A/N - sorry it's been such a long wait once again, Bard! Only two or three more chapters to go now, though there's a prequel in the pipeline. Someone should really stop me.
Chapter 25 - Blood-guilt
The faint sun had risen thrice upon the realm of Doriath since Thaliondil had first visited the house of Culdir; and there he had remained for those few, sumptuous days. As morning cupped the ashen sun in its delicate clasp, he awoke beside Elmarië, still holding her close to him. She was oblivious to his movement, and lay there still and silent, her black hair enshrouding her white, delicate face like an unruly cloud. Thaliondil smiled, and wondered vaguely what Lord Culdir would do, were he to learn of this terrible betrayal. Yet surely, such ecstasy as this was worth any price. Sighing, he turned his eyes from Elmarië and surveyed the wide, white heavens beyond the breath-misted window. This soaring happiness was too acute to be maintained, and well he knew it. He had lost his heart to a dream, and spent these days wandering hazily through a calm, chimeric land where all was warm and vibrant, though the world beyond lay brooding beneath a dreary veil of winter. And yet the rain was gradually setting in, and the colours of his bright illusion were now faded and blurred by the grey tears of reality. He knew that today he must depart, and he resolved suddenly to leave there and then, as bidding her farewell would surely break his heart. He kissed her soft, red lips while she rested, and within minutes he was gone.
Elmarië drifted silently in a world of dark, misted dreams, consciousness slowly filtering through the shadows of her mind, and dragging her mercilessly into the waking world. Even before she was fully awake, she knew that Thaliondil had gone. His absence was an aching burden, an unguessable weight pressing down upon her, and she placed her hand sadly upon the spot where he should have lain. Yet she knew with the same cold, hard certainty that they would meet again. Why could they not simply be together? She breathed deeply, and sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes gently. She had slept late, for most of the morning had passed her by. Shuddering at the thought that Culdir was due to return this afternoon, she rose and dressed hurriedly. For a long time she did not leave her chamber, and sat at the window watching the determined flakes of falling snow hammer the ground and gather in mounds upon the gnarled, twisted forms of the trees until the world became endless labyrinth of untouched white.
As a child she had adored the snow, and she remembered her disappointment when her father had refused to let her go outside and dance amid the swirling, feathery snowflakes. So her mother had told her in hushed tones that each flake of snow was a falling star cast from heaven. A star could not be held in the hand, for it would fade and die at the touch, and the soft snow would melt and disappear as though it had never existed. It was desecration to tread upon, or try to grasp and possess something so hallowed and pure. Elmarië gazed thoughtfully at the mass of slumberous whiteness, wondering uselessly where all the years had gone. It was then that she beheld the return of Culdir. He came suddenly into view from beneath the trees, bearing his ornately carven bow, and clutching the horn of some mighty woodland creature in his white-knuckled fist. The snow had abated, and she could see him clearly as he approached. His wan face - with its high-ridged cheekbones, sharp nose and thin, humourless mouth - bore a rather sour expression. He brushed the snow from his fiery hair, and glanced coldly up at the window where Elmarië regarded him miserably. He had seen her, and would be vexed if she did not immediately make her way down to greet him. Cursing under her breath, Elmarië toiled reluctantly to the staircase which spiralled its delicate way down into the vast entrance hall. She thanked Eru, at least, that Thaliondil had indeed left ere her husband's return. Her light steps echoed in the cavernous space, and she glanced below her as the grand doors swung open, allowing Culdir to enter his domain. The sharp wind penetrated the hall as he strode inside, with at least a dozen servants in tow. Elmarië forced a smile, and made her way to him calmly.
'I have missed you, my love,' he said slowly, with a hint of sneering sarcasm. He brushed her face with a cold hand. He knew how she hated him to show her affection, and the slight scowl upon her face appeared to cause him both anger and quiet satisfaction. He took her in his arms and kissed her. As his frozen lips met hers, she closed her eyes without hesitation and pictured Thaliondil. Culdir was somewhat taken aback by the passion with which she returned his kiss, and the nearby servants pretended only very half-heartedly not to be watching. When he at last drew back from her, Culdir eyed his wife with surprise and slight suspicion, but in return, she gave him only a sweet smile.
Darkness seeped from the sombre sky, and the ethereal glimmer of the snow was slowly smothered in the gloom. Elmarië sat alone in the gathering evening; her chamber lit only by the diaphanous haze cast by a few scattered stars. She had not spoken to Culdir since their encounter in the entrance hall, yet he loomed ever-present in her thoughts. There was no escaping him. All she wanted was for her dreams of Thaliondil to bear her gently into the freedom of the raven sky upon a cloud of fantasy. Yet the memory of Culdir haunted her like an unwanted spectre roaming the paths of her mind, lurking always just beneath the surface of her thought. Of a sudden, there came a mighty crash from behind her, and the wooden door of the chamber burst open. Culdir entered the room, and the yellow lamp-light from the corridor beyond tore the shadows of the room asunder for a brief second. Elmarië rose as Culdir strode over to her, and gasped with shock as he shoved her aggressively against the wall.
'Unhand me!' She cried sharply. Fury kindled the depths of his chill, blue eyes, yet his voice was oddly soft as he spoke.
'If you do not mind my asking, dearest wife, how, precisely, have you been spending your time in my absence?' Elmarië gazed at him in alarm, and she tried in vain to break free from his strong grip. Culdir smote her face with his shaking hand. A yelp of pain and outrage spilled out from between her gritted teeth.
'Did you truly believe that I would not learn of it?' he demanded incredulously, his tone low and menacing.
'I have done nothing!' She insisted, without much hope of convincing him.
'Lying whore!' He raged with overwhelming force, pressing her against the wall. 'You are no better than the filth beneath my feet!' He threw her roughly to the bare ground of the chamber. She lay still for a moment, trembling, yet when she saw him advancing she hauled herself to her feet and made a dash for the door. He caught her by her hair and dragged her fiercely towards him. She screamed and tried frantically to pull away as he seized her arm.
'Let me go!' She pleaded. 'I beg you!' He smiled cruelly, tightening his grip upon her arm.
'Tell me his name,' he demanded, his voice low and calm.
'What?' She whispered faintly.
'Who is he?' he rasped, suddenly raising his voice. 'The man who has touched my harlot of a wife!' Elmarie shook her head. She was too afraid to weep, or cry out. But she could not tell him. Whatever Culdir might do to her, this was a secret she would carry to her grave, if necessary.
'It is none of your concern,' she cried shrilly. 'He is gone.'
'You will tell me his name!' Culdir repeated.
'I cannot,' she murmured.
'You fear for his safety?' Culdir mocked, a hideous smile upon his face. 'I do not deny that he shall endure a death so wretched I would be loath to inflict it upon a dog! Yet if you refuse to obey me in this matter, your fate shall be no better.'
Elmarië stared at him aghast. 'So be it,' she declared, hoping against hope that his threat was a hollow one.
He glared at her malevolently, his unyielding eyes filled with a bitter malice. Elmarië glanced about her desperately, and the dull glint of something golden caught her attention. With her free hand, she snatched a large, jewel-encrusted goblet from a nearby table, and raised it swiftly to Culdir's head. He caught her wrist in mid air, and met her gaze steadily. No trace of anger showed upon his face, save in the hellish depths of his pale blue eyes. She let the goblet drop. It did not shatter, but cracked a little as it smote the floor. The sound was like breaking bone. Culdir smiled, and pushed her once more against the wall, grim determination flaring horribly across his features. Elmarië stood there silently, paralysed with horror. Culdir caressed her face, softly tracing the hollow of her cheekbone with his callused thumb. She shuddered violently, feeling contaminated by his touch. Suddenly, he wound his wiry hands firmly about her neck, and began to squeeze. She let out a stifled cry, barely able to force the air through her constricted throat. The slow, dull pain increased with every manic thump of her heart. His breath scalded her face, and she wept softly, trying to scream. With her failing sight, she beheld him smile triumphantly.
'Do not waste your breath my sweet love; there are none to hear you.'
A dark, unfathomable stillness descended upon Elmarië, and she struggled no more. Her fear and fury gently dissolved into sorrowful acceptance, and the sensation immersing her heart, as her life slipped from her weakening grasp, was something nearing tranquility. She teetered upon the brink of death, and felt ready to be cast helplessly into an abyss of silent annihilation. She felt as though she were beyond pain, beyond yearning. Sweet oblivion beckoned her with its cold, alluring touch. Suddenly, a sharp cry rent through the cloud of mute senselessness about her, and a violent jolt ran through her limp body. The immovable grip upon her throat abruptly ceased, and bereft of that cold, obstinate touch, she crashed to the floor. Distant voices reached her through a haze of distortion, and the stabbing pain in her throat dragged her into a confused, agonised consciousness. She gasped helplessly, yet only a mere trickle of air seemed to be drawn into her lungs. There was a heavy thud nearby. As the darkness before her eyes began to clear a little, Elmarië beheld the shadowy form of her husband lying face down upon the floor, a knife embedded in his shoulder. His body shook with agony, and his fists were tightly clenched, yet he seemed to be slowly losing consciousness. He was then still, save for the rattle of his desolate, shallow breathing. Elmarië struggled to regain awareness of her situation, laboured breaths ripping through her raw throat. A shrouded figure knelt beside her, and touched her face with a trembling hand. The voice of Nurram echoed about the room, and he sobbed between his words.
'My love, forgive me! I beg you to forgive me!' He covered his face with his hands, and wept for a moment. Elmarië could not answer. It pained her immensely even to draw breath.
'Can you not speak?' his hands dropped to the cold floor, and he gazed at her silently. His lip was bleeding, and his eyes were wild. 'If you are lost, Lady, then I shall never be free of the grief! This is my doing! I...I know not why I have been such an atrocious fool. I can explain only by saying that love and hatred are entwined within my heart, and adoration is ever tainted and embittered by fury, and jealousy. A curse is upon me, I think; like cold chains upon my very soul! I love you so! And yet I have hated you, and cursed your cruel beauty which has so torn my life to shreds, upset the very earth beneath me, and lain waste to all my former loyalties. And all in vain. You could never have loved me, and I was a fool to hope for it. At times I longed only to be free of this terrible, useless love, which so tortured me, or to be rid of you entirely! And yet you lie here before me, so exquisite, so still, like a broken doll. Your sorrow has become my own. And still you loathe me, as well you should! I have brought this fate upon you. Yet I love you, never forget it, Lady. I love you as once I loved my master. Yet such harm he has inflicted upon you...' Elmarië coughed painfully, clasping her throat in agony. Why did he not help her, or call for aid? It seemed that he barely saw her through the tears standing cold and bright in his clear blue eyes.
'It was not I who told him of Thaliondil!' He insisted, his voice hushed and feverish. 'I admit, I confirmed his suspicions that your heart belonged to another. I can tell him no falsehood...and yet I swear, I told him nothing more! I can betray you no further!' With a flash of his eyes, Nurram turned from her, and he no longer seemed aware of her existence. He stood above Culdir, looking down upon his master with a cold, merciless glare. 'I shall serve you no longer!' He spat furiously.
At the sound of Nurram's raised voice, Culdir stirred. With an excruciating effort, he heaved himself from the ground and rose shakily to his feet, swaying and seething with a harrowing fury. The knife remained embedded within his shoulder, and with a fierce motion that made him almost weep with pain, he pulled the blade from his blood-drenched flesh. His left arm hung lifeless and inert by his side. 'You shall not live to behold the dawn, I promise you this,' Culdir rasped, the full menace of his gaze unleashed upon Nurram. The knife glimmered in his shaking hand, drenched to the hilt in dark, ink-like blood. Elmarië once more felt her consciousness dwindling. Her sight seemed to fail, though her eyes remained wide open. It seemed almost as though a mist of blood seethed and flourished upon the air, enveloping them all in its macabre tide. They had committed such crimes, each of them alike. Perhaps they would never evade the strange, sanguine shadows which now wreathed them. Perhaps they deserved whatever ruinous end awaited them.
Nurram stood motionless and silent. He appeared undaunted, and somehow fey; entirely oblivious to his danger. With feigned invincibility, he stood there proud and steadfast, looking his former master steadily in the eye. Yet it was Culdir who clasped the knife. Nurram was unarmed, and made no effort to flee or protect himself. There was a moment of excruciating silence, then suddenly, Culdir sprang like a serpent, and drove the glittering blade deep into Nurram's chest in one sharp movement. He then stood back, reeling, catching himself upon the stone wall. Nurram made no reaction; he neither retaliated nor balked beneath the strain of what must have been a tremendous agony. He either did not see, or chose to ignore, the torrent of bright blood spilling forth from the wound, covering him like the stain of accusation. He turned slowly from Culdir, and fixed his gaze upon Elmarië. His face was taut and colourless, and yet a small smile touched his white lips as he regarded her. 'If with my final breath I were to say only that I love you, I would not count it wasted,' he murmured gently.
Nurram's words rang horribly through her mind, like the toll of a ghastly bell, and she whimpered softly as she regarded him. He was fading by the second. It was as though a vast shadow had shifted its weight onto his shoulders, bearing him down, and leeching the clear light from his eyes. Was life worth nothing more than this? Could it truly be extinguished by something so small and soulless as a cold steel blade? Elmarië felt her own light failing. Perhaps death shadowed her in the same way; she could not tell. She simply felt weary, so very weary. She longed to escape, to find a place where this burning pain would trouble her no more. With her final glimmer of sight, she watched helplessly as Nurram stumbled, and fell to the unyielding ground like an old, crumbling statue.