. Even before the sun had risen, Anwyn had taken a quick dip in the spring riverbed, dressed, prepared breakfast, tended to the animals, said goodbye to her father and got on with the housework.
But to her astonishment, neither Conall nor Ulthred had driven up to the farm and Trálír's appearance was still a long time coming. Such moments happened only rarely, but when neither the half-elves nor Trálír appeared, worry began to creep into her mind. She had no way of knowing what had happened and so her only option was to wait. And this was a real test of patience for Anwyn, as the most absurd thoughts began to form in her head. Be it a serious illness or an attack on the castle, an invasion by a foreign enemy who wanted to claim the Blackwater Lands for themselves. Of course she knew that the castle was impregnable, but not knowing how Trálír was and why he didn't come to her made her constantly fear the worst.
As neither he nor the half-elves had turned up, she had already finished her daily chore of gutting fish. She had picked up a book on the various diseases of the eye, but hadn't got very far because of her lack of concentration. The book was still in her lap as she gazed unhappily towards the west. Only a moment later, Anwyn heard the familiar whinny of Arod and jumped up with delight as the book fell from her lap to the ground.
She strode towards the courtyard entrance as Trálír appeared on Arod's back in her field of vision. A smile slipped across her lips as she caught sight of him, but then she noticed the shadow on his face. Uncertain, she stopped a few steps away from him and watched in silence as he dismounted from the stallion, opened the stable door and led Arod inside. As Trálír stepped out of the stall and closed the door behind him, he finally looked at Anwyn and gave her a smile. She realised that his smile did not reach his eyes and she frowned questioningly.
But before she could utter a single word, Trálír wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her close.
His head rested between her neck and her collarbone. Anwyn felt his warm breath through the fabric of her dress and she was aware of the heaviness of his sigh as it slipped over his lips. Her right hand also slid around his hip and tenderly caressed the area of his lower back that lay just above his waistband. She ran her left hand gently through his loose hair.
So they stood together, comforted and safe in each other's embrace, no words needed to show how they felt, for their hearts beat in time.
Anwyn leaned back a little and placed her hands gently on Trálír's face, urging him to look at her. He complied and when their eyes met, Anwyn was pained by the deep sadness she could see in his storm-tossed blue eyes.
"Do you want to tell me what is troubling your heart so much?" she asked softly, her thumb gliding gently over his cheek.
"I don't want to burden you with my worries," Trálír replied slowly, a sad smile on his lips.
"Come," Anwyn urged him and reached for his hand. "Let's go into the house and talk there."
She nodded to him and walked into the small hut hand in hand with Trálír. As they entered, she let go of his hand and took a pot of already brewed tea hanging from a thin metal rod over the makeshift fireplace and poured him and herself a cup of tea. When Anwyn turned to him, she saw that he was sitting on the edge of their campsite, his shoulders slumped.

She approached Trálír, handed him the cup of tea and sat down on her camp with her legs crossed. She waited in silence until Trálír spoke to her, his gaze fixed ahead.
"Since we elves live for centuries, we are often confronted with the deaths of humans and half-elves," he began in a low voice. "Mostly it's illness or old age, sometimes the inhabitants fall victim to robbery, murder or assault. However, the deaths at Blackwater Castle can be counted on one hand. And it is even rarer that someone chooses suicide."
Anwyn's eyes clouded over at Trálír's words, but she didn't interrupt him.
"A kitchen maid took her own life tonight. She was found hanged in her chamber."
Anwyn placed her free hand on his, trying to give him the comfort he needed with this small gesture.
"And the worst part is that I don't even know her," he said, guilt in his voice. "I'm no better than my father, Anwyn. I take everyone around me for granted too, don't care who looks after our wellbeing. I know few of the humans or half-elves in our service."
He shook his head angrily, his shoulders tensing at the reproach he was giving himself.
"You're not like your father, Trálír," Anwyn said softly. "I know it pains you not to know everyone and not to give everyone the attention or the just existence you intend for the future, but the castle is large and you have your duties to fulfil. No ruler, no member of a ruling family looks after the interests of the servants. This happens neither in the ranks of the elves nor in the high houses of men."
"I know," Trálír replied in frustration. "But it pains me that this girl, almost a child, found no other way than this."
"Do you know why?" Anwyn asked cautiously and Trálír replied: "Some say she was ill. She probably couldn't cope with the loss of her child and therefore chose suicide."
"She was pregnant?" Trálír turned to Anwyn and frowned when he heard the almost fearful tone in her voice. He nodded slowly.

"Did you perhaps hear her name?" Anwyn asked quietly, trying to control her violently beating heart, the dark premonition creeping through her innermost being. Despondently, she looked at Trálír, who turned to her and nodded in confirmation.
"I heard her name was Serah," he replied and watched in horror as Anwyn reacted to his words.
Her brown eyes widened in shock and her skin lost all its colour in the next moment. It was as if Trálír was watching Anwyn's life force literally leave her. He watched as her fingers loosened as if all her strength was leaving her and the cup fell to the floor, shattering and spilling onto the dark wooden floor.
"Anwyn?"
His voice was full of concern as he reached for her hands, but she didn't seem to notice the gesture. Her hands lay lifeless in Trálír's grasp, her gaze seemed to go into the distance. It seemed to him that she was no longer present, no longer with him or in this house.
"Anwyn, my love, what's wrong?" Trálír let go of her hands and gently grasped her face. "Please, look at me." His words sounded almost pleading. "Don't shut me out."
When Anwyn heard Trálír's words, she turned her face towards him and her gaze slowly cleared as she found her way back to reality.
Her warm brown eyes were filled with deep sadness. Trálír watched with a heavy heart as tears gathered in the corner of her eyes.
"Will you tell me what is troubling your heart so much?" the elf asked softly, his thumb gently stroking Anwyn's pale skin, catching the tear that slid down her cheek.
She shook her head, closed her eyes and a sob broke out. Trálír had no idea what the reason for Anwyn's obvious grief was, but it pained him to see how much she was suffering.
He bent down and gently cradled her in his arms, letting her cry against his chest while he pressed his lips tenderly on her hair. Trálír didn't know how much time had passed, but he noticed how Anwyn gradually relaxed in his embrace. He slowly lowered himself onto the camp, Anwyn in his arms. He shifted his body slightly so that Anwyn lay next to him in his arms, her head resting on his chest, one arm wrapped around his waist.
Listening to her steady breathing, Trálír felt the inner battle she was fighting with herself.
But despite his obvious concern for Anwyn, he decided against penetrating her mind and seeking the reason for the pain she was suffering. He swore to himself that he would never enter Anwyn's consciousness without her consent, instead he would give her all the time she needed to confide in him. Even if it took weeks, months or even years.

Serah...
Anwyn felt the tears coming again and she closed her eyes, hugging herself tighter to Trálír's chest as if his presence could protect her from all the knowledge and questions she had. She hid from his questioning gaze in the folds of his tunic.
Anwyn knew that Serah had not simply lost the fruit in her womb, for she knew of her desire to have this abortion. It was she, Anwyn, who had placed the bag of tansy in her hands so that the young girl could put the idea into practice. Her knowledge was the reason why the maid had not given birth to the child.
Had the loss of this unwanted child been so big that Serah had decided against a future? Had the knowledge that her decision had led to the abortion become so unbearable that she had seen no other way for herself than to choose suicide?
And was it her fault as a healer that Serah was no longer alive?
Anwyn's hands cramped into the fabric of Trálír's shirt, who then carefully tightened his grip around her shoulders and waist.
He listened to the distant crashing of the waves on the shore as he held Anwyn in his arms. The high elf felt her lift her head from his chest and and her gaze on him.
"I knew her... Serah..." Anwyn whispered in a broken voice and looked at Trálír, his eyes fixed on her sympathetically. She swallowed.
"Do you remember the young girl who came to see me?" she asked and he nodded in confirmation. "That was Serah."
"Did you know she was pregnant, Anwyn?"
"No," she replied and hid her face from Trálír by pressing it against his chest again.
Here she was, safe in the embrace of her beloved, speaking the untruth. Anwyn's throat tightened and she felt her body stiffen, trying to make itself smaller in the desire to hide from this fact, from her obvious lie.
Everything in her wanted to tell Trálír the truth, but there was so much more than just the departure of the unborn child. The rapes, the incipient abuse, the maltreatment. Did Trálír suspect any of this? Did the servants at the castle know anything about what had happened to Serah? And hadn't the young maid told them that it was no secret that this stranger had dark desires? Who knew all about it? The servants, the soldiers ... possibly the ruler?
Anwyn unconsciously bit her lower lip as she wondered if and how much she could trust Trálír.
Serah had not told her who had done all this harm to her. Anwyn would have nothing but the words the young girl had confided in her. No name, no description, nothing that would have indicated who the perpetrator was.
And at the same time, Anwyn didn't want to destroy Serah's trust in her, even if she was no longer alive. How much strength it must have taken her to ask for help, to confide in her, to open up and show her what had happened to her. How could Anwyn break that trust? Even now, when Serah had decided against life.
And even if she confessed everything to Trálír, there was nothing that would undo her decision. She had chosen death, finally finding comfort in Myrkur's cold embrace.
And Anwyn hoped for Serah's sake that she had now found the peace in death that she had so longingly sought.

As Anwyn lay in Trálír's arms, a memory from her time with Serah crept up and she straightened suddenly. Trálír gently clasped her wrists as she slowly sat up, her slender body half bent over his, her full curly hair falling into her face. With his right hand, the elf gently stroked the wild curls behind her ears as Anwyn asked him softly, "Would you accompany me to Wheeping Cliff?"
"Now?" Trálír replied in surprise. "It's already past midday and it will be a while before we reach the cliff."
"Yes, I know. But there's something I have to do. For Serah."
"I understand." Trálír propped himself up on his elbows, closing the distance to Anwyn, who leaned forward in response, seeking comfort in his kiss. As the elf slowly straightened up, she released the kiss and looked at him gratefully.
"We will have to walk," Trálír said. "Arod won't be able to take the steep path to the cliff. The risk of him breaking his ankles on the uneven path is too high. And that goes for you too, Anwyn. The route to Wheeping Cliff is dangerous and difficult."
"We'll be careful, Trálír," Anwyn promised, getting up as well and reaching for something small that was lying on the lowest shelf above her camp. Trálír had not had a chance to see what she had reached for, as the object had been too small to recognise and had disappeared so quickly into Anwyn's apron that he could not see it.
"My short sword, bow and arrows are in the stable," Trálír explained as he and she left the house together. "Let me take them with me so that we can enter the forest without worrying."
Anwyn nodded and stopped in front of the stall while Trálír went inside and grabbed his weapons. Her eyes fell on the book at her feet, which she must have dropped when Trálír had taken her in his arms. Anwyn bent down, took the book in her hands and gently knocked the soil off the cover. She placed it on the stool that still stood in the shadow of the building.

Trálír stepped out of the old animal dwelling, carefully closed the door and held out his hand in Anwyn's direction. With a sad smile, she took it and walked eastwards with the elf at her side under numerous dark, rain-covered clouds.
When she had made the suggestion to Serah to drop the gold coin into the sea at Wheeping Cliff, she had not realised how strenuous and dangerous the path would be.
There was a second, less dangerous path, trodden through the forest, which was considered safe apart from the beasts that wandered through the dense woods, but which took almost half a day to climb.
The route she and Trálír now took was narrow, rocky, uneven, entangled with roots, cramped by dense bushes. The ascent was strenuous, steep and the narrow path led directly along the cliffs. If you lost your balance just once, there was a great danger of falling down into the depths.
Trálír and she had to interrupt their march several times to climb over larger stones or make their way through the dense bushes with their swords.

As Anwyn silently followed Trálír, who went first, she thought of all the stories surrounding the Wheeping Cliff. The oldest and probably the most told story was the one that had been carried from one race in Faerûn to another since the beginning of time. Once there was a young elfess from a High House, in love with a young wood elf. Her family urged an engagement to an older elf, wealthy and pure of heart, but the elfess's feelings for the forest dweller were so deep that she chose him, unaware that his older brother also had feelings for her. At a secret party, attended only by a few close friends, they were celebrating their engagement, their promise to each other and to their future when, in an unguarded moment, the wood elf's brother confided in her. The elf's heart grew heavy, for she liked him, but her feelings were for his brother and not for him. The rejection affected him deeply and he left the gathering without a word and disappeared into the night. Weeks later, the wood elf received a message from his beloved one morning, in which she wrote to him that she had finally decided in favour of the man her parents had chosen for her. It would break her heart, but she would not be able to disappoint her family. And yet she asked him to meet her for one last moment together at High Cliff as night fell.
Heartbroken, the wood elf set off, anxious to see his beloved one last time, unaware that the words on the piece of paper were not hers. As he made the arduous journey to the High Cliff, the elfess entered his home to surprise him.
She was startled not to find him at home and before she left, she glanced at the letter lying on his bed. Curious, she reached for it, read it and her eyes widened in horror as she realised that someone had written the letter on her behalf. Everything in her knew that this was a trap, that these words would lead to something that would plunge her lover into deep misery. Panicked, she too made her way to the High Cliff in a wild rush, her heart pounding with fear, her lungs burning with agonising pain.
When she reached the cliff, she saw her beloved standing on the edge of it, his eyes filled with horror, his hands pressed to his throat, desperately trying to stop the blood flowing from the wound.
The scream that burst from the elf's throat echoed through the dawning night. He turned his gaze to her, a smile on his bloodied lips as the life drained from his eyes, his body slumped and plunged off the cliff into the sea.

His brother stood at the edge, a dagger in his hand, wet with his younger brother's blood. He took a step towards the elfess and spoke to her, but his words made no sense. The pain of losing her beloved was so unbearable that the world blurred before her eyes. She felt her body rising, her feet carrying her, her hands pushing against his chest. The older brother lost his balance, let out a shrill cry and tumbled down into the darkness.
And so the elfess stood there, at the edge of the cliff, for centuries. Her pain was so deep that she died of a broken heart and from her remains grew a weeping willow that has watched over this place ever since. At night, when the wind blew through the branches, you could hear the wailing of her broken heart.
Not many dared to make the dangerous ascent to this place and others feared the Wheeping Cliff, this place full of suffering and torment. But Anwyn was aware of the elf's protection for the souls who had suffered as relentlessly as she had.
It would be right to place the gold coin, this mark of shame, this evidence of Serah's endured torment, in the elfess's hands.
That would be the last thing Anwyn could do for her.
And she hoped that the pain Serah had endured was now a thing of the past.

Chapter Text

Trálír's words sounded distant as Anwyn became aware of them and it took her a moment to come back to reality. While she had been thinking of the old legend, she had unconsciously followed the elf's steps until they had finally reached the Wheeping Cliff. As they both walked through a row of closely spaced trees, the view of the shimmering dark blue ocean in front of them stretched to the horizon. Given the height at which they were standing, Anwyn swallowed nervously and unconsciously took a step back.
‘We've made it,’ said Trálír, taking a deep breath, as the tough climb to the cliff had also taken its toll on him physically. His knees ached from the steep climb and his lungs burned painfully.
He glanced over his shoulder and looked at Anwyn, who was standing hesitantly behind him. She had intertwined her fingers and was massaging them nervously. Trálír frowned, knowing that this was always a sign that something was bothering Anwyn. He raised his arm in her direction and smiled gently, a silent invitation to step towards him and to take his hand could be read in his eyes.
She walked carefully towards him and slowly put one foot in front of the other until they were only a horse's length away from the precipice. Trálír looked at her in silence, her hand in his, as Anwyn took another step, her heart beating fast. He watched as her right hand slipped into her apron and reached for the unfamiliar object. Anwyn held it in her closed fist. Her eyes filled with tears as she held her hand over the abyss.
Her throat tight, she closed her eyelids, took a deep breath and opened her hand, feeling the coin drop into the depths in an instant.
Relief filled Anwyn and she sank to the ground with a heavy sigh. As she sat on the earthy floor, she pulled her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, her gaze fixed thoughtfully on the horizon. Trálír put down his weapons, stepped behind Anwyn and sat down as well. Spreading his legs, he took a seat behind her, nestled his chest against her back and wrapped his arms around her legs. Their hands clasped together wordlessly while his chin rested on Anwyn's shoulder and they watched the sun slowly set in the silence of the dawning night.

*****

Doran stood in the darkness of the night, a lighted candle in his left hand and a fish knife in his right. His gaze travelled steadily from west to east without being able to make out anything in the darkness. His old heart was beating fast with worry, his throat was tight and his mouth dry.
Ever since he had come home from his daily catch and realised that neither his daughter nor the elf or the half-elves were present, he had wondered what had happened. Numerous explanations had occurred to him, such as the possibility that Anwyn had lost track of time again in the forest looking for herbs or mushrooms, that the half-elves were already on their way back to the castle and that the high elf might not have been able to join them today. It was also possible that his daughter would visit the village market in the elf's presence, but at the same time the old fisherman wondered whether she would actually do so. Not many people had ever seen the elven ruling family, but perhaps there were one or two who knew what the ruler's son looked like? Would Anwyn and especially the elf want to take that risk?

The housework had been done, the fish from yesterday's catch gutted, the animals already back in the stable and to his astonishment Doran realised that the elf's stallion was also standing next to his old donkey.
What had happened? Why was the stallion here, in his stable? What was the meaning of all this? And where was his daughter?
The fear in Doran's heart was so big that for a brief moment he considered going into the forest to look for her. And if he couldn't find her in the forest, then his path would lead him to the beach. But in the next moment he called himself back to his senses. He was an old man, he was no danger to the animals and beasts of the forest, he could not defend himself even if he had a sword at hand. He was just a simple fisherman, not skilled in the use of weapons, not skilled in moving quietly or hearing when someone or something was sneaking up on him. The danger that something would happen to him, that perhaps several gnolls, a pack of wolves or a bear would cross his path, was too big. And yet the knowledge that he could not leave his farm to look for his daughter almost drove him mad.

The old man stood helplessly in the darkness, not knowing what to do, not knowing how much time had passed and how many gods he had begged to protect his child. The fact of not knowing if Anwyn was safe weighed heavily on Doran's heart, for he was only too aware that his relationship with his daughter had been difficult in recent weeks. And the blame lay with him, his stubbornness, his mistrust of the ruler's son and his own inability to trust his daughter and her own feelings and decisions.
Doran felt the fear in him grow stronger with each passing moment, but he stood still, not moving a step, trying to make out something in the darkness that would show him that Anwyn was approaching the courtyard.
Suddenly something rustled near him, Doran turned to his left and saw a faint glow breaking through the darkness. Without thinking about it, he ran towards the source of the light.
‘Anwyn!’ burst out the old man as he recognised the figure of his daughter. She looked at him in surprise as he ran towards her and pulled her into his arms. ‘Child, Anwyn, are you alright? Has something happened to you? Where have you been? I was so worried.’

Her father's hands slid through Anwyn's hair, touched her cheeks, grabbed her hands as he took a step backwards to look at her scrutinisingly. Anwyn looked in surprise at Trálír, whose gaze was also on her father, irritation in his eyes.
‘Father, there's no need to be upset,’ she replied, squeezing his hands reassuringly. ‘I needed to do something important and Trálír accompanied me.’
Doran looked at his daughter, who realised that her father's chest was rising and falling frantically, drops of sweat standing out on his forehead, and he cleared his throat nervously.
‘I was afraid for you,’ he confessed to her quietly, not ashamed of his words. ‘I came home and you were gone, I had no idea where you were or could be.’
Anwyn's shoulders slumped guiltily. ‘I'm sorry, Father, that I left the house so unexpectedly,’ she replied quietly. ‘I just had the feeling that I had to do something." Anwyn smiled sadly.
Doran nodded and there was understanding on his face, which she realised with relief. She returned her father's smile and saw him turn to Trálír, who was looking at him intently. Anwyn's heart skipped a beat for a moment and she wondered what would happen next.

‘Thank you,’ Doran said and bowed his head to Trálír, who looked at him in amazement.
‘Thank you for protecting my child.’
Trálír looked at Anwyn, who stared at him and her father with wide eyes.
‘Ehm... I... I will always make sure that Anwyn is safe and protected,’ he replied in a calm voice. ‘I promise you that on my life.’
Doran returned the high elf's words with a grateful nod and turned to Anwyn.
‘It's late, child. Let's go inside,’ Doran said, pointing in the direction of the courtyard. But before they took a step, the old fisherman turned to the elf and said, ‘Would you like to stay for supper? It's not much, and only a poor hut, but I would be delighted if you would spend the evening with us.’
Trálír stared at the old man speechlessly.
‘Only if you want to, of course, Trálír.’
‘Yes, ... yes, of course,’ he replied with a warm smile.‘It would be an honour.’

*****

‘This all seems like a dream to me,’ Anwyn said softly and Trálír heard the disbelief in her voice. He leaned forward a little so that his lips almost brushed her ear and whispered: ‘This is not a dream, Anwyn. This is your new reality now.’
She turned her head in his direction so that their faces were only inches apart. ‘This will always feel like a dream, Trálír. This here...’ Anwyn pointed to the newly built stable, the enclosure for the chickens, the two new runs for the newly acquired pigs and goats and the old donkey. ‘The fact that I can dedicate myself to herbal knowledge and the art of healing, that we have come into our own,’ she continued, gently placing her hand on the high elf's cheek. ‘That I have met you.’
Trálír's smile warmed Anwyn's heart and she returned it tenderly as their gazes sank into each other.
Only a soft clearing of the throat caused the two of them to look away from each other and while Trálír grinned mischievously, Anwyn sheepishly brushed a strand of hair falling into her face behind her ear.

‘Let's eat,’ Ulthred called out, standing behind Conall and pointing to the richly laden table in the centre of the courtyard. As they were more than just two people and her father only had two stools, Ulthred and Coran had placed several bales of hay at the table for seating.
Trálír and Anwyn broke away from each other and approached the table. As she sat down, she returned her father's gaze, looking at her with pride, his smile full of affection for her.
She was wearing a dress for the special day they were celebrating, its deep yellow colour reminiscent of a field of sunflowers. Anwyn had found the fabric a few Tendays ago at the village market when a clothier from Chaulssin had stopped by on his way to Blackwater Castle. Before, she had only looked at such expensive and precious fabrics from afar, but now she stepped up to the stall and felt the slightly patronising gaze of the man dressed in the finest fabrics. His gaze was suspicious as Anwyn scrutinised the fabrics. As her fingers slid carefully over the yellow fabric that had immediately caught her eye, the clothier cleared his throat loudly. She could see in his icy blue eyes that he was wondering whether he should send her away with a harsh request when she reached for her purse and he heard the coins jingling in it.
In that moment, he lost the mistrust that was replaced by his obvious lust for silver and gold. He was deft with his words and gestures, congratulating her in her choice and how well the fabric would compliment her skin. Anwyn ignored the obviously dishonest flattery and bought some cloth along with white and green thread.

Every evening, after her daily exhausting labour, she sat at the table by the light of the oil lamp and painstakingly embroidered flower and leaf tendrils on the circular neckline of the dress, on the cuffs of her sleeves and on the hem. It was cut to emphasise the waist and widened towards the hem.
When Trálír rode into the courtyard in the morning and became reverent towards her, his eyes widened in astonishment when he saw her step out of the house in the dress. He hurriedly slid out of the saddle, left Arod standing there without tying him up, walked quickly towards her, put his hands on her waist and stole a long and passionate kiss.
Even now, as Anwyn sat at the table, Trálír could hardly take his eyes off her for a moment. He watched as her long, slender fingers sliced the bread, as she handed the plates to her father, Ulthred and Conall and filled them with food with a laugh on her full lips.
She wore a wreath of field and meadow flowers on her curly hair, reminding Trálír of the stories he had heard as a boy, of fairies and forest spirits, nymphs or dryads.

Autumn had already arrived, which was noticeable in the cool nights and the morning mist that hid the lands of Blackwater Bay. During the day, the inhabitants could still enjoy the last warm rays of the sun before the hard and depriving time of the year would begin again.
Trálír had decided that they would celebrate the end of summer, and the completion of all their plans, with a generous meal together. The new stable and the animal enclosures were decorated with colourful ribbons and grasses that fluttered gently in the light breeze.
Conall, Ulthred and Trálír had finished building the stable a Tenday ago. Anwyn had then used the time to lay out the individual stalls with hay, while the two half-elves were busy stowing the stored hay and fodder in the hayloft, which could be accessed with a ladder. The animals' coops were spacious and in each one there was a trough for food and water, so that the animals were protected and safe from everyone in the icy season.
Just yesterday Ulthred and Conall had returned to the now new home with their newly acquired animals from Silverdew. Anwyn and her father were now the owners of four pigs, two goats and a billy goat, their donkey Oksa, five chickens and a rooster who greeted his new home with joy every morning when the sun rose.

Chapter Text

Anwyn sat at the table, smiling and quietly observing the men around her. Her father sat opposite to her and was engaged in a lively conversation with Conall, who told him that his uncle was also a fisherman. They talked about the height of water needed to make a successful catch, about the ebb and flow of the tide or large accumulations of brown algae, which were usually home to many different types of predatory fish.
Trálír and Ulthred talked about the news the half-elf had heard in Silverdew and while everyone was engrossed in their conversations, Anwyn stood up and began to clear away the used crockery. Her father raised his eyes and she gave him a warm smile as she placed the plates in the wicker basket that stood beside the table.
Anwyn lifted the heavy basket, propped it up a little with her hip and walked through the courtyard. Since there was a high wall protecting the house, the stable and the enclosure, she was no longer able to walk over hill and dale to the spring as she had done all those years. However, as the wall ensured the safety of the animals, herself and her father, Anwyn was happy to take the short diversions to the spring.
When she reached her destination, she put down the full basket, got down on her knees and let her hand glide slowly through the flowing water. Lost in thought, she took the used crockery out of the basket, placed it on the grass and then gently lowered herself to her knees as she listened to the birdsong in the nearby forest, which merged with the distant crashing of the waves on the shore.
Anwyn was quietly and diligently washing the plates, mugs and knives when a slight clearing of the throat made her look up.
A fond smile slid across her face.
"You're not going to do all the work on your own, are you?" Anwyn heard Trálír say and she laughed heartily.
"Are you offering yourself?" she asked with a grin and the high elf raised an eyebrow in amusement.
"We'd just have to talk about the appropriate wage."

"Not until I see how well you can work," Anwyn replied with a chuckle. Trálír laughed too, walked round the spring and sat down next to Anwyn, who handed him a plate which he let slide into the water. Silently but feeling safe in each other's presence, she and the high elf washed the dishes, which they then laid out on the grass to dry. When they had finished their work, Anwyn stood up, bent forwards and removed her sandals from her feet. She looked at Trálír, grinned and settled back down, lifting the skirt of her dress to her knees and then sliding her legs into the still-warm water. Anwyn closed her eyes and sighed in relaxation. Trálír followed her example and took off his boots, which he placed on the grass beside him. As the fabric of his breeches only went just below his knees, he was able to let his legs slide into the water without any further effort. He relaxed and let his head sink into his neck, closed his eyes and moved his right hand slightly to the side until he felt Anwyn's, which he then took in his own.
He smiled as he felt her fingers gently squeeze his.
"What are you thinking about?" Trálír asked softly after a while and looked at Anwyn.
Her eyes opened and a hint of melancholy could be read in them.
"Only a few more Tendays and the harvest season will be behind us, the days will be shorter, the sun will be hidden behind the dark clouds in the firmament. The nights will get colder, the white season will be upon us."

Trálír noticed a hint of sadness sliding across Anwyn's face, her eyebrows drawing together in concern and the corners of her mouth tightening.
"It won't be an easy time," she said, her voice low.
"But you don't have to worry, Anwyn. The animals are safe, there's enough hay and fodder for dozens of Tendays, the cellar is filled with enough wood and food. Your father and you won't have to go hungry," Trálír replied, trying to alleviate Anwyn's obvious concern with these words.
"But that's not what's bothering me," Anwyn replied, sheepishly brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she gnawed uncertainly on her lower lip.
"But?" Trálír raised an eyebrow questioningly and saw the hesitation in her gaze. She avoided looking him in the eye and stared at their clasped hands. Trálír waited patiently for Anwyn to continue, but she remained silent instead.
"Won't you tell me what's weighing so heavy on your heart, Anwyn?"
She nodded in the affirmative, but still no words escaped her lips. She was so obviously agonising over what was troubling her heart and her inability to express it that Trálír leaned towards her and gently pressed his lips to her cheek.

"I... I'll miss you," Anwyn suddenly burst out, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment. Despite the high elf's obvious affection for her, Anwyn feared that he might make fun of her emotional outburst. Nothing in their past, in their shared experience, had ever indicated this, but Anwyn feared that something would happen, something that would not favour the happiness she felt. She feared the proverbial calm before the storm, as the last few months had been such a contrast to her entire existence.
All the happiness she and her father had experienced in the last few weeks had been the complete opposite of what they had had to live through over the years. The poverty, the daily struggle for survival, the hunger in the cold months, the danger that just a moment of carelessness could cost their lives.
Her heart beat loudly in her chest, her throat was tight and she feared Trálír's reaction to her words, not realising that he was so full of love and deep affection that he would have loved to pull her into his arms.

"I know it will be a difficult time for us," Trálír replied, trying not to add to Anwyn's worries. "The paths are icy, it's bitterly cold and metre-high snowdrifts will prevent us from seeing each other. But I've already thought of a way for us to keep in touch."
Anwyn looked at him, her eyes wide with uncertainty. "You've found a way?"
Trálír nodded.
"But how would that work? Is there magic involved?"
"It won't be quite that complicated, Anwyn. There are a dozen carrier pigeons at our castle and it will be easy to keep in touch with you in writing. I know that it will be impossible for us to see and talk to each other. Nevertheless, we can exchange ideas, we are not far from each other and can read what the other feels or thinks."
A relieved smile spread across Anwyn's face.
"Now that we've realised all our plans for your farm, I need a new field of activity to be near you. Acclimatising a pigeon to a new location is the right occupation to fill all our days until the foggy moon begins."
"Yes, that sounds like a good suggestion," she replied.
"A very, very good suggestion," whispered Trálír, cupped Anwyn's chin with his thumb and index finger and stole a long and gentle kiss from her.

Chapter Text

It was late in the afternoon and it would not be long before the sun would set. The approaching evening was also noticeable in the diminishing bustle in the castle courtyard, for most of the servants were busy in their designated work areas, the animals had long since been fed and only once or twice did a monk walk across the courtyard, his face hidden in the documents he held in his hand. Teárlach chuckled as he imagined that the monk was so busy with this old paper that he would walk blindly into a closed door. But when he lifted his eyes from the parchment and opened it without difficulty, he grimaced in frustration.
The Secondborn was bored, sitting here on a half-straight block of wood next to the smithy where the blacksmith was busy sharpening the soldiers' weapons so that they stayed pristine.
As if that makes any sense, Teárlach thought and sighed in exasperation. There's not even a hint of a problem, let alone an approaching war.
Frustrated, the high elf folded his strong arms in front of his chest and crossed his long legs as his gaze fell on the bailiff's chamber, which had just been opened. To his surprise, he saw his father step out of the room, also holding a parchment in his hands, who forcefully pulled the door shut behind him, causing it to crash into the frame.
Interested, Teárlach raised an eyebrow and watched the ruler, whose face was filled with anger as he strode across the courtyard. Not only was his expression drenched in anger, but his body was also stiff with tension, resentment had taken possession of him.
Teárlach knew his father and his outbursts of anger well enough to recognise that the balled fist, the clenched teeth, the dark look, the tense chest and the stiff back were a clear sign that something had happened that had undoubtedly displeased him, Trálír the Elder. And his son knew only too well what the consequences were when the ruler lost control.
Nevertheless, he could not contain his curiosity and followed his father unobtrusively as he strode through the great hall in a bad mood.
The soldiers and servants present cleared the way for him without being asked, some looking to the next, worry and apprehension in their eyes. The ruler of the castle stomped up the stairs with a grim look on his face and disappeared into the long corridor, while Teárlach hurried up the stairs as well and watched out of the corner of his eye as his father disappeared into Trálír's chamber.
"Trálír?" Teárlach murmured and walked quietly through the deserted corridor, incomprehension and surprise in his voice. A dozen paces from Trálír's chamber, the corridor split to the left and right and was supported by pillars carved into the stone. The high elf used the pillar on the left to hide in the shadows, keeping a close eye on the corridor ahead.

*****

The sun had already set a while ago, the sky dark but still starry. As Arod trotted leisurely across the bridge, the clacking of his hooves echoing through the night, Trálír put his head back and stared up at the sky, awed by the endless number of stars that called the firmament their home. The high elf felt Arod slow and stop and he turned his gaze ahead of him, seeing two guards standing at the castle gate, torches illuminating their focussed faces. When they recognised the ruler's son, they nodded politely to him and bowed slightly.
Trálír returned the nod and steered Arod into the castle courtyard, which lay silent and deserted before him.

The stallion found his own way to the stables without his masters help and stopped as usual when they were only a few steps away. Trálír swung himself out of the saddle, grabbed the reins and led the horse into the stable. Fairre, the old stable master who lived in a small chamber above the wodden bulding, would already be resting at this time of night and Trálír would have preferred nothing more than to wake him from his sleep. So he led Arod into his stall and freed him from his saddle and bridle, which the horse greeted with a whinny. A smile slipped across his lips as he gently ran his hand over his stallion's nostrils. He turned away and filled Arod's kobe with fresh hay, then reached into a basket of vegetables and handed his stallion some turnips before leaving the stable and closing the gate behind him.
As he entered the Great Hall, the crackling of the large fire pit in the centre and the torches on the pillars filled the hall that lay silently before him. Trálír's footsteps echoed audibly through the hall as he walked to the Grand Staircase and then used it to stride towards his chamber.
He opened the door and was irritated the moment he looked into his brightly lit room.
Why are there candles burning here when I haven't been in the house all day? Trálír asked himself wondering as he took a step into his chamber. And the moment he finished this thought, he knew why. His gaze fell on the powerful figure sitting at his desk, his back straight, his chin proudly raised, his arms folded in front of his broad chest. The look in his light grey eyes was piercing.
"Father?" Trálír stood in the open doorway in consternation and watched as his father uncrossed his arms and gestured with his right hand for his first-born to enter.
As if I needed an invitation to enter my own realm, he thought disgruntledly and saw his father's eyebrows draw together. For a moment, the high elf wondered if his father was intruding on his thoughts, but he could not tell that he was. He felt no invasion in his mind.
Trálír entered slowly, closed the door behind him and walked into the centre of the chamber, facing his father, who was now leaning back in the large armchair and pointing to a document in front of him.
"Explain this to me," he demanded of his son and let his gaze slide to the parchment in front of him.

Trálír knew what was written on the parchment, for he had recognised the castle governor's handwriting a few moments ago. It was a list of the goods he had taken in the last Tenday and yet he stepped forward, took the document in his hand and skimmed it.
Not only was the amount of goods and wares listed, but also the coins he had used to purchase the animals and the wages for Conall and Ulthred.
Trálír lowered the parchment and placed it on the table, aware that his father's eyes were watching every movement, every expression on his face.
"So, don't you want to explain yourself?"
The ruler's voice was harsh, merciless. Even if he had spoken few words, Trálír was well aware of the danger that still lay in the dark. This was a moment he would have liked to avoid, even though he had realised for some time that this confrontation between him and his father was unavoidable.
He sighed inwardly.
"Do we really want to play this game, father?" Trálír asked bluntly. "I'm sure you know very well what this is all about."

"Well, I don't expect you to use the goods and gold coins to build a new castle." The dark voice of Trálír, the elder, dripped with mockery. "With just two helpers, you would probably spend a whole century building it."
"An excellent observation, father," Trálír replied, his voice clothed in a hint of arrogance. Satisfaction filled the high elf when he saw an angry glint in his father's eyes.
Like father, like son, he thought and looked at his father with his chin up, his shoulders hunched, back straight.
"Then I can assume that you and your whore are building a love nest?" The ruler's insulting words filled the chamber and his son took a deep breath to maintain his composure.
"Good, so you don't want to answer my question?" Trálír, the elder, stated. "Then I assume I'm right."
Trálír's gaze was still fixed on his father, whose menacing presence filled the room.
The ruling high elf reached for the document, rolled it up with unnerving slowness and then tapped the parchment on the table several times, as if he was thinking about what he would say next.
But Trálír knew that this was all just a farce, because his father was never at a loss for words. Neither words nor deeds.
"Well, I've come to terms with you spending your free time in the lap of a human woman, son. Still, I would have thought you had a little more taste."
Trálír gritted his teeth in anger and unconsciously clenched his fists, but he kept his innate composure. Even if it demanded everything of him, because he would love to hurl all the suppressed rage of the past decades at his father.
"But I'm surprised that you have the audacity to pay your whore out of my property."
"Your property?" Trálír asked, stunned. "Your property?"
He shook his head with a suppressed snort.
"For one thing, this property belongs to the Blackwaterlands and for another..." The Firstborn's gaze from the blue-green eyes was filled with rage. "For another, this is my mother's inheritance."
"You forget yourself, son," growled Trálír, the Elder, and rose from the armchair, his palms pressed on the table, his body tense as if he were a predator that would attack its victim in the next moment.

"Oh no, I'm not forgetting myself, father," Trálír replied with anger in his voice. "The fortune belongs to our family, to this land, and I am the firstborn as if I have the same rights as you, even if you don't like it. You were the one who married into this family. Your blood is someone else's blood."
"How much you rely on your title as firstborn, Trálír. Especially when it works in your favour. You haven't even reached adulthood yet, son. You still have more than 20 years to go."
"And yet I am your successor, my mother's son. And that gives me the right to draw on our fortune," Trálír replied grimly. "But if you're so keen on the gold coins I used to make up for the injustice you initiated, then why don't you just reach into the many chests of gold we own? Take it, there's more than enough. I don't care if you feast on my inheritance."
"Maybe you won't be my heir by then," Trálír the elder replied threateningly. His son began to laugh.
"You could do me no greater favour than to disinherit me, father! Don't force yourself, disinherit me, banish me! I do not care. I do not care in the slightest."
"Enough!" roared the ruler, but his son did not pause and continued: "All you have to do is say it, father, and I'll leave this godforsaken place in the next second."

Trálír saw in his father's face how he weighed up this possibility for a brief moment and finally said quietly with a serious look: "You don't need me, father. Leave my place to Teárlach."
The ruler scoffed. "Teárlach? Are you serious? He is insane! He's as addicted to madness as your mother was. A curse of your damned blood."
Trálír shook his head, a painful twinge in his chest as he heard his father denigrate his deceased mother. "And whose fault is that?"
"Careful, Trálír," the high elf warned quietly through clenched teeth.
"Teárlach has not gone mad, father. The reason for the darkness that torments his soul is you. Your humiliations, your beatings, your forbidding him and me not to help him, your accusing Teárlach of being responsible for his mother's death have fuelled this darkness in him. And you still do it every damn day."
The high elf, the ruler, stepped around the table and walked slowly and menacingly towards his son, his index finger raised. "I'm warning you, Trálír." He emphasised every single word, making it clear to his son that he was not far from crossing a line that he would do well to avoid.
"And mother wasn't addicted to madness either. She was lonely, desperate, humiliated. Do you really think I believe that her suicide was the result of madness? She killed herself because she could no longer bear the way you mistreated and abused her."

In the blink of an eye, Trálír the Elder stood before his son and clasped his hands around his neck, dark anger blazing in his light grey eyes.
"Enough!"
He pushed Trálír back forcefully, who stumbled backwards a few steps, then lost his balance and fell to the ground. He looked angrily at his father, who was towering in front of him.
"Do you really think you could have stopped me from entering your forbidden west wing and mother's chamber? I found her diaries, I read what you did to her, father. I know the truth and I know what you did."
The look in Trálír's blue-grey eyes was accusing, his voice a mixture of pain and bitterness.
The ruler took a step back, looked down at his firstborn and said softly, "If you tell anyone this secret, Trálír, you will regret it."
He turned round, walked through the chamber until he reached the door and added: "But I will not kill you, son. Your whore will have to suffer the consequences."
And with these words, he left Trálír's chamber and closed the door, leaving his son behind him, his eyes wide with terror and fear in his heart.

Chapter Text

When the door opened, Tearlách quickly stepped back into the shadows, hid behind the mighty stone pillar and watched as his father strode through the corridor. Without seeing his face, the elf knew that his face was contorted with rage, that his light gray eyes had darkened with anger.
He knew his father, his posture and the way he walked well enough to know that his body was filled with rage.
While he and Trálír had been arguing, Tearlách had been standing next to the door, listening with interest to every word exchanged between them.
For the past Tendays, he had suspected that his brother was busy outside the castle and that his human playmate was the reason. It surprised him to hear that he was trying to make up for his father's injustices.
Trálír and his heart of gold, Tearlách thought, shaking his head almost indulgently.
Of course, it would have been easy to put a few gold coins in his beloved's hand, but to see to it that he helped the girl to a better future with the support of two half-elves did not surprise him.
He, Tearlách, would have thrown a few coins at his whores feet with the request to be grateful for it and his older brother, with his soft heart, was literally building a new home for his relationship that would never have a future.

An amused smile was on Tearlách's face until he realized that he was suddenly the subject while his father and Trálír were at odds.
His brother was still in favor of him becoming heir to the throne even though they had barely seen each other for weeks, let alone spoken? Why was he doing this, Tearlách wondered. And what was the reason for it?
Did Trálír despise his heritage, his innate responsibility, so much that he wanted to leave the Blackwater Castle the next moment? Before he could pay further attention to these questions in his innermost being, the conversation between the two men turned and suddenly his mother's madness was no longer a matter that lay in the dark and was only mentioned in a coy whisper.
Anger filled him, bitterness and a raging hatred spread through him as he listened to his brother's words. Until that moment he had not known or even suspected that his mother had taken her own life. He had grown up believing that he was the reason for his mother's death.
It had been made clear to him every moment of his life that it had been his fault, his birth, that had cost his mother her life.
Tearlách remembered every single day in which he had to face his father's accusations in silence and marked by heavy reproaches. Day in, day out, the beatings he had to endure, the humiliating words that burned into him like acid into the boy's tender skin.
Tearlách had spent his childhood and youth believing that every soldier, every castle dweller, every elf in these lands would blame him for his mother's death. How Tearlách had wished for someone at his side to protect him or to have his back. How he had longed not to wake up every morning knowing that in the evening he would crawl into bed with numerous bruises and cry secretly under the covers while his whole body throbbed with pain.
And how he had wished to be at his older brother's side, to be able to hide behind him, but he had punished him with silent disregard. When Trálír discovered the bloody effusions on his brother's skin, he averted his eyes in shame. Tearlách hated the firstborn for his lack of support and protection, unaware that their father had forbidden his older brother to stand by the younger one. As soon as Trálír tried to turn to him for help, his father threatened that Tearlách's punishment would be even more severe if he intervened. There was talk of locking him in a dungeon or tying him to a rack in the castle courtyard by the wrists so that the boy would have to stand half-naked on his toes for hours in the cold. It broke Trálír's heart not to be able to help his younger brother, but anything he would have done would have been to Tearlách's detriment.

Only since the younger elf had made room for the darkness within him, given in to anger and bitterness and vented all his pain and hatred on others, did the inhabitants of the castle seem to respect him ... or fear him.
Tearlách was so deeply affected by the truth of his mother's passing that the festering wound of years of humiliation dug deeper into his soul, intensifying his hatred and his desire to take revenge on his father for all the suffering he had endured.
The time for that had not yet come, Tearlách knew. But the future would bring much suffering for his father, he was sure of that. He saw him screaming in burning shackles, naked, his old body with numerous cuts, kneeling on the ground in front of him ... Tearlách, the Dark One.
He saw himself standing ankle-deep in his father's blood with a cold smile on his lips. His father's screams would be sweeter to him than death.

*****

In the silence of the night, Trálír walked across the courtyard to the stable, opened the gate, entered and closed it quietly. Then, breathing heavily, he leaned against the wood of the bulky entrance and closed his eyes. His heart was beating so hard in his chest that the elf had the feeling it would burst in the next moment.
His father's threat cut off his breath, the fear for Anwyn tugged deep in his guts, seeming to grip into his spine and violently rip it from his flesh. He heard the restless neighing of his stallion, pushed himself away from the gate and walked slowly to Arod's stall. When he looked into his horse's gentle eyes, he raised his hand and placed it on its neck. Dejected, Trálír hung his head and closed his eyes again, trying to suppress the cruel threat his father had made.

But his words had burned themselves into his heart and he remembered why he had parted from Anwyn last winter with a heavy heart.
Trálír had cited mistrust of his family as the reason, the looming danger in the dark that he could not name at the time. But tonight he was aware that his father represented a real danger to his relationship with Anwyn. And it was obvious that Trálír, the Elder, would do something to the woman he loved so much if he did something his father didn't like. Whether it was talking back, covertly or overtly refusing an order, not fulfilling his duties as firstborn ... if he decided against anything his father demanded or expected of him, Anwyn would have to bear the consequences for his behavior.

And Trálír remembered only too well his father's reaction in the years that followed, which his younger brother had to endure after their mother took her own life. His father was filled with rage that he no longer had control over his wife, that she had broken free from his poisonous embrace and escaped his humiliations. Since Trálír was his heir as firstborn, the ruler devised his youngest son as a sacrifice for his rage.
How often had Trálír heard Tearlách's sobs, seen the bruises on his arms, shoulders and legs when they sat together at the breakfast table the next morning, his younger brother looking at the table, too frightened to whisper a word. And Trálír sitting beside him, silent, his eyes averted, his throat tight and his heart aching with helplessness.
Trálír shook his head to free himself from these images. He opened his horse's stall, stepped inside and grabbed a currycomb which was attached to a rope hanging from the roof beam.
Lost in thought, Trálír began to groom Arod's neck with circular movements. With his free hand, he slowly stroked the groomed area and made sure that his stallion's lower lip was relaxed, which was a clear sign that Arod was comfortable. Trálír worked his way from the neck over the shoulders to the back and hindquarters of the horse.

When he had finished grooming, Trálír led his stallion into an empty kobe, as the horse's hair had fallen into the bedding and it now needed to be replaced.
It was deep in the night, the inhabitants of the Blackwater Castle were deep and mostly peaceful in their sleep, but the first-born of the ruler was mucking out the stables of Arod and the other horses and was still doing so when Fairre entered the stall in the morning and realized with astonishment that he had no work to do for the day ahead. Unsure, he asked his master what had happened and the high elf just shrugged his shoulders and mumbled: "I couldn't sleep."
Fairre stood uncertainly in the gate of the large stable and watched as Trálír closed a stall behind him. He looked dejected, lost, his gaze blank.
The old stable master cleared his throat quietly and asked in an uncertain voice: "What should I do now, sir?"
Trálír shrugged his shoulders again in reply.
"Close the gate so that no one can see you and lie down on some hay bales, perhaps you could do with a little nap?"
"It's early in the morning," Fairre replied slowly, as if to tell him that he was not allowed to rest another minute.
"Maybe you're wrong and it's still the middle of the night? Get some rest, Fairre. You work hard and are no longer the youngest. Consider it a gift that I couldn't sleep tonight." Trálír smiled wryly and saw that Fairre nodded hesitantly.
The high elf turned away, walked through the stable and closed the door behind him. He knew that his day would begin with a lesson in the outer courtyard, so he strode down the path between the smithy and the stable. If you ignored the training ground on the right and continued walking, after a while you would come to the fields that lay to the west of the castle, bordered by the sea to the north and the dark woods to the south. Centuries ago, the former ruler of the Blackwater country had worked hard to clear the forest that stretched as far as the shores in order to grow wheat, barley and rye.

Chapter Text

Trálír heard the sounds of wooden weapons hitting each other, the groans and moans of the practicing soldiers, the orders given by the First Hand.
Once upon a time, there was a ruler who had insisted that the training sessions should be carried out with real weapons, as only the strongest should serve his army. But after some time and many serious wounds, severed limbs and several deaths of his soldiers, he switched to having his soldiers fight each other with weapons made of acacia. Perhaps there were some races on Faerûn who laughed at this kind of combat, especially races like the Dragonborn or Lolth-sworn Drow, who trained for at least ten years in magic or combat and then performed some raids above ground.
But even a shield made of acacia wood could easily break bones or knock out teeth, as could a hammer, swords or axes carved by Ailill, the woodcarver, and his two apprentices.
As Trálír entered the training area, which was surrounded by a waist-high wooden fence, he glanced over the fighters present. He nodded to his father's First Hand Neererin, spotting some of the faces he had fought with in training sessions since the beginning of his weapons tuition. At the edge of the square stood three young elves who could not have been more different and whom Trálír was seeing for the first time.

The one closest to him also seemed to be the youngest. He was slightly shorter than Trálír but had a tough physique that contradicted his gentle expression. His shiny red hair fell down the middle of his back and the elf's eyes reminded him of the sparkle of rare emeralds. When his gaze crossed that of the ruler's son, he bowed his head respectfully.
The elf next to him was tall, slim and athletic. Trálír realized at first glance that his advantage in battle would be his agility and adaptability. His opponent would have difficulty knocking him down with a simple blow.
The last newcomer looked up at the Firstborn, his gaze arrogant, too confident to be sympathetic.
Trálír raised an eyebrow and unconsciously gritted his teeth.
He should be taught as quickly as possible where his boundaries lie and who he has to respect on this place, he thought angrily as he walked into the fenced fighting arena and a young elf handed him a practice sword.
Concentrating, Trálír felt the sword in his hand, its weight, its shape. He let it circle in his hand, took a few steps backwards, to the side, forwards again.
The most important in a fight was the positioning of the fighter, because the legs should always be shoulder-width apart, spread out to provide more balance. The more the soles of the feet were on the ground, the more secure the stance and the more power you would have for an attack.
The fight between two swordsmen was not a hectic scramble, but a glide with the feet on the ground, because everything revolved around a secure stance and not losing your balance. The sword always had to be close to the body so that you didn't have to reach out towards your opponent. Prudence was the quality that could save your life in battle, control and focus to avoid your opponent and then deliver the decisive blow.
Trálír heard the First Hand call his name and raised his eyes. With one hand the elf handed him a round shield and with the other he pointed at the newcomer, the hulking soldier who had given him an arrogant look. The ruler's son accepted the shield, nodded and the next moment he stumbled back in surprise as his opponent attacked him out of nowhere, the shield in front of him and thrust powerfully against Trálír's ribcage.
"Hells," he gritted through clenched teeth.

The ruler's son positioned himself, literally speared his opponent with his eyes and skillfully dodged to the side as he attacked him, countering his blow with the sword with a composed step to the side. The elf huffed in frustration, postured and stared angrily at Trálír. Both waited for the command of the First Hand and Trálír parried another powerful blow with his sword with his shield, which he skillfully held in front of him and pushed in the direction of his opponent so that his sword bounced off. He took a step back to reposition himself when he was suddenly hit on the upper arm by a powerful blow with the acacia sword. He glanced angrily at the other elf, an obvious warning in his blue-green eyes that the soldier should remain fair.
He faced Trálír, but before Neererin could give another command, he charged at the ruler's son, thrusting the shield against his chest and the pommel of the sword into his face. Trálír dodged it at the last moment and his opponent missed him by a hair's breadth.
"Haven't you learned the rules of combat, yet?" Trálír snapped at the tall elf, who replied with a disparaging laugh: "There are no rules in a serious battle, either."

"Dolguruk! Pull yourselves together and fight fair," Neererin, the First Hand, warned the elf.
For the next few rounds, the hulking man heeded the warning and the practice fight was characterized by basic attacks and counters, footwork and controlling the opponent without much thought or deliberation.
The soldiers of the castle practiced fighting in pairs, quick steps and skillful dodging on the sandy ground could be heard as well as panting and many a powerful and frightening cry to scare the opponent.
The exercise was slowly coming to an end when Trálír's opponent, Dolguruk, after a successful counterattack by the ruler's son, stood up in front of him, leaned towards him and contemptuously murmured: "And I thought the ruler's son had a little more talent in the art of weaponry."
"Watch your tongue, soldier," growled Trálír angrily.
The elf laughed snidely.
"Or else?"
"Otherwise you will not only lose your tongue to my sword."
Dolguruk snorted maliciously, leaned forward once more and growled in a dark voice: "Isn't that rather a task for one of your servants? Yourselves, the nobles and blue-blooded ones, you don't know how to fight at all. Here you are, practicing day after day what it would be like to sit on a throne with your highborn arses while the others are in battle."

"Careful," Trálír warned his counterpart quietly, his blue-green eyes darkening ominously.
"Are you trying to warn me? Am I supposed to take the talk of a child like you seriously?" The elf particularly emphasized the word child to obviously humiliate Trálír, for an elf had only reached full adulthood at one hundred years of age. Trálír's beryn fin* ended when he reached the age of twenty-five and yet there were always other elves who were too happy to remind him that he was still considered a child in their eyes. Dolguruk seemed to be one of those elves who cared more about his age than the fact that Trálír was the son of the ruler.

A cold smile was on the soldier's voluminous lips when Trálír suddenly yanked his shield upwards and it smashed against Dolgulkur's nose, breaking it instantly. As he heard the breaking of the bone, his vision blurred and everything around him was drenched in dark red. He heard the voice of the First Hand calling his name and the voices of the other elves, but could not make out their words as a loud noise rushed through his head. He saw the hulking elf in front of him, saw the blood spurting from his nose and mouth, the panic in his eyes, heard his screams ... and yet Trálír could not stop beating him. The blood rushed hot in his veins, anger burned painfully into his heart.
He felt the bones in his fingers crunch with every blow and saw his opponent's flesh swell from his punches. It was only when he was pulled back from Dolgulkur and three elves laboriously pushed him back a few steps that Trálír's vision cleared and he heard himself gasping for breath. His gaze fell on his opponent in front of him who had placed his hands protectively on his face while the First Hand knelt beside and spoke to him.
Blood splashed through Dolgulkur's hands and soaked his clothes. Trálír's gaze slid to his own hands, bloodied, swollen, the knuckles cracked from the force with which he had struck.

Breathing heavily, he realized that his hands were trembling. He tore himself away from the elves holding him, gave them a warning look not to hold him back and then walked past them without a word.
Besides the anger and the loss of control over himself, Trálír had only one thought. He had to get out of here.
He had to get to Anwyn...

Chapter Text

Since the early morning, Anwyn worked tirelessly on the daily chores she had to do. Even before the sun rose in the sky and the cock began to crow to greet the morning, she got up quietly, left her sleeping place and the house, careful not to make any noise so as not to wake her father. Her path led her across the courtyard, along the wall to the spring where she washed herself thoroughly and changed her clothes. Sometimes she allowed herself a moment of rest and sat on the meadow with her knees drawn up, listening to the waves or the sounds of the night as she stared up at the night sky.
Her standard of living had improved with the acquisition of the animals and the planting of several beds, but the daily work had also increased. When she sank exhausted onto her bed in the evening, it only took a few breaths before she was fast asleep.
Anwyn had already prepared breakfast for her father and herself, swept the house and the yard, washed the used dishes and laundry.
She had watered and weeded the beds, mucked out the stable and fed the animals. Now she was about to tip a bucket of turnips, carrots, potatoes, some fruit and stale bread into the enclosure with the pigs so that they could forage and rummage on the ground.
And the enclosure was big enough to keep the pigs, the donkey and the goats together.
With a smile, Anwyn watched as the small group of pigs ran to their rich meal, grunting excitedly and munching on the fruit and vegetables.
In front of the fence were two new wooden buckets which she grabbed and headed towards the spring to fill with fresh spring water which she would then pour into the enclosure's drinking trough.
As Anwyn walked through the yard, she thought of the many days she had spent together with Ulthred and Conall. She had to admit to herself that she missed the two half-elves in her presence and now considered them as friends. Trálír often told her how they were doing and how many times they asked about her and her father's well-being.
Since her childhood, there had only been her father and herself, the daily fishing and the hard work. There had never been a single day of peace and quiet. She had never had any friends, neither in her childhood nor in her youth.
Anwyn had never missed them because she had never known the feeling of friendship and close ties.
There were the odd conversations in the village when she went to the market, but even there she was always aware that they were not part of the village community. There were often moments when she wondered why, but she had never found an answer.
Now that she had gotten to know Trálír and the two half-elves and her life had been enriched by their presence, she felt their absence even more.
Every moment that the high elf was not by her side, Anwyn felt as if a part of herself was missing. She felt safe and understood in Trálír's closeness, sure, that his feelings for her were genuine.
It was not always easy for her to wait for his arrival, as she never knew when he would reach the farm and how much time they could spend together, but she enjoyed every single second in his presence.
With a sigh, Anwyn lowered the buckets into the water, filled them and then pulled them back out with a groan. Her arms burned from the heavy weight of the full buckets in her hands and her back ached from the strain as she walked back to the courtyard.
As Anwyn set them down to open the yard gate, she heard the whinny of Arod not far from her and she turned around in delight.
“Trálír!” she exclaimed, raising her hand in greeting and watching as the elf, sitting tall on his stallion, approached the courtyard.
Anwyn's gaze slid to his face and the smile on her lips faded when she saw his expression.
The blue-green eyes that always reminded her of the churning sea looked dark gray with anger. She saw something wild and unrestrained in them and her throat tightened subconsciously. Uncertain, she watched as Trálír rode into the courtyard without a word of greeting, swung himself out of the saddle and led the stallion into the stable without giving her a glance.
Anwyn still stood at the gate, the two buckets filled with water beside her, not knowing what to do, say or think. Hesitantly, she watched as Trálír stepped out of the stable, closed the gate and turned in her direction, his eyes still filled with rage.
As their gazes crossed, the anger faded from Trálír's eyes, which then felt empty. His shoulders slumped, he breathed heavily and closed his eyes. His expression looked tortured.
Anwyn stepped through the gate and walked slowly towards him.
He looks so lost, she thought sadly, and the next moment she noticed his bloodied hands. Horror spread through Anwyn and she ran towards him, placing her hands carefully on his face, her voice full of concern.

“By the gods, Trálír, have you been attacked? Are you hurt?” Anwyn asked, barely able to suppress the rising panic in her voice. Her gaze slid over his face to his neck, his chest, his arms. Then her hands gently followed the previous gaze and slid from his face to his shoulders, carefully scanning him for injuries. She saw a few bloodstains on the light-colored fabric of his tunic as she heard him say softly, “It's not my blood, Anwyn.”
She looked up at him, frowned questioningly and waited for Trálír to continue.
“We had combat training in the castle.”
“Are they asking you to to punch the walls with your fists?” Anwyn asked, noticing that her voice was trembling slightly. She took his hands in hers and examined them closely. The skin on the knuckles was red, swollen and burst open, but Anwyn could not see a deeper injury.
“It's my opponent's blood,” Trálír explained quietly, a hint of regret in his voice. Anwyn looked at him questioningly with wide eyes, but he avoided her gaze.
She sensed that something had happened, something unexpected, that got to him.
Something that he couldn't put into words ... or didn't want to.
„I’ll first soak your tunic and pants to remove the blood and while that will take until the next morning, I’ll take care of your hands immediately”, Anwyn said and saw Trálír nod slowly. Her gaze softened and she gently stroked his wrist with her fingertips.

“Wait for me at the spring, Trálír, I will follow,” she said in a gentle voice and watched as he nodded once more, turned slowly and walked towards the stream. His usually tall body and confident gait were unrecognizable on him, his shoulders dropped and his steps were almost dragging.
Anwyn went to the gate, took the two full buckets in her hands and poured the water into the drinking trough of the pig enclosure. She placed one bucket against the fence and took the other with her as she walked to the entrance of the cellar and opened it. Anwyn walked down the few stairs in the dark in absolute safety, having memorized the way down since she was a child. Even in her sleep, she would have had no trouble finding her way down to the basement. She went to a large wooden barrel that stood in the back corner, opened it and poured the contents into the bucket with a small shovel. With water, this would make a strong brine that would make it easier for Anwyn to wash the blood out of Trálír's clothes after they had been soaking in the salt water mixture overnight.

She left the cellar, put the full bucket of salt water in front of the door and went into the house, took a pair of trousers and an old tunic from her father's clothes chest, then grabbed a small bar of gall soap, some alcohol, a brew of marigold tea and some thin strips of cloth as bandages and put them in her wicker basket that stood next to her bed.
Carrying the basket in her left hand and the full bucket in her right, Anwyn walked to the spring. Trálír sat lost in thought on the meadow, his eyes closed, but when he heard her approaching, he opened them and looked in her direction. There was a faint smile on his lips, but in his eyes she saw a deep insecurity that pained her. What had happened to upset him so much?
Trálír looked up at her when she reached him and put down the bucket and the wicker basket.
“I need to put your clothes in a brine for the night so I can wash the blood out in the morning,” she explained to him. “I've chosen you a pair of pants and an old tunic from my father. It may be a little tight around the chest, but it will be enough so that you don't have to return to the castle naked.”
At her words, a slight smirk appeared on Trálír's lips and an amused twinkle could be seen in his eyes.

“After that, I'll take care of your bruised hands. It's better if I treat them with some marigold decoction and bandage them.”
“Is that really necessary?” Trálír asked, looking at Anwyn skeptically.
“Well, we can just ignore it and wait for some dirt to settle, the wounds to become infected and gangrene to cost you your fingers and then your hands.”
“Very well, I understand,” Trálír replied resignedly and Anwyn nodded in satisfaction.
“Now get rid of your clothes, hand them to me and get into the water.”
Trálír raised a dark eyebrow. “And why should I do that?” he asked curiously, the tone of his voice deepening and taking on a velvety undertone.
“Because I tell you to,” was Anwyn's unequivocal answer and she tried to ignore the elf's seductive tone. She put her hands on her hips, gave him a stern look and Trálír stifled the rising chuckle he felt in his throat.

“So be it,” he said, reaching for the edge of his tunic and taking it off with a deft movement of his hand. He let it fall carelessly to the ground, his gaze fixed on Anwyn, who looked at him wordlessly. But he noticed how her chest rose and fell a little faster than it had a few moments before.
Her big brown eyes were glued to the body before her.
Trálír was muscular, his stomach and arms toned and Anwyn couldn't look away.
He leaned forward a little, removed his boots and slowly undid his breeches, loosened the laces. With a seductive smile, he pushed the fabric of his pants to his ankles and then stepped out of them, leaving him standing in front of her in just his underpants.

“And now?” he asked in an amused voice and watched as Anwyn slowly pointed to the spring with her hand.
“To ... to the Water,” she whispered and quickly bent over to grab his clothes and press them against her upper body. With a grin, Trálír turned around and walked into the lukewarm stream. The water flowing directly from the spring was cool and refreshing and mixed with the almost stagnant water that had slowly warmed up since the morning. The high elf walked slowly through the warm water, breathing in and out deeply, feeling how his body relaxed, how the restlessness that had held him in its grip for what felt like an eternity slowly receded from him. He dipped his hands into the warm water and felt the stinging pain of his abraded skin, which reminded him of what had happened. Trálír felt the remorse again, the anger, the helplessness, all these feelings intensified in just one breath and threatened to take him over, to overwhelm him. So he turned around and looked for Anwyn, whom he saw standing right by the spring. She held the bucket underneath, filled it with clear water and then placed it on the meadow. She dipped her right hand into the water and mixed it intently with the salt lying on the bottom before grabbing his shirt and trousers and placing them in the brine.

Anwyn straightened up and her eyes met Trálír's.
When he saw that she was also reaching for the edge of her dress, he felt his heart literally stumble in his chest.
He watched wide-eyed as Anwyn pulled her dress up, causing her tight undergarment underneath to ride up as well, revealing her bare thighs and underpants. Open-mouthed, Trálír stared at the soft curve of her hips, the bare skin of her belly and the base of her breasts when suddenly the undergarment detached itself from the fabric and slid back over her body, hiding it just below her buttocks.
“What are you up to?” Trálír's voice was hoarse as he stared at Anwyn, but the next moment he remembered to take a few steps into deeper water to hide his growing erection, which was clearly visible against the fabric of his underpants. He gulped as he watched Anwyn walk slowly through the grass to the shore, a mixture of sand and small pebbles. It was impossible for him to take his eyes off Anwyn for a single moment as she walked through the pleasantly warm water with a tender smile on her lips until she stood in front of him and looked up at him.

“Would you allow me to wash you?” she asked in a whisper and he recognized uncertainty in her voice and her warm, brown eyes. She wasn't sure whether he would allow her to get so close, even though they had already experienced a few moments of deep passion. Nevertheless, it was a new kind of intimacy, a new kind of affection for each other.
“Yes ... yes, of course,” Trálír replied with a nod and tried to cover his emerging nervousness with an embarrassed smile. He was standing in water up to his loins and as Anwyn was slightly shorter than him, she walked around him until the water reached just below her chest.
Biting his lower lip nervously, Trálír waited to see what would happen next and when he felt Anwyn's hands on his shoulders, his heart raced so hard he could almost hear it pounding in his ears. He breathed in and out deeply, but unconsciously tensed at Anwyn's touch. With a small bar of soap, one of Anwyn's hands slid over his shoulders while she used her other hand to move his hair, which was tied at the nape of his neck, forward over his shoulder.
Trálír closed his eyes with pleasure, took a deep breath of the salty sea air and concentrated on the circular, gentle movements with which Anwyn, standing behind him, soaped his skin. As she glided her fingertips along his spine, Trálír felt the tension in his body weaken and he surrendered completely to the touch of his beloved. His chin sank to his chest and Anwyn let her fingertips glide with gentle pressure over his vertebrae to his neck, massaging the skin and muscles there with slow, circular movements.

Then he felt her open the leather band that held his hair together and she slid it over his back with a gentle movement.
In her left hand Anwyn held the bar of soap, while with her right hand she scooped up water several times, wetting Trálír's long hair so that she lathered it with the soap. He suddenly felt her move away from him and glanced over his shoulder in surprise, only to see that she had taken a few steps towards the shore to put the soap down. He quickly turned around again so that Anwyn would not see that her absence had aroused his curiosity. And only moments later he felt her hands in his long, heavy hair. A sigh slipped over his lips as Anwyn ran her fingers in circles over his scalp, working the soap lather into his hair.
It felt like an eternity for Trálír to feel Anwyn's skillful movements on his skin, his hair, and could have gone on for eons. He felt a sense of loss as she began to wash the soap scum from his hair, cupping the lukewarm water in her hands again and again. A moment later, Trálír felt her hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him down and he understood that he should dive under to wash the remaining lather from his hair. Closing his eyes, the high elf took a deep breath and sank beneath the surface, his hands in his long hair, and when he surfaced, he shook himself like a wet dog who wanted to dry his fur. Surprise was on his face when he opened his eyes again and saw a smiling Anwyn standing in front of him, only a few handbreadths away.

Chapter Text

“Would you sit in the shallow water?” Anwyn asked, glancing back over her shoulder to the shore. “That would make my work easier.”
“Work?” Trálír asked with a raised eyebrow while his blue-green eyes showed the obvious amusement he felt. There was a cheeky grin on his lips.
“You know what I mean,” she replied with a laugh, placing her hands on his chest and gently pushing him backwards through the warm water so that he would start moving. The elf was only too happy to comply with Anwyn's request, walking provocatively slowly through the water towards the shore until it only reached his calves and he settled down. Not for a moment did he break eye contact with Anwyn while he supported himself with his hands in the sandy pebble mixture.
Unconsciously, he pulled his lower lip between his teeth and bit it to keep the rising excitement in his body at bay. Trálír felt his heartbeat accelerate steadily as Anwyn waded slowly through the water, her eyes were locked with his.
His gaze slid over her dress, which was wet up to her breasts and stuck to her body as she had climbed into the stream with it. He saw the edge of her underpants pressing against the wet fabric as well as the curves of her hips and breasts.
The wet cloth stuck so close to Anwyn's body that it hid nothing and literally exposed everything.
With a nervous swallow, his gaze slid to her breasts and the stiffly erect nipples that were clearly visible through the damp undergarment. As she lowered herself with a lascivious movement and knelt between Trálír's unconsciously open thighs, she smiled seductively at him.
His heart was loudly thumping as Anwyn leaned forward, allowing him more than a glimpse of her cleavage as the wet and heavy fabric pulled the undergarment down. It revealed more than just the base of her breasts.
Trálír swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes closed, tried to keep his control but when Anwyn pressed her halfnaked body against his to reach for the Soap next to him, he let out a stiffled moan.
Anwyn giggled in amusement and Trálír couldn't ignore the warm buzzing under his skin so he placed his hands on her waist, feeling the damp rough fabric under his fingertips, and leaned in to press his lips to her collarbone. He took his time to lick with the tip of his tongue over the delicate skin of her neck up to her earlobe. She tasted like the clear water of the freshwater spring, refreshing, revitalising, like life itself. Trálír felt how her breath quickened as he gently took her earlobe between his teeth and nibbled on it playfully. At the same time he moved his hands smoothly under the damp fabric to her thighs and let them slide slowly, very slowly, to the edge of her pants. He pressed his fingers into the cloth, massaging the underlying skin of her hips up to her buttocks with sensual movements.

Anwyn leaned back a little to put some distance between herself and Trálír, who took note of her movement with an anxious heart. He followed her movement and tried to steal a kiss from her lips, but Anwyn gently placed a hand on his chest and shook her head. Trálír tried to speak, tried to ask her why she pulled away from him, but couldn't find the right words.
It was a quiet, still moment, and then he saw how she spread the soap with a little water in her hands and before throwing it carefully into the grass next to their stripped clothes.
She looked at him for permission and asked in a hushed voice: ‘May I?’
Trálír answered her question with a relieved nod and closed his eyes trustingly.
His lungs were filling with air when he felt Anwyn's fingertips on his cheeks. Slowly and deliberately, they found their way to his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and touched his half-open lips. Trálír couldn't help but unconsciously lift his head, tongue darting over his top lip to taste Anwyn, who quickly slid her fingers to his chin, her touch a tender dance on his skin.
He felt Anwyn, still kneeling between his thighs, shift her position and before he could even think about what her next move was, he felt her cupping his chin in her hand and pressing her lips to his. He quickly opened his mouth, granting her the entry she demanded and their tongues tasted each other extensively. Her fingers slid with slow deliberation down his neck to his collarbone.
Trálír lovingly bit Anwyn's lower lip with his teeth, who responded to the tender bite with a soft sigh on her lips.
She gently broke away from his kiss and gave him a shy smile as she looked up to meet Trálír's eyes.
„Anwyn“, he whispered breathlessly and watched as she scooped up water with her hand and gently washed the soap lather off him.
She moved her hands from his shoulders over his toned upper arms down to his wrists. She tilted her head and lifted his arm slightly. For a brief moment, a hint of sadness was to see on her face as she became aware of the swollen hand, then she focused on gently examining the wound. He watched as she skillfully glided her gaze over the burst skin, carefully turning his hand left and right in search of tiny stones or similar particles of dirt, but she found nothing and so Anwyn stroked the knuckles with damp fingers, cleaning them carefully and then turning to his other hand.

Anwyn looked at Trálír while their fingers intertwined and his breath hitched from the effort of containing the overwhelming arousal building up on him.
A hot fire burned in his chest and desire ran through every single nerve in his body. He felt such a deep longing for Anwyn in his veines that it almost pushed him to the limits of his sanity, making him lose his fight for the self-control imposed on him.
Trálír heard his own voice inside him, whispering seductively that he should give in to his desires, pull Anwyn into his arms and press her to the ground. He would tear her undergarment in two within a breath, then spread her legs and slide wordlessly into her. He would pull her with his hands closer, forcing his cock deeper into her.
The agonizing heat inside him, the unbearable desire for Anwyn's body, her heart, her soul made Trálír whimper impatiently for more.
But when he had lost his heart to her, he had made her a promise of which she had no idea.

Contrary to his younger brother Tearlach's assumption, Trálír had certainly had physical experiences in his beryn fin*. In the elven community it was normal to indulge, to have experiences, to explore and get to know each other. They were beautiful moments, pleasant memories and Trálír did not regret them, but they could not compare to the intimate moments he experienced with Anwyn.
Physical pleasure with other elves, regardless of gender, was like a good meal enjoyed together. There were no awkward moments, no jealousy between them, just the mutual exploration of their own lust, their physical desire.
And despite the open-minded experience of their own sexuality, there were many male elves, at least in the Blackwater Lands, who indulged in the allure of sharing their dark and secret desires with mostly humans or half-elves.
It was no great secret among the humans that the elves told lies with their beauty, their charisma and their forked tongues in order to conquer hearts that they broke after their physical pleasure without a guilty conscience. Trálír had also heard of many a desecration and he abhorred these acts with every fiber of his being.

Anwyn was more to him than just a night in a dark alley or several tens of days full of lust and passion in which he feasted on her only to tire of her and leave her behind with a broken heart.
Far be it from him to bewitch her with false words and then live out his sexual desires.
The closer he got to Anwyn, the more she confided in him, the more Trálír realized that he would never behave towards her like many elves who lived in these lands. Not only his needs would play a role in their mutual exploration, but both their desires.
And as deep as the longing in his lap was, as sweet as the pain was, he would not break his promise to Anwyn.
It was not yet time to take the final, definitive step of losing himself completely in the other.

And so Trálír took a deep breath before closing his eyes as he tried to ignore the twitching in his loins.
Anwyn released her finger from his and took her time, her fingertips sliding very slowly down his neck, down his chest, until she reached his stomach. Trálír's sweaty chest rose and fell with his quickening breath, a groan in his throat.

Her lips followed the path of her fingertips tantalizingly slow as her tongue left a burning trail of passion on Trálír's skin. Anwyn heard his moan as her lips sucked softly on his skin.
A pleasurable shudder ran through the elf's body and he twitched slightly at the jolt of pleasure as the tip of her tongue slid to his nipples. Her hands stroked slowly along his side, drawing a gentle pattern full of passion.
Heart pounding, Anwyn took Trálír's right nipple between her lips and sucked gently. When she realized that his fingers were pressing into her shoulders, confidence filled her.
She breathed soft kisses on his toned abs, felt the tension in his body under her hands and noticed out of the corner of her eye that his member pressed hard against the damp fabric.
Anwyn swallowed nervously despite her newfound confidence as she slid her fingers to the edge of his underpants.
Trálír took a deep breath before looking up to Anwyn's fawn eyes. There was astonishment in his gaze and he recognized the unspoken question in them, the question of his consent.
He quickly grabbed her wrist and she looked at him in surprise.
“You don't have to do this, Anwyn.” His voice was strained and breathy.
“But what if I want to?” she replied in a whisper, her eyes glowing with desire and longing in her words. “What if I want to touch you?”
Trálír swallowed hard, his heart thumping, his blood burning like the fires in Avernus.
“Will you deny me that pleasure?” Her voice was as dark as velvet and at the same time as promising as the sweetest honey Trálír had ever tasted.

"If you touch me there, I won't last long," he confessed to her faintly, uncomfortable with the fact that he wouldn't be able to control his desire, his own body. His cheeks turned slightly red and Anwyn looked at him lovingly as he confessed his fear. Consoling him, she put her left hand to his cheek while her slender fingers slid through his long black hair.
"Just close your eyes, Love. Don't think too much, just feel ... me," she said in a devoted voice.
Anwyn could feel Trálír's breathing picking up when he felt her hand touching his erection over the wet fabric.
"Gods," the elf sighed.
She moved her fingertips gently from top to bottom and Trálír gasped as he felt her hand lightly encircle his shaft, unaware that Anwyn's eyes were on him, intent on noticing every movement of his body and facial expression.
As she had no experience with the opposite sex, her movements were hesitant and cautious.
Anwyn's knowledge of a body's desire was almost non-existent and what little she knew she had read in scientific books describing the physiology of a body.
But the desire inside her, that longing pull in her abdomen, had become so unbearable that she didn't want to wait any longer to explore Trálír. She watched his reactions to her every touch with a pounding heart.
His hitched breath, the moans which came from his lips, his arched back, the shivers of pleasure which ran through his body.
She slid the fingers of her left hand over Trálír's damp torso, tracing sensual patterns in circular motions down his abs to the edge of his pants, and a hint of pride filled her as Trálír responded to her touches with soft grunts and moans. As Anwyn reached her hand to the waistband of his pants and pulled them down over his hips, she saw his stomach muscles spasming.
She placed the wet fabric on the grass beside her and positioned herself between his spread thighs again. She felt a rush of warmth in her deepest core as she took his hard length in her hand.

Trálír's soft moans, the way he said her name which sounded like a cry from his beautifully curved lips made Anwyns body feel warm and tingly. His eyes rolled back into his skull when she let her hand slowly gliding up of the shaft to the tip.
Anwyn caressed his member with long sensual strokes and paused uncertainly when Trálír, who had been leaning on his elbows, straightened up and slumped against her body with a suppressed moan. Closing his eyes, he buried his head in the crook of her neck. His hands encircled Anwyn's waist and pressed into her tender flesh as his hot breath moistened her skin.
His abdominal muscles flexed and tensed while Anwyn stroked him oh so very slowly. She leaned forward a little, stroked the long hair that had fallen in his face behind his ear and ran her tongue tenderly over the shell of it, which Trálír's body responded to with an uncontrollable shiver. As Anwyn slid her finger over the tip of his member, she felt some pre-cum on her skin. A satisfied smile was on her lips as she concentrated on drawing light circular motions on his tip with her fingertips while her left hand slid up and down his member.
Anwyn smirked as she saw and felt Trálír climax under her fingers with a loud moan of her name on his lips. Hiding his face in her neck, a shiver ran through his whole body and his cum spurt onto his abdomen and over her fingers. He tried to calm his trembling breath and then he broke away from her, his gaze clouded from desire. She could almost feel the lust radiating from his body.
Anwyn wanted to take a minute to savor this moment but Trálír turned round in a flash, grabbed her arms and pushed her onto the sandy shore in one swift movement. His kiss was hungry, full of desire and Anwyn returned it passionately. He drank her moans, feasting on them, and when he broke away from the kiss, his lips slid down her neck to her breasts, leaving a burning trail on her skin. He pushed the damp undergarment up and helped her take it off. Frantically he threw the wet fabric aside and bent down to Anwyn again.
Trálír gently circled her nipple with the tip of his tongue, took it in his mouth and sucked on it while his fingers slid from her waist down into her lap.
As his index finger glided through her wet folds, Anwyn gasped. She arched her back when she felt his finger working tantalizing slowly. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, her own breath, her heartbeat, his fingers, his tongue on her bud.
He released her bud with a plop and his tongue glided to her belly button, surprising with a few long licks as he positioned himself between Anwyn's thighs.
‘Trálír,’ she gasped in surprise as she felt him grab her left leg and place it over his shoulder.
Anwyn raised herself up on her elbows and looked at Trálír with lustful eyes, whose gaze burned into hers.
Her heart picked up speed as she watched his tongue slide through her wetness as well while feeling his fingernails ghost along the skin of her inner thighs, close to her entry.
Moaning softly, Anwyn sank back into the warm sand and closed her eyes.
Trálírs index finger entered her deliberate, just a bit because he knew that Anwyn was still a virgin and he didn't want to hurt her. He drew slow circles inside of her just with his fingertip, softly carressing the warmth inside of her vagina while he sucked passionately on her clit.
‘Trálír... gods...’, she moaned and bucked her hips, trying to come closer to his tongue which was pleasuring her gently. It was a wonderful dance Trálírs of licking, sucking or kissing her bundle of nerves while he stroked delicately through her wet folds. He felt under his tongue how her body started to shiver, how pleasure built up in her.
Her moans, his name on her lips were music to his ears and then her orgasm hit her like a wave but Trálír didn't stop and licked her through those waves of pure, carnal pleasure. She gasped for air, cried his name, pressed her fingernails into his shoulder while the orgasm ran through her blood, a sweet oh so sweet pleasure.
As her body literally collapsed, Trálír gently lifted her leg from his shoulder and tenderly kissed her thigh. With a smile on his lips, he slid up on her body until his face was close to hers. Exhausted, Anwyn opened her eyes, her gaze clouded with lust, her lips swollen from his kisses. She put her hand to his cheek, unable to say a word.
Trálír reached for her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm and lowered himself gently, careful not to hurt her.
Their lips met and the kiss was quiet, tender.
The elf felt the need to be close to Anwyn and rested his face against the hollow between her neck and shoulder. He closed his eyes, searched for her hands and when he found them, he interlaced them with his fingers while listening to her heartbeat.