Post by Gilwen on Sept 7, 2009 17:25:32 GMT -5
It had been a long day at work. Gilwen felt utterly drained and exhausted, and the walk home seemed to be longer than usual for her slowness of pace. It had been a day like every other, as far as the little woman was concerned. She had slaved all day in cleaning the palace after having been picked up at the fourth tier by her Stable Master and shared a few words with him as they ascended. A right nice start to the day, or so she thought. However, work had been more toilsome than she would have liked, for indeed the Midsummer Eve’s Ball was swiftly approaching, and many things had to be placed in order.
She had already prepared herself for the evening—Faeldor’s birthday did fall on the same day. Her sheets of music were tucked away safely at the shop awaiting her payment. And that was becoming a bit hard to come by. She had pulled extra hours all week to allow herself the funds for extra spending. She would make it. She would have to.
With a heavy sigh, her footsteps landed her on her doorstep, and quietly the woman opened it and worked her way inside. She had thought, perhaps, that her parents would have gone to bed by now—it was late into the evening, after all. Though she was surprised to see both her father and mother sitting upon the couch looking rather distressed. All hopes Gilwen had held onto for a pleasant evening had vanished, and her heart seemed to sink with worry. What was it now? Could not one thing appease her parents?
“We’re glad you are home.” Niniel began. No greeting? No questions of how the day had labored on? Gilwen shifted uneasily. “Gilwen, we need to talk.” Such heavy words! The silent woman nodded slowly and stepped forward cautiously. “Do take a seat.” Gilwen did so, though as she did her body seemed to tense with heaviness and dread.
There was a long silence between them, the crackling of the fire and the faint sounds of the tavern filling the room for a while before Niniel sighed and continued. “We know you have been working hard,” a scoff from her father interrupted her there, and Gilwen’s heart seemed to plummet. Niniel glared sharply at the man and then continued gently and delicately. “And we hate to see you toil this way.”
Gilwen simply stared. What in gracious Eru’s name was this?
“We have decided…” Niniel sighed and her brown eyes flashed an apologetic sorrow. “We cannot afford this.” Was she speaking of her daughter’s heavy labor and the cost on her health that such a load was bringing her? Or of something else.
“Mama, I do not understand.” Gilwen said slowly, flicking her eyes to Beregar for a moment.
“This. Our home.” Niniel choked on a sob, and then re-chose her words. “Our house.” The look on Gilwen’s face must have relayed her horror and shock at such a thing, and Niniel spoke again quickly. “Gilwen, do not think much of it,” she said non-chalantly.
“Think little of it?” Gilwen whispered. “Mama, this is our home. If it is a matter of finances, I shall take more hours.” She had been born in this house. She had grown up here. There was nothing about it that was unfamiliar, nothing that felt unwelcoming or unnecessary. It was a place of rest, or had been until recently. But surely it would return to such a state! They could not leave.
“No, Gilwen. We have already picked the house.” Beregar interjected. His daughter’s face plummeted, and her hands began to shake. His tone, though, told the girl enough not to speak further to dissuade them or reprimand them for making such a decision without her.
There was a long silence. “When do we leave, then?” Her voice was barely audible over the sound of the faint fire, and Niniel frowned.
“We must have our things packed and readied by this time next week.” Niniel explained.
Faeldor’s birthday was within a few days. She could not ruin his mood by speaking of this to him yet. Gilwen sat in a silence and just looked at her mother. She would let his birthday pass, let her family get adjusted and settled, and then speak to him on it---simply so he should know where to call for her.
Oh, he was going to be dreadfully upset over the matter. But no more than she was. “Where is it?” She asked cautiously.
Niniel gripped her hands together, distressed by the answer she was to give. “The first tier.” She replied. Gilwen looked surprised again, and Niniel’s eyes began to tear. “I know, Gilwen. It is a dangerous place. But the money we shall save this way shall let you go back to normal hours!”
Back to normal hours? No. She would toil just the same—so that she could move her family out of the first tier. Oh! The most dangerous of people lived there! It was always uncomfortable to walk through. The men were oft drunk and prowling the streets, and the alleys were filled with harlots and women who sought money for favors. They were to live there?
“Gilwen…please say something.” Niniel pleaded tearfully.
“Do not cry, Mama.” Gilwen said in a rather comforting manner. “I promise that I shall not let us stay there long.” If she had to work with no rest for months, she would do so. It was a dangerous place to be—and would not reflect well upon their family, for certain. Miriel detested her for her status—how much more so will she hate their new home!
Niniel had broken down, though, burying her face in her hands, and Gilwen stood to touch her shoulder lightly and kiss her cheek. “I need rest, Mama. Please, do not cry. I will work hard enough to fix it.” She murmured quietly before slipping into her bedroom. The words that reached her, though, through the closed doors were enough to send Gilwen into tears as well.
“Beregar! How can we just go? You brought me here the day we were wed. How could it have come to this? So many years.”
The reply was lost amongst Gilwen’s own whirring thoughts and wet cheeks. She would get it back—for her mother and father and herself. This house would not be without them long—nor would they be without it.
Changing, the teary and distraught woman let herself lie upon her bed. She gripped at her pillow tightly. Surely there was some reason for this. But it was just as sure that she did not understand it. This next week, then, would mark the last of her trips to work from this front door. A door that she would see every day upon passing. She prayed it would remain unoccupied; she would be more than happy to pull all hours to return such a wedding gift to her mother.
It took her some time, though she finally fell into a slumber. Only to wake and toil some more. But this time, she would have purpose behind it.
She had already prepared herself for the evening—Faeldor’s birthday did fall on the same day. Her sheets of music were tucked away safely at the shop awaiting her payment. And that was becoming a bit hard to come by. She had pulled extra hours all week to allow herself the funds for extra spending. She would make it. She would have to.
With a heavy sigh, her footsteps landed her on her doorstep, and quietly the woman opened it and worked her way inside. She had thought, perhaps, that her parents would have gone to bed by now—it was late into the evening, after all. Though she was surprised to see both her father and mother sitting upon the couch looking rather distressed. All hopes Gilwen had held onto for a pleasant evening had vanished, and her heart seemed to sink with worry. What was it now? Could not one thing appease her parents?
“We’re glad you are home.” Niniel began. No greeting? No questions of how the day had labored on? Gilwen shifted uneasily. “Gilwen, we need to talk.” Such heavy words! The silent woman nodded slowly and stepped forward cautiously. “Do take a seat.” Gilwen did so, though as she did her body seemed to tense with heaviness and dread.
There was a long silence between them, the crackling of the fire and the faint sounds of the tavern filling the room for a while before Niniel sighed and continued. “We know you have been working hard,” a scoff from her father interrupted her there, and Gilwen’s heart seemed to plummet. Niniel glared sharply at the man and then continued gently and delicately. “And we hate to see you toil this way.”
Gilwen simply stared. What in gracious Eru’s name was this?
“We have decided…” Niniel sighed and her brown eyes flashed an apologetic sorrow. “We cannot afford this.” Was she speaking of her daughter’s heavy labor and the cost on her health that such a load was bringing her? Or of something else.
“Mama, I do not understand.” Gilwen said slowly, flicking her eyes to Beregar for a moment.
“This. Our home.” Niniel choked on a sob, and then re-chose her words. “Our house.” The look on Gilwen’s face must have relayed her horror and shock at such a thing, and Niniel spoke again quickly. “Gilwen, do not think much of it,” she said non-chalantly.
“Think little of it?” Gilwen whispered. “Mama, this is our home. If it is a matter of finances, I shall take more hours.” She had been born in this house. She had grown up here. There was nothing about it that was unfamiliar, nothing that felt unwelcoming or unnecessary. It was a place of rest, or had been until recently. But surely it would return to such a state! They could not leave.
“No, Gilwen. We have already picked the house.” Beregar interjected. His daughter’s face plummeted, and her hands began to shake. His tone, though, told the girl enough not to speak further to dissuade them or reprimand them for making such a decision without her.
There was a long silence. “When do we leave, then?” Her voice was barely audible over the sound of the faint fire, and Niniel frowned.
“We must have our things packed and readied by this time next week.” Niniel explained.
Faeldor’s birthday was within a few days. She could not ruin his mood by speaking of this to him yet. Gilwen sat in a silence and just looked at her mother. She would let his birthday pass, let her family get adjusted and settled, and then speak to him on it---simply so he should know where to call for her.
Oh, he was going to be dreadfully upset over the matter. But no more than she was. “Where is it?” She asked cautiously.
Niniel gripped her hands together, distressed by the answer she was to give. “The first tier.” She replied. Gilwen looked surprised again, and Niniel’s eyes began to tear. “I know, Gilwen. It is a dangerous place. But the money we shall save this way shall let you go back to normal hours!”
Back to normal hours? No. She would toil just the same—so that she could move her family out of the first tier. Oh! The most dangerous of people lived there! It was always uncomfortable to walk through. The men were oft drunk and prowling the streets, and the alleys were filled with harlots and women who sought money for favors. They were to live there?
“Gilwen…please say something.” Niniel pleaded tearfully.
“Do not cry, Mama.” Gilwen said in a rather comforting manner. “I promise that I shall not let us stay there long.” If she had to work with no rest for months, she would do so. It was a dangerous place to be—and would not reflect well upon their family, for certain. Miriel detested her for her status—how much more so will she hate their new home!
Niniel had broken down, though, burying her face in her hands, and Gilwen stood to touch her shoulder lightly and kiss her cheek. “I need rest, Mama. Please, do not cry. I will work hard enough to fix it.” She murmured quietly before slipping into her bedroom. The words that reached her, though, through the closed doors were enough to send Gilwen into tears as well.
“Beregar! How can we just go? You brought me here the day we were wed. How could it have come to this? So many years.”
The reply was lost amongst Gilwen’s own whirring thoughts and wet cheeks. She would get it back—for her mother and father and herself. This house would not be without them long—nor would they be without it.
Changing, the teary and distraught woman let herself lie upon her bed. She gripped at her pillow tightly. Surely there was some reason for this. But it was just as sure that she did not understand it. This next week, then, would mark the last of her trips to work from this front door. A door that she would see every day upon passing. She prayed it would remain unoccupied; she would be more than happy to pull all hours to return such a wedding gift to her mother.
It took her some time, though she finally fell into a slumber. Only to wake and toil some more. But this time, she would have purpose behind it.
