Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Nov 29, 2009 20:19:10 GMT -5
“It has been a while since I have heard you sing to me.”
Faeldor nodded. “It has been too long. I do not know why I did not, for you are my favorite to sing to.” He thought for a moment. When had he last sung a song to his dear one? They had played instruments some days past at his home; yet he had not sung to her since the night of the ball. “I do think it has been since midsummer’s eve,” he attested, then slowly added; “And I have not kissed you since that night either.”
Merely a statement; it was. If Gilwen did not wish to kiss him, it would not be forced from her surely. Though, he missed having her so close to him. He could see her; that had not been taken. And he could smell her freshly washed hair; and hear her soft breaths and quiet voice. Even now he had been allowed to feel her warmth and skin. Yet to taste her lips was utterly divine to the man. He could wait though; yes. Faeldor was a man who could control himself.
The man seemed to stiffen slightly; not at the thoughts of waiting to kiss his lady; though at her distress. He felt it in his hands as she tensed. Perhaps speaking of kissing had distressed her. He knew not where the man had invaded, and he felt his spine bristle at the thought that he may have touched her lips. Indeed; his hand had muffled her mouth when he approached; the image was drawn clearly in his mind. But how long had he tortured her before Faeldor found them there against that cold wall?
It seemed that the woman felt sick; that much was obvious from her facial expressions; and the way she moved and shuddered against him. Faeldor tried to soothe her with his caresses, and he hummed to her as they went. “When you are with me, sweet one, no harm will come to you,” he reminded her. “I will protect you,” he lulled her, letting his hand trace along her side.
It seemed momentarily that Gilwen had other ideas though, for soon she had stopped in her step, and turned to speak to him. Though what she said did surprise him slightly; for he could make no connection as to why she had spoken it.
“Fael… do sit down.” The man stopped in his pace as Gilwen spoke to him; and looked down to her curiously for a moment. Well, if she did wish to sit, he could gladly do so with her. The man took a look about, and found a space where the grass seemed soft and fresh, and moved to sit down along the side of the path. Though, he did not remove his hands from his lady. It was in the very same way that he had held onto her in the river, and promised that he would not let go of her, that he gently pulled her down beside him, letting her rest close in his arm.
“Look at the sunrise, lovely, is it not beautiful,” he muttered into her ear; pulling his other arm about her, and pressing her back against his chest. The sky was certainly a glory of color now; the red sun rising up over the open plain and mountains in the distance. Gondor was glorious in the morning light.
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Nov 29, 2009 21:20:50 GMT -5
Gilwen agreed, it had been far too long since she had heard him sing to her. It was a lovely sound. The man was talented. But even if he were not: that he cared enough to gift her song was enough for the little thing. She could never tire of his serenading; Faeldor loved song. Surely he loved those he sang for. “And I have not kissed you since that night either.”
This startled Gilwen slightly. Had it truly been that long? The last time that he had sung to her, kissed her…had it truly been his birthday? That was weeks ago, now. She would right that this day, she was sure. Still, the thought was short lived: Gilwen’s mind had been utterly distracted by foul thoughts. “When you are with me, sweet one, no harm will come to you. I will protect you.”
Even the stable master’s words had not eased her any. Though, they should have. Gilwen knew that he had not lied. But Faeldor could not be with her always! This morning, he had come just in time! Thank the Valar! How many prayers she would give them this day! Still, it turned it was her own self that had to seek and fix her nerves. And so, it was that she offered him a gentle command.
He looked at her curiously, but her eyes only held his with a gentle determination; shortly, the man obliged, and led them to the soft grass. Gilwen was pulled down with the man as he sat, though she had her own intentions. He drew her against his chest, and muttered into her ear, “Look at the sunrise, lovely, is it not beautiful?” For a moment the woman let her agenda go, and she let him draw her close against him, and let her soul settle at the sight of the sunrise. It was not often that she could watch the sun rise like this…oh, but it was beautiful.
Her eyes stayed steady, though soon the sun had risen, and the glorious colors began to fade away. With the diminished distraction, Gilwen began to falter again. His hand was on her, over her mouth, upon her thigh. Her neck, she raised a hand to touch the dirtied skin. Why could she not shake the feeling? Even pulled so close against Faeldor brought her little settling; she needed to tend to him. To get her mind on someone, or something, else.
Faeldor. His ankle. Injured ankles need not be confined to a boot—he had said so himself. That was all it took for her to decide her course of action. All at once she pulled herself from him, eyes falling to his booted feet. She did not stray far; his closeness was still needed, she could not venture far. It was silent work, but efficient. Indeed her mind was focused, though her thoughts were rampant. She worked her hands over his laces, and removed first one boot, and then the other. The latter was the one that had gotten injured, and Gilwen’s face creased and she took her hand to delicately trace her fingers along his foot and around his ankle. “Does it hurt terribly?” She asked quietly, raising her eyes to look back up at him. She knew what it was like to be injured there. It was horrendous. How had he walked so well?
You got injured for me, the woman thought; a mix of feeling welled up within her on the matter. Her eyes were certainly gentle, and all sorts of motherly instincts were surely visible within them. She continued to trace designs on his ankle, as if the gentle touch could dispel his pain.
This wasn't the only blow he had taken.
Her eyes rose again, and she said, ever so gently, "And your jaw? Does it bother you?" It was certainly turning to a bruise--though it was ever so much lighter than her own had been. He had done this for her! She could care for him. She could care for him well, if he'd let her.
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Nov 29, 2009 23:10:17 GMT -5
Gilwen sat against him to watch the sun come forth over the horizon, in all colors. The morning light was now a pink and soft orange settling over the golden fields, and Faeldor sighed, holding Gilwen against him; quite content for the moment. Having her so near was beginning to settle him; it was sure. Though his anger over the matter had not dispelled, he felt much more in control now of his emotions.
After the sun had come, and some moments had passed, Gilwen suddenly moved out of his grasp, and he frowned at the matter; not understanding what she was doing until she had gone for the laces of his boots. He watched, intrigued for a moment, and knowing that now was not the time to argue with her.
“Does it hurt terribly?”
“It is just a bit tender,” Faeldor answered. Or at least, what he referred to as tender. Truly, in his rush of energy, adrenaline and aggression, he had hardly noticed the pain in his ankle. Though, now Gilwen had reminded him, and he did feel the subtle throb. Though, her blessed fingertips were quite soothing. He did not lay complaint or protest; for the woman seemed content to care for his ankle. After all… there was nobody else around, and he had certainly proved that he was quite strong and manly today. So allow such soft touches would not harm his pride any.
"And your jaw? Does it bother you?"
Faeldor raised his hand to his cheek; touching the place upon his jaw where he had been struck. He had forgotten that as well, and though the man was reluctant to have the woman’s hands removed from his ankle, for they felt quite fine; he would be glad for them upon his face. “It is not the worst I have had. I’ve been in a few fights in my years; though I should say not since I have been Stablemaster. One puts petty things aside once given responsibility… yet, this was not petty…” he rambled slightly, his hand upon his jaw the whole while. “Though, it is sore,” he did admit. The man inwardly hoped that those pretty fingertips might come to rest upon his face soon. He did desire the woman closer.
“Did he hurt you, Gilwen?” the man did ask though, rather seriously. “I… did not see much before I came upon you; I do not know if he did strike you as well,” he started to question. If the man had struck her in any way; even though it was now over, the man’s anger would certainly fuel itself. Though, he must know; if only that he might kiss her and comfort her.
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Nov 29, 2009 23:39:15 GMT -5
“It is just a bit tender.”
Tender. It seemed to be his all-purpose response to any injury he took. He had used the same words to describe the bruise he had gotten from that horse at the stable; and that! Oh, Gilwen knew that hurt him terribly. Needless to say, she was not convinced that the pain was not horrendous. Her face frowned slightly; and his chest? How had that healed? She had dropped all matter of the issue of that long ago, and now she felt a slight guilty.
Her gentle fingertips did trace designs, still. Her thoughts were certainly not stilling her motions. Faeldor began to speak again, and it surprised the woman, for she had forgotten she had asked him another question. Her mind was not working as she would have liked it to. He had done such stunts before? Surely she should not be surprised. He knew precisely what he was doing—he had not even faltered at the sight of the blood. His hand had come to touch his cheek, and Gilwen imagined that it pained him. Only moments later, her thoughts were confirmed. “Though, it is sore.”
Gilwen dropped all attentions to his ankle. He had admitted that it pained him, and that somewhat took the woman by surprise. He had not called it “tender”, but “sore”. Did it hurt him that badly? She worked her way back around him, doe-eyes flitting from his grey eyes to the remnant of his heroism along his jaw. Her gentle hands raised, one laying themselves on either side of his face, ever so lightly, one releasing to gently trace the outline of his jaw.
He was her hero, a warrior. A valiant soldier in the guise of the stable master of the Steward’s stable upon the sixth tier. He had grappled before…over petty things. But this! He had saved her.
Her eye shifted back to his, and the hand that danced over his skin slowly worked its way into his curls, as she pulled herself closer. She wished to kiss the pain away; that was what she did. Ever so softly she let her lips brush the darkened skin, and she frowned that he had been injured at all. But she was thankful for him! Without him stepping in! Oh, she did not wish to linger on the thought. So, her lips pressed to his other cheek. The feeling of love that came to her then bid her kiss him once more, and she did, ever so tenderly upon his own lips, her eyes closed for a moment, and the woman felt that the cycle was about to repeat, for the bruise was still there to remind her of his injury, and she was moved again to brush his lips—but this time, she was interrupted.
“Did he hurt you, Gilwen?”
Her eyes immediately pained, and the woman tensed in her muscles once more. Had he struck her? “He…did not strike me,” the woman’s voice was shaky, though. He had not struck her, but he had handled her roughly. Her back surely hurt where he had slammed her against the stone wall—even where Rosiel’s boot had left a bruise. And her thigh…she dropped a hand to rub that as well. “I already had the bruise on my back…” she trailed off; Faeldor certainly knew of what she was speaking. “He handled me roughly,” she managed to say, though her eyes stung once more.
He should not have handled her at all! It was sickening. Her hand rested upon her thigh a moment, before she moved to place it back upon Faeldor’s shirt. She tucked her head against his shoulder as well, tryng once more to rid herself of the horrendous images that flashed through her mind. “You stopped him, Fael…you saved me.” It was, perhaps, the quietest thing Gilwen had ever said. And the words were full of such thankfulness. It would have been so much worse had he not come.
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Nov 30, 2009 10:44:59 GMT -5
Gilwen was so gentle! With measured movements her hands went from the bruised ankle, to the slightly swollen jawline; and were her fingertips ever welcomed. He watched her pretty face as she went; yet when she drew near his lips, he closed his eyes and savored her closeness. The man drew his arm once more around her back. He could have sat and kissed her; it was certain. He could have kissed the lovely woman all day. Certainly it would be a gladdened change of pace for both of them. However, now that the sun was up and the day was young; he had some questions to ask his lady.
“He…did not strike me.” Faeldor sighed slightly; a bit relieved at her answer; though, he would have perhaps preferred that she had been stuck as opposed to touched in the way she had. A strike is fleeting, and bruises diminish; Faeldor would not be left with much physical pain after a week had passed. However; dear Gilwen had received much more fright, it was certain.
“I already had the bruise on my back…” The man stiffened at the thought of Rosiel. So much abuse! That woman deserved a swift strike as well. She… Faeldor’s thoughts were cut off as Gilwen continued. “He handled me roughly.” He let his other arm come around the woman, as she seemed to tuck against him once more. How did he handle you? He thought to himself, letting his fingers move softly up and down along her back.
She was so near him, that the man barely heard the vibrations of her voice against his shoulder. She was so quiet. “You stopped him, Fael…you saved me.”
“You did not deserve to be treated in such a way,” was all that Faeldor could bring himself to say. “I could not bear to see that man hurt you.” Though the Stablemaster had only for a moment seen the image of Gilwen struggling against the wall for the briefest moment before he had ripped the man from her, it seemed that the picture was burned into his eyes, and he certainly could not rid himself of it. Her pale skin beneath those wretched hands, how he had pulled at her dress and dug his fingers into her thigh. Nobody should touch her in such a way.
Faeldor’s hand slid down the woman’s back, his fingers gently tracing the ridge of her spine until it met her lower back. “If you had not stopped me, I would have killed him for what he did.” As he spoke, he let his hand drift to the woman’s thigh, pressing lightly, just where that other man’s hand had been… yet Faeldor’s was gentle and firm upon her; not gripping and hungry. His thumb traced gentle circles, and he let his other hand to cup the back of the lady’s head.
“Tell me…” he continued slowly. “How did this happen?” The man did not still his soft hands; surely she would not wish to recount the events to him; but he needed to know. “And where did he touch you?” he added, a bit possessively. His hold on her tightened. Surely, the sun was now risen and she should not be so terrified. She could tell him once; and it would be all he needed to hear of it. He would love her and help her forget, and he would keep her safe.
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Nov 30, 2009 11:23:31 GMT -5
He had wrapped his arms around her, completely. It was sheltering. The woman was glad of his gentle touches and comfort; the stark contrast of these ministrations against the ones she had felt earlier set her a bit more at ease. She did not wish to be handled so roughly again. Faeldor was the only one who she should ever let touch her. She closed her eyes, buried against his shoulder. This man, and no other.
She felt him stiffen after her reply, though. It set her troubled once more, and the little thing tried to hide her face more against him. Faeldor was upset, surely. Gilwen had never wished to upset him, and here, she had done so. It was her own fault she was approached, was it not? Ahava was invited into her home by none other than the little servant girl. Was it not, then, her own fault that she had broadcasted herself a harlot?
Faeldor’s gentle fingertips traced up and down her back, quite a calming and rhythmic motion that worked a bit to ease Gilwen’s rampant mind. She did not wish to think on it anymore. She wished it had never happened; that Faeldor had simply met her along the way sooner, or that she had never ventured from her doorstep at all. Little hands clutched tightly upon Faeldor’s shirt, though the young lady did well to try and concentrate on the motions of his fingers rather than anything else. “If you had not stopped me, I would have killed him for what he did.”
Yes, he would have. Gilwen would never forget the force that Faeldor had exerted over the man. The Stable Master had been struck, yes. But the man! His blood was likely still pooled in the cobbled street. Gilwen had never before seen such blood, or heard the sound of bones that had broken. Gilwen’s stomach churned a slight, and she tucked herself against him deeper.
His hand came to rest upon her thigh, and immediately Gilwen’s eyes opened to see that it was indeed his hand. She knew it by touch alone, and the gentle circles he was tracing with his thumb. It felt ever so much more natural, and welcomed. One of her own hands released his undershirt to rest atop his, a silent bid for him to not remove his touch. If his hands were upon her, no others’ could be.
“Tell me…How did this happen? And where did he touch you?”
His other hand had worked its way into her hair, lovingly cradling her head against him. But Gilwen startled at his question, still. “I—“ Could she admit that it was her own fault? Her eyes brimmed with tears again, and she took a shaky breath. “I was awoken by a tussle outside my window,” she finally began softly. “I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I…let myself ready early.” Perhaps it was too much by way of explanation, but her soft voice was not able to be stilled now. Her nerves made it impossible to gauge her reply. “I sat to wait for you, by the window. But…I…I couldn’t. I wished to meet you, so you needn’t walk as far.” Her eyes were surely full now.
“The streets were empty, I thought there was no harm!” These words, perhaps, were the closest she had ever come to having an audible sob. “He asked me for services, but I refused and tried to walk away—he grabbed my wrist and made me turn back to look at him.” Gilwen’s body began to tremble again.
“I tried to run and cry for help, but he shoved me to the wall and covered my mouth so none could hear.” Her voice trailed off, and she looked down to Faeldor’s hand upon her thigh. “He lifted my skirt,” she shuddered, “and gripped my thigh…and he kissed me upon my neck…” the woman began to cry once more. She felt so dirty there, and indeed it was all she was going to be able to recount to Faeldor. Though, he knew well the rest, for he had seen it.
If he had not come! Surely her lips would have been taken as well. And then from there, he would have taken her body. The woman felt entirely wretched and she pressed herself closer to the Horse Master, as if she could quell herself by it. Or, indeed, if she could truly get closer.
She felt as if the kisses to her neck were still occurring, and she recalled the vileness, the horrid feeling it had given her. She had spoken to Faeldor that such kisses pleased her, but those…they only pleased her by Faeldor. She was only his.
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Nov 30, 2009 14:10:12 GMT -5
Faeldor listened quietly all the while, letting Gilwen tell her entire account before saying a word. However, it was entirely difficult for him not to hush her and bid her stop when her words broke into sobs. It must have tormented her so much to say it again; yet even as she said the words out loud, he felt that it would have been all the more difficult for her to keep it within, and for him to not know.
“I wished to meet you, so you needn’t walk as far. The streets were empty, I thought there was no harm!”
Oh, was the man certainly tense at this! She had willingly gone out on those streets alone, and in the dark. His blood boiled at the thought of that man taking hold of his innocent lady. Yet again, convicting her of harlotry and condemning her for acts that she did not, and would never, commit.
He sighed though; it must have been only moments that the man had accosted her before Faeldor came upon them. If he had only time to put her against the wall, and press those horrid lips to her neck. Moments that had certainly been terrifying for Gilwen, but not causing of physical harm. Some intrusion; yes, but not enough to rob her of her sweet innocence. The fact that he had even followed and spoken to her was enough that if Faeldor had come upon them at that point; he would have still beat the man. That he had grasped her wrist… The Stablemaster’s hand went just there… he did not know which wrist the man had taken, but he lifted the one that was not clinging to his shirt, and pressed his lips to the inside of it. He moved to kiss the palm of her hand, before tucking it against him once more, and wrapping his arm again about the woman.
“He left a mark upon your neck,” Faeldor told her pointedly, one of his hands moving up to press upon the very skin, his finger running a line upon the side of her neck. “It will last a few days,” he added knowingly. He had kissed the woman in the very same way; and she had enjoyed it, he mused; though, he had been careful, and had never marked her skin. His own passions had been loving… that man was vile and harmful, taking what was not his.
The man pressed his hand warmly against the lady’s leg. No other hand would touch her there but his; he would see of it. He was not about to lecture the woman; though he would hardly say that she had asked for what had happened to her; he knew she would not make the same mistake twice. There would be no sermon from him; for he did not wish to imply that his lady had brought it upon herself, for she had not. “Always wait for me, dear. From now on, do not pass by your doorstep without me.” He bent to kiss her hair.
“You will be safe inside your Papa’s home…” he said. Though as of late he had not thought, nor even spoken, fondly of Beregar; it was a true statement. He let his voice be soft even; to call him her Papa as she did, instead of referring to him as simply a father. Faeldor had called his own father by Papa all the years of his life; yet it was only after his death that he had turned to calling him simply Father; a less intimate term. Less likely to bring back the emotion of his loss. Such a thing Gilwen needed to be reminded of; for he knew her Papa cared for her. He knew very well that the man kept a sharpened sword; and that nobody could attempt to do a thing to the woman indoors. He did well to keep his wife and daughter safe.
“And outside, upon the streets you will be safe with me near you. The light of day will not let harm come, nor will my arms. The palace walls are safe, and so are my stables,” he trailed through is thoughts. She would have fear certainly. She was trembling even now with him as they sat upon the open fields in broad daylight, with the larks and sparrows singing their morning songs, and the blessed sun above them. Certainly she was frightened in a way that the man could not even imagine.
The man was thoughtful for a moment. Certainly, he should continue speaking; for he knew that his voice calmed her as much as his touch did, yet, he was silent in thought for a time. “Today, we should sing praises to the Valar, that they were looking down upon you.” Indeed, they should praise, for Faeldor had been sent at the opportune time to rescue his beloved.
It was an odd conclusion certainly, to speak aloud at praising the Valar after such an incident. The people of the Third Age were certainly not a religious folk, for even though the Gondorians were patriotic and proud; they attested much of their doings to their own accord; and the spirituality of their existence had greatly diminished since the First and Second ages. The White Tree of Minas Tirith did symbolize the corruption of the people in it’s demise.
With a closer relation to the Numenoreans, and a connectedness to the ancient lands, the men of Belfalas certainly retained some graces and remembrance of spirituality. It was rare that Faeldor spoke of it among others, though indeed his Mother and Grandparents had taught the children of the grace that Eru had gifted them. It had not been forgotten in the household of Faelon; for the men of his family were well taught in the histories, and even in the music of their history. Music was their creation. “We may not climb Mindolluin today, but we should look upon the White Tree, for had I not been placed in your path, worse things could have come upon you.” He spoke the truth, and he even continued out loud, keeping his voice as even as his emotion could allow it. “He would have violated you completely. He might have murdered you. Things like that have happened before to innocent women, at the hands of vile men. But the Valar did step in, for Eru cares for you. You are his lovely Starlight, as you are mine as well.”
The man stopped speaking for a moment. Gilwen was pressed against him still, and he finally moved his hand from her thigh, favoring it to tilt her chin up toward him. “The man did nothing to you that I cannot cover with my own love,” he said, looking down at her. He hoped it was the truth; for he did not truly know how affected his lady was. Could she ever forget such a thing? “May I kiss you?” he asked, for he was hesitant to do anything that would make Gilwen feel as if she had not control. Her control had been taken from her this morning, but Faeldor would give it back to her, he hoped.
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Nov 30, 2009 15:44:59 GMT -5
Faeldor gripped her wrist; though once again it only seemed to accent the gentleness he held for her. Soft kisses he gifted her, one to her little wrist, the other to her palm. Gilwen was grateful for such motions. It was as if he were claiming her again: that the claims the other man had left her with that morning meant nothing, and her Horse Master would care for her, and wipe it all away. It did nothing, though, to still her rivers of tears. Indeed, she as entirely too worked up over the matter to still herself properly now. It would, once again, simply need to run its course.
“He left a mark upon your neck. It will last a few days.”
Little Gilwen physically gasped at such a statement. A mark? He had left a mark upon her neck? Her jaw quavered a slight, and her hand moved to lightly touch the skin there. However would she explain such things to her parents? He had held no right to touch her like that! To leave this mark. Faeldor had always been careful, but now! Now, she would be faced with questions, and the rumors of her harlotry would seem to hold more sway.
She was infuriated. The little thing had never known such anger before! But all it seemed to do was slowly destroy her strength, and she leaned more upon the Stable Master. The lingering presence of that nasty man would be upon her for a few days. Every time she looked in the looking glass until it was gone, it would be there to remind her of his lips unwantedly roving on her skin.
“Always wait for me, dear. From now on, do not pass by your doorstep without me.”
His hand slipped back to her leg, and Gilwen felt more tears escape her eyes. She would never again stray past her doorstep without someone else there with her. Faeldor need not worry. The way she tightened her hold upon him again was enough answer for him, she was certain.
The only man that should ever touch her again was here now. He would keep her safe, even amongst the darkest evenings upon the first tier. Even now, he had reclaimed her. Though, not fully. The other man’s mark was upon her neck—there was naught Faeldor could do to right that or fix it. Her father would be so angry! Gilwen was, certainly. She was not his to claim!
For a moment the woman wondered on this. She had almost lost everything she had to offer Faeldor to some foul and loathsome drunk. Her own virtue had almost gone to someone she had not known, nor desired. And not even by choice! But her Papa and Faeldor would keep her safe; her beloved surely reminded her of such things readily.
Yes, both were strong men, and men to be feared for their strength and protectiveness. But the thoughts on Beregar gave the young woman another pain in her heart to handle: he would think she deserved this for her harlotry. Oh, but she wasn’t impure, and she was not a sleeper. He would rightly be angry, still. Surely he had not lost love for her so much as to not care what happened to her. But how was she to explain it so that he believed her? Would her trembling frame and tears be enough for him to see that she spoke the truth of being attacked?
There was a silence between them now, and in such a time, Gilwen’s tears had slowed until they barely trickled from her eyes. She continued to press close to Faeldor, though. Perhaps it was there her solace came from.
“Today, we should sing praises to the Valar, that they were looking down upon you.”
Gilwen nodded against him, and nuzzled her face against his shirt. “Yes, they sent you for me,” she said softly. It was strange for her to speak of the Valar, or Eru, aloud. She often thought praises and prayers to them—but never had she spoken praise or thanks to another.
“He would have violated you completely. He might have murdered you. Things like that have happened before to innocent women, at the hands of vile men.”
Gilwen’s heart began to hammer at the thought. Would not have her loss of virtue been close enough to death? If that man had taken her, she would not have been able to give herself to Faeldor; she would never truly be able to belong to him! And if he had taken her, she might have begged for death as well. For if she had become with child by way of such an attack…
Gilwen seemed to curl herself into a ball against Faeldor’s side. She desired children, but she desired children by love, and after marriage. The thought of bearing a child that she had not desired…Faeldor would have been angry. Would he have still wanted her? Her father! Oh, Beregar would have thrown her out, for certain.
“The man did nothing to you that I cannot cover with my own love.”
Gilwen was pried from her thoughts so dark by calm words from the stable master, and she looked up to him, eyes still wide and troubled. No…nothing lasting had happened. She need not worry about an ill-begotten child, for Faeldor had come and rescued her. She still had her innocence to gift him upon their marriage.
Though, perhaps the images would haunt her dreams for a time. Certainly as the years passed it would become fainter in her memory. She would have had time to replace all of these foul things with others that brought her joy. His hand finally left her thigh, and came to hook under her chin. He was looking into her eyes, and Gilwen felt indeed her heart lift a bit in spirits. She was utterly taken by him. How great a man he was.
“May I kiss you?”
And careful! He was considerate of her state, and this pleased the little lady. She let out a small sigh, a new tear of relief running down her cheek. “I am yours, Fael.” Yes, he could kiss her. And she awaited such a thing. Certainly it would still her tears utterly, for his kisses she adored. And her lips…they had not been touched by another, aside from Faelon. But what did the impulses of a child matter now? Her lips had been saved for him.
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Nov 30, 2009 17:27:55 GMT -5
Had the Stablemaster known the woman’s thoughts; he would have easily stilled her of them. Of course, things that did not happen did not need to be worried about. And in any case; had the man truly taken her virtue and set her with child, Faeldor still would have loved her and cared for her. Had Beregar sent her out of the home; he would have taken her to his.
True, not even Gilwen’s hand would have stopped him from killing the man after that. But one who could take such a thing from an innocent would have deserved the death he received.
“I am yours, Fael.”
What sheltering words. The man drew nearer his lady, his hand remaining beneath her chin. “I love you Gilwen.” He pressed a light kiss upon her lips once, and then let his hand slide into her tousled hair and kissed her again. He stopped and moved back just a fraction, studying the lady’s face for a moment. There were tears upon her face again, yet he sensed it was not out of fright, and he let his lips rove along the skin of her cheeks.
“When we are wed, dearheart,” he started. “You should never need set foot upon the first tier again,” he promised. “Save for when we pass through on our way out here to the fields, and to the mountains and rivers. You shall always be with me, and we shall find a way to get your parents home back to them,” he assured her. He did not know how such a thing would be accomplished; especially if someone else were to move into their home. Yet, Faeldor would certainly seek until he had accomplished the task. Gilwen would have no need to travel to such extent to visit her parents; certainly, and her mother should not have to live in such a place.
After his words, Faeldor allowed his lips return to the lady’s lips, now salty that they were with her own tears, though the taste only intensified the man’s urge to kiss her doubts and fears away, and he gripped the lady close, drawing it out long and deep. It had been some weeks since he had given Gilwen his attention in this manner; and as he did so now, he realized how much he had missed her closeness. The man stopped for breath, and pulled the woman upon his lap, that she might be nearer, then continued his ministrations, finally letting his lips from hers. However, he did not stop, for he placed a gentle trail along the woman’s jaw, and tenderly kissed her upon the neck.
He was slow at first, but soon he had allowed his passion to kiss her in her favored way, reclaiming the soft skin that the other man had earlier damaged. Kisses in this way were certainly meant for pleasure; not for the hurt and terror that the other man had given her.
Eventually, the man had done what he deemed satisfactory for the moment, and stilled himself before he had urge to go further. He moved back up to Gilwen’s pretty face, and nuzzled her cheek. “Do you remember how love feels now, my Starlight?” he asked gently, smiling against her skin as he let his lips rest upon her cheek.
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Nov 30, 2009 19:04:00 GMT -5
“I love you Gilwen.”
His eyes! Gilwen could see it all in his eyes. She would have responded, but his lips brushed hers once, and after that, Gilwen hadn’t the urge to respond vocally. His hand caressed against her skin until it was buried in her hair, and he kissed her again. This time, Gilwen let her hands ease against him; the grip that she held on his shirt was now less of fear than it was of love. She was certain he felt the difference.
He pulled back to study her, and she intently watched his eyes, until he moved to kiss her cheeks and they passed out of her sight. She let her hands trail up his chest until she had wrapped her arms about his neck. A part of her desired to cuddle closer, though knew that such a thing would make it harder for him to kiss her and so she restrained herself.
He spoke again, and the words brought Gilwen to ease even more. Oh, when they were wed! Such a thing seemed to hold absolutely everything she desired! Her Faeldor, once they were wed, he would be with her for the rest of her life. They would be able to love one another fully, and start their own family. Perhaps, though, what she was looking forward to most was keeping his house, coming home from work and cleaning their own home until he walked in the door; being able to greet the man daily as he stepped through the threshold, and to care for him. And all of the rumors would vanish!
Yes, marriage would be the answer to her prayers.
He came to her lips again, this time drawing the kiss out nicely. Immediately, Gilwen’s heart picked up in its pace and the woman hardly could hide the lovely flush that tinted her cheeks. It had been some time since he had kissed her as this, and even though she had felt his passions before, they were startling new to her each time. And that, she mused inwardly, was how she knew that he was her match. They could be together for an eternity and she would not grow tired of him.
He stopped, seemingly for his own breath and to draw her upon his lap—though, Gilwen was thankful for such a pause. Her own lungs were on fire for her lack of breath. And any way to be closer to the man was welcome to her. And then, he kissed her once more.
Her heart was utterly hammering her ribs by the time he finally let his lips trailed along her jaw and down her neck. For a moment, she did not know if she felt ready to allow him to take to her neck such ministrations, though his kisses were calming and welcomed. He was working, she understood it now, to rid her skin of any feeling the man had left her with.
Just as she came to the thought, though, his kisses seemed to grow more passionate, and the woman in return held him tighter. Finally, when Gilwen was certain she was going to lose all of her breath, he took his lips away from her skin and nuzzled her cheek. “Do you remember how love feels now, my Starlight?” In response, the woman nuzzled her own face against his, and let her hands trail to his shoulders. Yes, this was what it felt like: so utterly taken by another that it would have been easy to allow him to go farther. Safety, it felt like safety as well. And warm.
She turned her head to lay a kiss to his cheek, and then his jaw. She moved closer to his ear, kissing that as well, perhaps accenting her lack of speech by using her actions as answer enough.
Her little hands moved back from his shoulders to behind his neck, and then once more, the woman let her arms wrap around him fully. She knew, though, that Faeldor liked words. And so, the woman brought herself to find them as she nuzzled her face against his neck, letting a kiss fall for a moment on his shoulder. “Yes, I do.” Oh, but she couldn’t stay so tucked against him. She wished to see him.
So, she once more sat up, and brushed her nose against his, and she softly added in a whisper, “I love you.” She caught her breath at the words, though she knew them truthful. Someday, she would belong to him fully. That man had not taken her in his stead. Soon, she was certain, they would be married, and then all such wonderful things would be theirs. But the greatest would be a love that could be shared in full, and Gilwen found herself once more eagerly awaiting it.
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Dec 1, 2009 11:55:00 GMT -5
“I love you.”
The man smiled. “I have not forgotten.”
Gilwen seemed to have fully allowed her body to relax against him. Faeldor smiled once more, taking pride in the fact that he had helped to still her fears. Though, he knew such a memory of her attack could not be forgotten, he had set her at peace for the time being.
The man leaned forward to continue his kisses upon the woman, wordless, though sighing against her. His motions were soft, gentle, and drawn out. Now was not the time for passion, nor tiring themselves. And thus, the two lovers spent the morning in close embrace.
The sun rose higher in the sky, and the shadows shortened, while the grasses gleamed green and golden in the summer light. Heat came upon the earth, and eventually, Faeldor moved Gilwen to the soft grass beside him; reaching for the clasp of her cloak and letting it fall down from her shoulders. “The sun will warm you truer than this,” he said quietly, the first words he had spoken in a long while. The man let his hand upon the woman’s face for a brief moment before he quietly moved to his feet.
“I will not walk out of sight,” he assured her as his touch diminished, “Just wait for me.”
And with that he spared her a short glance before stepping further off the path into the grasses; looking for something, it seemed. His step was a bit off perhaps; for his ankle did pain him, but it felt freeing to walk with bare feet upon the warm earth. And there, when he found it, he plucked it from it’s stem; a lovely purple flower, almost iridescent seeming in the bright sunlight with the blue sky above.
Faeldor smiled in triumph as he returned with the delicate thing held between his fingers, and he moved back upon the ground with Gilwen; first reaching for the cord in her hair, and untying it. Her hair was mussed quite well at any rate, and Faeldor quickly moved to run his fingers through it, and plait it quickly into a loose braid; purposely laying it over her shoulder, where the dark tresses did well to block his view of the reddened mark upon her neck. Then, he carefully tucked into her hair.
“I had brought you one this morning, but I am afraid I have lost it. Though the wild flowers bloom much nicer.”
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Dec 1, 2009 15:07:14 GMT -5
“I have not forgotten.”
Gilwen sighed inwardly, a long moment of release. Tension she let slip away, and finally she let her mind ease. Faeldor was right there, and she was in his arms. It was going to be well, all of it; the Valar had gifted her a man that cared for her beyond anyone else.
That man leaned forward once more, and slowly began to shower her with kisses once more. She felt him ease against her, as well, and heard the sound of his sigh. It bade her to relax more, and while their kisses lacked a heated passion, they were not lacking in affection.
The morning had passes beautifully, the steady sun had warmed them both as they sat so close to one another, and no words had needed be passed between them. It had been some time since the little woman thought on the drunkard from the morning, though it was hard to keep the images at bay at all times.
Faeldor slipped her from his lap, though, and immediately the woman felt a bit more on edge, though his hands had moved to unclasp her cloak. “The sun will warm you truer than this.” Gilwen looked up to him a moment, surprised by the words he had chosen to break the silence with. Immediately, the woman knew that he was drawing on the fact her cloak was in such poor repair. She sought to still him over his worries, though. He need not think that this was her winter cloak. Or, perhaps it was best to make it seem warmer than it was. “My cloak is plenty warm,” she replied ever so quietly as he slipped from her shoulders and fell amongst the lovely grass of the field.
His hand came to touch her cheek, and Gilwen for a moment wondered what it was that had brought about such a touch. Her heart began to quicken as he stood, though, and let his hand slowly remove its touch. “I will not walk out of sight. Just wait for me.” She nodded, her brown eyes watching as he turned away.
She would be fine for some moments alone.
Or, so she thought. Her heart had leapt into her throat the minute he had left her; such anxiety had hit her the second he had separated from her, and she could not feel him beside her.
Her body stiffened, and the woman brought her knees up and wrapped her arms about them uncomfortably, brown eyes checking once more that she was well alone and that no man was there to harm her. She was being brash, she knew it. Still, she could not help but wish the Horse Lord had stayed closer, though her eyes perhaps were upon him unshakably.
It seemed like hours he was gone, and Gilwen did not think she had the strength to sit alone much longer. But then, he returned to her. As he sat, she sighed in relief and released her legs to sit more comfortably. His gait had been different, and Gilwen flashed a glance down to his ankle a moment, though dismissed the idea as he began to play with her dark locks of hair.
She had taken mind of it this morning, though now she was certain it did not look at all pleasing. It was pleasing, though, to feel his fingers running through her tresses. He laid the braid over her neck, and the woman for a moment wondered if the mark bothered him as much as it did her. Or perhaps more? Had he moved to cover it so he need not look at it?
The pretty purple flower was tucked into her hair at last, and his words finally came. “I had brought you one this morning, but I am afraid I have lost it. Though the wild flowers bloom much nicer.” She could not smile outrightly. Indeed, she knew why he would have lost it. “It is the thought that matters,” she replied gently. “I am sure it was lovely, too.”
She sat still a moment. He was quite close to her now, but a part of her wished to be closer still. Slowly the woman shifted herself until she was nearer him, and could feel his own warmth, perhaps even at moments his own body. She had not even thought it was strange, the way she so impulsively needed to touch him now. But it stilled her, and comforted her unknowingly.
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Dec 2, 2009 1:39:53 GMT -5
“My cloak is plenty warm.” Faeldor smiled slightly, fingering the grey fabric that had now fallen down upon the ground beside her.
“No it is not,” he answered; his voice calm and not argumentative. However, he said no more for the time concerning the matter. He had already made up his mind to provide Gilwen with a thicker and warmer garment. Heavens, she was always so cold, and it would certainly be a useful gift. However; to ask her if she would like it, or tell her that he would provide it would get him nowhere in the matter. He would simply present it to her.
Yes. His eyes grazed over the faded wool. Indeed, she could use something warmer. Beleth had even mentioned it to him some weeks past, and Faeldor chided himself for not doing something about it earlier. Well, he would be sure that his sweet Gilwen was not cold. Before he picked her up from work the next day, he would surely have something warm and soft to wrap about her.
Faeldor’s journey into the grasses was not long; nor was it far. Had Gilwen needed him, a quick sprint would have gotten him back to her in a matter of seconds. However, he did not realize at first that the woman would be so uncomfortable having him step even a short space away. The glances he took back to Gilwen revealed her as all the more anxious each time.
Upon he return, the woman indeed lost some of her tension. He enjoyed himself with the silky, dark hair, and it was the truth that he covered the mark upon her neck for his own settlement of thoughts. However; it would not do to take her back to the city and upon the street… for others to see… He frowned a bit, though moved his face to press against the braided hair, and then his lips were upon her cheek once more.
“It is the thought that matters. I am sure it was lovely, too.”
The man could hear the uneasiness in the lady’s voice, and as he sat near her, she moved closer. He was not certain where the earlier flower had ended, but it was certainly crushed upon the street right now. Event he the petals were perhaps stained red, depending on when he had dropped it. It was an increasingly difficult thought. Faeldor calmed himself by reaching for Gilwen.
“It does not matter, truly. You are lovelier still; with or without any petals,” the man said, his voice attempting to cheer her. “Here… come upon my lap again, dear one, I have missed you here,” he said truthfully, reaching his arms about the lady and drawing her upon him once more. In truth, he wanted her to be there, and to feel her close; yet his alternative reasoning was certainly because small Gilwen was certainly apprehensive seeming! How un-herself. She was usually so sure of things! Now though, the poor woman was certainly again feeling anxiety over being left alone.
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Dec 2, 2009 11:42:42 GMT -5
“No it is not.”
Gilwen could see where such a statement was leading. But truly, she hadn’t the mind to protest again. And aside, he had stood and ventured to find the flower, and her mind became ridden with anxiety and worry. She could not understand it; never before in her life had she felt utterly lost at the absence of a person. She was, normally, someone who enjoyed a bit of time alone. Sitting upon the bright and sunny fields and watching her Faeldor move about should not have distressed her so. Oh, but it had.
He returned to her, though. And it was an instant relief to her little body. After his ministratons with her hair, he seemed to frown slightly, though quickly moved to hide it by nuzzling his face within her hair once again. Gilwen frowned a slight herself at this. Her physical state, it had to be the mark upon her neck, was troubling him so! For a moment the thought hit her that it was her appearance now that disgusted him, and the little woman felt her heart clench.
But then, it was as if he had known her very thoughts: he spoke on her loveliness. Gilwen looked at him, silently, for a time. As soon as the mark was gone—that is when Faeldor would enjoy her fully again. Oh, that blasted drunkard had held no right to leave it on her in the first place!
“Here… come upon my lap again, dear one, I have missed you here.”
Faeldor’s words needn’t have been accompanied by his arms, Gilwen was eagerly compliant the minute he had spoken. Still, his arms felt lovely, and the woman gladly let him take her upon his lap. Immediately, the woman pressed herself as close as she could, relishing the fact he had returned to her. Slowly, her muscles relaxed. She sighed quietly, and tucked her head into the space between his shoulder and neck.
She had certainly missed being this close as well. He was ever so warm; nothing, she was sure, could harm her right her, nor indeed feel better. The soft rustle of the wind as it passed through the grass seemed to ease her, and with it came some sounds from the farmers that were working about the area.
Working, they were. To tend to the lovely Pelennor. The golden grass, the gentle breeze and crisp air. The little colorful blooms that spot the greens and golds. Like the flower Faeldor had picked for her.
“You enjoy flowers, don’t you?” She finally said, somewhat sporadically. “You picked so many that day by the river…”
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The morning passed by quite beautifully. Gilwen mindfully kept herself close to her horse master. Perhaps she was shifted, but never did she lose the feel of him against her. She would not have known what to do had he released her. Gladly, she knew she did not have to worry about it. Faeldor had kept her safely against him.
It was now the beginning of the afternoon. The sun had truly begun to shine down in the heat of summer, and many a farmer had stopped their work to break and take their lunch and lessen their toil for the hottest portion of the day.
Fleetingly she wondered if Faeldor was too warm, what with the way they were sitting. The summer sun seemed to cradle her, but he—he never did seem cold. Perhaps her closeness was warming him too well. Still, she did not wish to voice such a worry, for fear that he would ask her to move.
Oh, but to not tend to him…that would be wrong.
“Fael,” she began slowly. “…are you too warm?” She asked softly.
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Dec 3, 2009 8:39:31 GMT -5
“You enjoy flowers, don’t you? You picked so many that day by the river…”
The woman’s thoughts seemed to come aloud, and the man smiled at it. However much he did enjoy her voice. “Yes,” he answered thoughtfully. “I do enjoy flowers. One must when they grow up in a home of so many girls and ladies. And I should say that even my father enjoyed them as well. A man’s heart can still a beat at the sight of natural beauty as well… yet for such beauty to be placed upon the lady who they love. Now that does not cause a heart to still… but to quicken.”
“It was not simply for Mother’s pleasure that Father helped to plant our gardens. Nor can I say it was simply for your own that I did pick those flowers by the river.” He let his hand along the woman’s side, and for some minutes he was quiet, resting his palm again upon her thigh, and claiming the lovely woman as his own. Thinking on the beauty of his lady was not helping Faeldor to still his passions though and calm Gilwen, and while he sat with her, he did wish to kiss her again. He needed to distract himself, so he thought again on their day by the river, though most of the images that came to mind now were of his lady cast in flowers, the way her damp gown had fallen over her form, and the way he had kissed her in the river. What a blessed day!
He felt his body warm slightly, and slid his arm back up to wrap snuggly around Gilwen’s waist. Not that he cared for composure at this very minute; for nobody was out here to see how they sat together. But for Faeldor’s own self he thought it best to hold the lady in a less compromising manner. Yes, they had held a fine day; he thought on it again, and was able to bring back to memory something less heated, and more amusing.
“Do you remember the turtles, Gilwen?” he smiled. “I do wonder how Master Turtle, and the Lord and Lady of the Shell fare on this day. No doubt they have come out to sun upon the rocks again,” he chuckled slightly.
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“…Are you too warm?”
The Stablemaster had his arms securely about the woman for some time now, pressing her side into his chest and holding her dear and close. The day had grown warm, it was certain. The grasses were brushing together and the farmers did seem to be bristling in the summer heat. However, Faeldor was comfortable with Gilwen against him. At least, comfortable in the aspect that her tremors had utterly ceased, her breathing was regular, and he felt the soft skin of her cheek pressing upon his neck.
“Mhm…” he answered slowly, seeming almost drowsy. “The heat of the day surely is upon us.” He pressed his cheek into Gilwen’s hair, for fear that if he asked to move too quickly, she would become yet again upset. Best to work her into it. He did need to stand. “I wish that it were cooler; and I would sit like this with you all day.
“Perhaps, we could go inside for a time. My mother’s house surely holds water and shade,” he suggested. It seemed that the sun had tired him, though, he would be able to manage quite well for a time longer. However, the sixth tier was a long walk away from where they were now. “If you do not wish to though, I’m certain we could find someplace else. Though I can promise you that Rosiel should not be there this time of day,” he smiled slightly. No, she would not be there to trouble Gilwen; and in fact, Meleth had altogether banned the young woman from her household.
The Stablemaster searched out his boots, and upon finding them on his side, he slid the woman from his lap and went to return them to his feet. Yes, he did need to get out of the sun it seemed.
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