Simply Complicated [Faeldor]

[Gilwen]

The orc was dead, though for what safety that gave her Gilwen was now equally as exposed. Her hands were wetted with sweat, making the hilt hard to grasp, and she had truly lodged the sword well into the creature, and was having trouble mustering the strength to retrieve the blade so she was well armed again.

Out of the corner of her eye Gilwen saw the large orc approaching. Immediately she struggled all the more to get the sword back in her hands. Faeldor needed her armed; he could not be worried for her, and she certainly could not help him if she was not armed. Using all of her strength she attempted to pull the blade free once more, though it barely moved a few inches.

She barely saw the beginning of the attack, only that the grotesque monster plunged right past Faeldor, and even in the dim lighting, that there was a glisten of dark red upon his arm. Immediately her heart rammed against her ribcage and she caught her breath. She gave the sword another yank, but it was still no use. “Haps I might take this’un alive. She has plent’ more use than killing I shewd say.” Immediately the little thing began to panic, hands desperately attempting to grip the sword properly as to remove it, though she did not have much longer to struggle with it. She felt the back of her dress tugged, and it was force enough to yank her right against the orc leader and cause her to lose all of her grasp on the hilt.

She did not cry out, though she gasped. It seemed for a moment that her lungs could not support a sound. It was in her throat though silent. A shudder ran through her body as the nasty hands gripped the back of her neck. “Or I cud jus crush ‘er bones. That’d be a bit a fun.” As if in accent, the orc had tightened his grip upon her; the pain was sharp, and it seemingly shot down her back and arms. Involuntarily, Gilwen cried out in pain, though could tell very well that this was not even all of the strength the creature could muster to kill her. She struggled slightly, though seemed unable to move. Aurok’s words were threatening though, and Gilwen felt once more her heart ram against her chest as she pondered the thought of what that creature would do to her; it was not death that she feared.

The threats must have infuriated Faeldor, too. For it was within a moment that he had turned upon the foul leader and had tackled him to the ground. The pain instantly went away and was replaced by a dull throb as the grasping hand released her and fell. She wheeled around, watching as Faeldor finished off the beast with his bare hands. A part of her was completely and utterly terrified by his strength, but the other half was thankful for it. Her wide eyes looked down at Aurok, his head turned unnaturally to the side and bleeding from a sword wound that had not only pierced the frontal chest armor, but had passed all the way through and had thrust into the earth.

She did not take her eyes from the slain orc until Faeldor moved to rise. She watched him with perhaps a sense of wonder and newfound respect. She had seen some of his strength when he had dealt with that man that had tried to take advantage of her those weeks ago. But this. This was different. As she watched him with this gaze, he further proved his strength by easily removing the sword himself.

“We’ll get Lumiel, and then we will go fetch Laerdin. I would not have us out here should there be another crowd of that sorts.”

Gilwen dropped her eyes to his arm once more. “Your arm.” Her voice was slightly meek, though she was hardly protesting his urging to leave. She was ready to go home herself. “You are hurt,” she added even more softly. It was suddenly that the wave of fear had caught up with her, and her eyes began to drip with tears. Her hands shook slightly as she reached over to grab Lumiel’s reins and run a hand across her neck as if to calm her and herself at the same time. It was over.

[Faeldor]

“Your arm. You are hurt.” Faeldor seemed to look down at the place where his shirt and tunic were shredded from the blade and notice his injury. His arm had pained him before, but he had not realized that he held such a wound, and it amazed him slightly. He clenched his fist and then straightened his hand, as if to check that he still had proper mobility, and that satisfied him. “It’s just a scratch, Gilwen, there…”

Though, upon a moment’s study of his arm again, the man decided it would be best to still the bloodflow. He would be no help to Gilwen if he should grow weak and faint for blood loss. The man quickly sheathed his sword back at Lumiel’s side, and moved to remove first his cloak, then his belt and tunic, and the torn white shirt which he wore beneath. He then replaced the tunic, though pulled up the sleeve, revealing the gash in full. Certainly it was not a sight for Gilwen’s eyes, but, she already knew it was there. If he did nothing for it, he would lose too much blood, and she would fuss anyhow, so it was best to tend it then and there. The shirt was already shredded by the orc’s sword, and Faeldor finished the process by tearing the sleeve off the rest of the way. He then wrapped it tightly about his forearm to cover the gash, and held out his arm for Gilwen. “Pull this tight for me,” he instructed. Gilwen’s hands were shaking, he could see well. A few moment’s focus upon them led him to see that even his Lady’s hand had been cut in the brawl. “Heavens, you are cut…” he muttered worriedly. There was a sliver of blood dripping down her wrist from the back of her hand, and the man wasted no time in tearing another shred of fabric to wrap about her hand and bandage her. “Did they get you anywhere else?” he added, a bit panicked, as he looked Gilwen over from head to toe; though it was difficult to see any damage done in the dark.

The woman’s eyes began to fill with tears; it did not take much moonlight for Faeldor to see the liquid reflection they cast; and though her cries were silent as usual, her body trembled. “There now, don’t worry, it is over,” he attempted to comfort her. However, he did not draw her into his arms to hold her, but to lift her atop Lumiel. The embrace came later, after he had pulled himself up behind her and taken the reins. He let his good arm clutch Gilwen, and his other throbbed, but steered Lumiel the right direction. The horse was more than eager to return toward the city.

“We are both fine now,” he added, though he was still worrying over the cut on Gilwen’s hand. She had been harmed! Faeldor felt inwardly sick, that he should have been able to prevent her from being hurt, and he had not done so properly.

“And look, there is Laerdin ahead. I thought she might have gone back all the way to the city, but she waited for us. There, my Starlight.” The man pressed his cheek against Gilwen’s hair, and wrapped her more tightly within his arm. What a horrid birthday picnic, he mused. That was not at all how it was supposed to turn out, and now he would have to take Gilwen home earlier than he had wished. There was no use taking her to the stables, for once he entered, he would have to stay for the eve and could not walk her back down to the first tier. And if he took her to his own home, he was certain to not relinquish her again to the night. It was no use standing upon the first tier in the darkness, for it was dangerous, and so, Faeldor relented to the idea of taking her back to her own home. Beregar’s home; who was sure to not be happy that the Stablemaster had taken her out in the first place.

It was not long until they had reached Laerdin, and with a whistle and a nod from Faeldor, she followed obediently behind Lumiel. The horse was still startled seeming though, and Faeldor hoped that the incident would not have ruined her behavior. Certainly once given her warm stall and a bit of attention, she would be back to her gentle self, for the gentle woman she belonged to. Gentle? Faeldor questioned himself. Yes, Gilwen was every bit of gentle, yet she had slayed one of those creatures single handedly. “You know your way with a sword, my darling,” he commented, trying to lighten his voice. He was not certain what else to say. How could he have known what would happen, and now it was over as quickly as it had started!

[Gilwen]

“It’s just a scratch, Gilwen, there…”

“Just a scratch!? Faeldor, it is more than a scratch.” Gilwen’s words bounced back immediately, and her attentions piqued and a grand rush of mothering as she flitted toward him. The blood was dark, staining his shirt and tunic, and it was clearly much more than a simple blemish to the skin. It was a wound if she had ever seen one.

At least he had taken measures to care for it. It was in all eagerness that she did tighten and help him bandage his arm. She had never seen such a thing before, but she set herself sternly and did not worry over it, and instead with all swiftness finished tending to him.

“Heavens, you are cut…”

“What?” Gilwen could not help but react verbally, and her body seemed to snap, and her eyes dropped to examine herself. Was it horrible enough to elicit such a response from him? No, she was quite fine. In fact it took her until Faeldor reached to bandage her to know what he was speaking of. “Fael, I am fine.” Nonetheless she let him finish; he needed to make sure she was fine, she understood that herself. “That is it,” she added.

He uttered words of confidence and assurance to her; yes. It was over. She was lifted into the saddle, and soon she felt the warmth of Faeldor climbing up behind her, and felt his arm wrap about her fully. She leaned back into him eagerly, sighing inwardly and bidding her body to relax and for her heart to slow its rampant rate. The evening of her six and twentieth birthday! What a day for such an occurrence. Faeldor had found Laerdin, and that was a blessing as well. But it was the way he pressed his cheek into her hair that soothed her and settled her the most.

She could have lost him forever. She could have ridden away, and never have seen him again. She could not imagine such a thing; to not be able to see his smiling eyes or face. To not be able to wrap her arms about him and feel his warmth, never to kiss or be kissed by him. To miss the bristled nuzzles of his cheek against hers. It seemed almost too much for her to bear, and in response the lady buried herself deeper against him. He was still here. He was with her.

“You know your way with a sword, my darling.”

“Hm? Oh, yes.” Gilwen was wrenched out of her dour thoughts by this observation, and it took her some moments to change the track of her mind. “Your father was a horseman; mine was a soldier.” Her voice fell off a bit, still utterly shaken by the realization she had used the skills her father had instilled in her. She had taken a life. “I…I suppose it is not very ladylike.” She added tentatively. Would Faeldor think her wild? Or would he consider that it was a skill that would one day mean that their children would be well protected? She was unsure as to what his response would be, and as such she awaited patiently to see what the man thought of such a thing.

“Perhaps you should ask my Papa for lessons. There is nobody better with a blade, surely.” She caught herself though and gasped. She recalled all of a sudden the threats her Papa had laid against him; surely now she had incited some sort of discomfort in Faeldor for the blatant reference to the skill that Beregar possessed with a sword. The same sword that he had threatened her beloved with many times.

[Faeldor]

“Not very ladylike? Well… no I suppose not. But that hardly matters. Would you rather have your body dead as those orcs upon the grasses, or have the wisdom that your father taught you? I know which one I should choose for you.” The man tightened his grip upon Gilwen, trying to still his mind from moving to the fact that he might have lost her. The thought terrified him. Had she not known the sword, and had one more orc upon him, perhaps he would not have even made it.

Faeldor’s mind drifted to a place that it desperately did not wish it to be. His father had died in such an attack; had it been as that? He wondered how many had come upon him, and how long had he sustained himself before they took him? His body had not even been returned to the city, such was the state that the men must have found it in. It must have been terrible; to die in such a way, with a body laid to ruin by such foul creatures.

“Perhaps you should ask my Papa for lessons. There is nobody better with a blade, surely.”

“I would think it a good idea, were we already wed, and had he respect for me. Perhaps at a time when I am not so at risk for him to impulsively take my hands.” This caused the Stablemaster to smile, for he very much wondered how such an encounter would be. Of course, he would wish for more skills to defend himself and his family. But, with all the times he had gone to see Beregar in the last weeks to ask for Gilwen’s hand in marriage, the man was already at an outright rage with him.

He sighed. “For now, we should not go upon the plains again after dark.” The thought was as upsetting to him as it certainly was to Gilwen. He barely chanced to see her unless it were after dark, and then, their most blessed times together had been on their rides and night adventures. Fela Isilme would have to wait for a time. “And even then we should take stricter precautions in the daytime.” Faeldor’s mind began to run at the people he would need to notify, and the precautions which would need be taken with his horses and men. Surely, all the young boys and men who worked with him in the stables had the same love for horses, and travelled out to ride upon the plains as much as he.

Perhaps he would require training courses for the men. Some would not enjoy it, it was certain, but if they were to take the stable horses anywhere outside the city, it would be mandatory, and it could only be to their benefit. Yes, Denethor would surely provide for training courses. He would wish the stablelads well equipped; it would only due that as many as possible were trained in event that the orc troubles became worse. Of course, Faeldor had heard news of outlying farms being troubled, but there had not been news recently of outright attacks on villages or cities. He could not imagine how a city so great as Minas Tirith could fall to trouble; but if orcs had come so near.

He squeezed Gilwen slightly. His thoughts and plannings were rather rampant now, and there was not much to do tonight for it, save notify the guards at the Great Gate. He should not forget that it was still Gilwen’s birthday. This had been his special outing for her, and those foul beasts had ruined it. The Lady was buried tightly against him, and as they came closer to the Gate, he loosened his grip upon her, and moved her slightly that he might kiss her hair. And then, he halted Lumiel and dismounted, handing Gilwen the reins, and moving to take Laerdin into hand. It would not do to have the young horse walk alone on the city tiers, for it was just after dark and many were still about.

The password was stated, though a conversation followed thereafter, in which Faeldor notified the Steward’s watchmen on what had happened so near the city, and where the bodies were located. Surely in the morning, the guard would be out first thing to pile and burn them, for it would be bad fortune to leave the beasts lying in the field, and any could come upon them. Faeldor was glad that he would not be called to such duty, and with all being said, the exhausted man bid the watchmen goodnight and the man and woman moved upward along the first tier to Gilwen’s home.

[Gilwen]

Gilwen sighed as she felt Faeldor hold her more tightly. He had not thought her wild or ill-bred, even after seeing that she had learned some workings with a blade. She was glad that he had not tried and pressed the matter, nor reprimanded her further for staying behind. Had she gone away and safely tucked herself inside the walls of the city, he would have perished. And she would have died anyway.

She did not know where Faeldor’s thoughts had turned; had she truly sensed, or had been in the right state to sense at all, the distress he had felt upon thinking of his father she would have worked extra hard to console him and have kept his mind from such things. It would have pained her own heart deeply to think of such a thing, and she had not known Faeldor’s father at all. She hated to see his pain.

“I would think it a good idea, were we already wed, and had he respect for me. Perhaps at a time when I am not so at risk for him to impulsively take my hands.”

She heard him smile as he continued and she let her heart ease that he had not been offended by her statement. “Yes, I would have you wait until you should not be harmed.” Her voice was quiet, though it was said with a slight smile herself. She raised a hand to gently lay upon his that hugged her so close to him. She continued perhaps a bit fluidly and a bit impulsively, “He shall relent, Fael. He will learn to love you as I do.” She was quite certain in such things, though did not know of the many attempts the man had already made at receiving her hand. In her mind, she was sure the very moment the man was approached with the question of her hand her father would gladly give her over. Faeldor was a man of great spirit and heart. If this did not convince her Papa he was a fine match, certainly his wealth and stature would. Though, that was hardly what Gilwen adored. He could have been a mere candle maker upon the first tier and she would have wished to give him her heart and devotion.

Faeldor spoke once more; the man set restrictions upon their time together. Gilwen felt her heart pang in sadness, though knew that such steps were only logical now. She did not desire another fight betwixt her Faeldor and those foul things. She needed him with her, and would gladly give up all excursions out of the city if it meant she could keep him with her healthy and unharmed. She said nothing, though, for her words would seem rote. He would know she would obey him.

They were close to the city now, and she felt that her horse master’s hand loosened about her waist. For a moment she wondered as to why, though as she was shifted and her hair was kissed, all such thoughts vanished. She closed her eyes and sighed; the feeling of his breath upon her and his beard as it brushed through her hair was comforting. Such a man was he that he both stilled and quickened her heart.

He dismounted and took Laerdin’s reins, and all the while his lady watched him. It seemed she dared not look away. That if she did, she would lose him. Even as he explained to the guardsmen what had happened upon the plain, she kept close eye on him though did not listen. She did not wish to hear of their brush with death’s cold hand again.

It was soon, too soon, that they were off moving toward her home. It was a heavy work for Gilwen to bring herself to dismount before her home was in sight. She looked to Faeldor for a moment and then to the house that was four homes away, her doe eyes looking slightly saddened. “Do tend to your arm, Fael,” she said lowly. She stepped a slight closer to him, for she did much desire to kiss him farewell, though faltered as she remembered where they were. The first tier was full of all such scenes, and all of such actions were deemed immoral and vile; the work of a harlot. “Thank you for taking me out,” she said tentatively, though stopped herself from continuing. Surely that was not something he wished to hear.

She could not do much more, and so it was slowly she extended Lumiel’s reins to him and she turned to head back to her home, a wave of emptiness filling her. Oh, now she would hear it. Her Papa would be furious.

[Faeldor]

“Do tend to your arm, Fael.” The Stablemaster nodded. If he were to argue here, Gilwen would certainly not still her doting, though he could not help but add; “It will be fine, it is only a scratch. And I hope you will tend to your hand as well. I would not have your hands harmed so.” The man thought for a moment at how the lye would sting that wound the next day. Pity the woman who had to stick an open wound into the strong lye that was used on the palace floors! If only he had some way to shield her from the pain of that! Though, he knew Gilwen was used to it; he could hardly think of how someone became used to such a thing.

“Thank you for taking me out.”

Faeldor simply looked at Gilwen for a moment in confusing. For taking you out to your near death? His thoughts were not at all in a bright place, and at the moment he was even having difficulty recalling the fine time that they had held previously to the orcs. He strained his thoughts for something better to focus on, and finally, it came to the image of Gilwen after he had shown her to Laerdin in the second tier stable. Bright and smiling, and with not a care in the world it had seemed.

The thought did the trick, and Faeldor finally smiled, moving to grasp Gilwen’s hand. She was so close to him, and though he desired to kiss her goodnight, he could not do so, for where they were standing. “If we were not upon the street, and so near your home, I would kiss you soundly right now,” he muttered quietly enough for only the woman to hear. With that, he smiled once more, and released her hand.

“Goodnight, my Starlight. Beautiful maiden, and brightest star in my blackest night. Do not look sad, for I will see you in the morning. If you ready a few minutes earlier, I should be waiting for you here, and you can say ‘Good morn’ to Laerdin before I take you to work.” He hoped that his words could cheer her. Certainly, she was not entering into a pleasant state right now, for it was still rather early and her parents would be up. He could only imagine that Beregar’s anger would be great. Though, Faeldor had come to know that the man would do no physical harm to his daughter. He simply hurt her with his words; but Faeldor hoped that over time it would ease, and his own love could cover a multitude of words that any man could spew upon her.

He watched her go, until she was safe and entering the doorway, and then Faeldor began the long trek back to the sixth tier. First though, he mounted Lumiel, for his muscles were so tired, and he was so exhausted, that would he be walking, he would not have made it.

The trip seemed long and tedious. The stabling of the horses seemed to take ages. Faeldor relieved the stablehand that was keeping watch for him in his outing, and then took care of Laerdin first; showing her to her new stall. She seemed quite content with it, and with some food and water, would manage her first night, he presumed. The fright of what had happened upon the plains would not be forgotten from her, and she would be rather timid for some time when it came to outings, he was certain, but she would be fine. Lumiel was as calm as ever, and finally, when Faeldor had cared for both horses, he made his way to his own quarters.

The Stablemaster went in, and with the light from the hall, stripped off his garments, and changed into a clean set of pants, folding his clothes in a hasty manner to put upon the chair. He had not even given a moment to think on the fact that he had not put a proper dressing on his arm. He washed himself quickly in the basin, and no sooner had he shut the door to block the light, than he had crawled into his bed and tucked himself beneath the covers. The man was out almost instantly, with no dreams to trouble him through his deep sleep.

[Gilwen]

Gilwen slipped into her door without so much as a sound, quite intent on preparing herself for the horrendous storm that would face her as soon as she walked in. She was not disappointed.

“Gilwen!” The scream reverberated through the stone building, and instantly the girl flinched. She wheeled about instantly gasping and preparing to speak to her father and apologize, though her heart rammed hard against her ribcage; indeed the same rush of adrenaline she had felt earlier upon the field when the orcs attacked swept through her again there. Beregar’s face was utterly red, and parts of it were turning shade of purple such was his fury; Gilwen knew he had never been so angry before. Still, she pursed her lips together and awaited the onslaught of foul words and raised voices. “Dare you run out of this house? I had given you strict instruction that you were to stay inside! You were not to go out tonight at all, least of all with that swine!”

Gilwen flinched, and her eyes began to burn. Quickly she looked past her father to catch sight of her mother, who was standing utterly silent in the corner of the room, eyes frowning toward her husband and arms crossed defiantly. Still, her tongue was kept in check. Her eyes, though. Gilwen had never seen such a fire in them.

“Papa, Faeldor is not swine, he is—“ Gilwen began lowly.

“What is he, Gilwen? A man that I have forbidden? Forbidden for his immoral actions and wrongs he has committed against my daughter! Dare you defy me?”

“Papa, he wished only to take me for a picnic for my birthday.” Gilwen added somewhat sternly.

“Your birthday. Yes, I am sure he did,” Beregar snapped as he continued to rage, and approach Gilwen with the utmost hostility. “And now, Gilwen, are we to expect a different birthday in the coming months?”

Gilwen’s face went white with the accusation and she quickly flared in temper. “Papa! I should never allow him to—“

“Beregar that is enough!” Niniel snapped, storming from her position in the corner. “Faeldor is a good man from a good home; he has loved your daughter truly despite the opposition you have given him.

“Yes, he has loved her. And it is for that reason that I cannot allow her to see him lest he love her again.” Beregar snapped, reeling around to face Niniel with blazing eyes. “What do you know of his intentions?”

Niniel scoffed and dropped her arms from their position across her chest to point accusingly at Beregar. “What do I know? The same as you. He intends to wed her. He has asked for her hand. How many times, now? Six? More? Beregar you are the one that is denying his intentions!”

Gilwen started a moment, and all at once she looked wide eyed to her father. “Papa, is that true?” Her voice was quiet, airy. It was as if she had lost her breath.

“Yes, that pig has come to ask for your hand,” the man roared. “And yes. I have not allowed him to have it. For he shall not use it rightly!”

Gilwen’s eyes immediately began to water, and tears began to fall. Though they were from anger and frustration, nothing even close to the fear she had felt coming in the door. “Papa, I love him. I wish him to have my hand. Does that mean nothing?”

“I am your father, Gilwen. You are mine to keep until you are wed. And it will not be to that Faeldor.”

Gilwen said nothing, though offered the coldest stare she had ever given to her father. Immediately she turned on her heels and reached for the door.

“Where are you going?” Beregar screamed, Niniel lurching forward as well.

“Gilwen, please. It is not safe!”

She paid them no heed, though. Instead she rushed out the door and slammed the wood shut.

She had never run so fast in her life.

Gilwen’s vision was blurred, though the streets were relatively empty. She raced all of the way back to the stables. She knew he was keeping his stay there this evening. She needed him; she had not known! Six times he had come to seek her hand! Six times denied! Perhaps more. How could her father wish such unhappiness on her? Did he not see that Faeldor was the best suitor Gilwen could hope for?

If he was so worried for her name, why would he deny the only thing that would make his alleged acts permissible?

She was utterly out of breath when she got to the stables upon the sixth tier. She had hardly slowed down. Her brown eyes flying over the stable and the stalls. A stable hand was working with one of the horses, another was hanging tack upon the wall. Still another was fetching some water. None were her Faeldor.

She rocketed toward the door to his quarters, not hesitating a moment before she flung it open; she could not breathe. Amidst her silent tears and heavy running she had none left. She was near gasping as she came in, and the light that came from the stable behind her illuminated the small room enough for her to see Faeldor’s form upon the bed.

“Fael!” The sound was desperate, winded and distressed. She could hardly contain herself. She was shaking, and gasping for breath. “Fael!” She repeated. She moved not an inch farther into the room, she was rooted in the center of his quarters trying to find her breath, trying to find her words.

How could her father do this to her? She began to cry all the harder, her breath becoming all the more scarce and hard to find. Indeed she felt a slight light headed, though she could not control her desperate gasps for air. She wrapped her arms about herself in a frantic attempt to still herself from truly passing out. She could feel her heart against her ribs, and her cheeks certainly were flushed; it was quite a sight to present. But at that moment, Gilwen did not care. She needed her horse master.

[Faeldor]

It was so calm and dark. Only the horses nickered every so often, and the Stablemaster breathed in deeply the cool night air, fresh coming through the open window near his bed. He rolled over on his mattress, sighing in his sleep. The moon rose higher in the sky, and the stars were dim in succession of it.

The quick footsteps through the hall did nothing to rouse him. Only with the door flung wide, the lanternlight, and the heaving breaths did he wake and hear his name called.

“Gilwen, what in the heavens…” Faeldor muttered, awaking with a start from his sleep. He pulled his body upright and rubbed his eyes, as if wondering if he were caught in a dream. The man was not fully awake, though he attempted to right himself from his tangled sheets, and it was only moments before he stumbled out of bed.

And she was a sight to behold! The man’s head spun slightly at the way the woman stood before him, holding herself and gasping for air. Her hair was tossed about, and her face was tinged wet with tears. What a shocking and heart wrenching sight! “Gilwen!” he said again, fully realizing who exactly had invaded his sleep. “What is wrong? What has happened?”

He grasped the woman and moved her from her place to sit upon his bed, and soon he moved beside her, pulling the woman against himself, as well as questioning. “What has he done to you?” he demanded. “Was it your father, or did a man hurt you on the street? Goodness, did you come up here alone? Eru, did they harm you, dear one?” Faeldor’s voice became urgent, though it seemed that Gilwen had difficulty breathing, and he attempted to calm himself before making her more upset. He brought a hand to her back, caressing her gently.

“There now,” he moved closer to her as he spoke, attempting to soften his voice. “You’re safe here with me.” Even as he spoke, his eyes looked across the room to where he had left his sword unsheathed upon his desk. “Whoever has touched you, will be laid to ruin,” he added aggressively. He could hardly stand it. He made a few more gentle circles upon the woman’s back before he stood up and moved toward his desk to take his sword into hand, though then thought twice and placed it back down, going straight back to sit beside Gilwen again.

Calm yourself. The man thought. He did not even know what the matter was, he could not be resorting to the sword already; though it had done them well earlier this day. Faeldor’s hand returned to Gilwen’s back, though it was only some moments which he consoled her again, before standing once more to close the door to his quarters. Now, most of the light was shut out, though the moon was bright enough to allow silhouettes within. This time, he returned to Gilwen more permanently.

[Gilwen]

It was an immediate change; Faeldor bolted upright in his bed, and sleepily began to regain his senses. “Gilwen! What is wrong? What has happened?” She rushed to him as he tried to cross to her, but she still could not find her words. She let him lead her to his bed and sat down, though her eyes kept frantically searching his until he had pulled her right against him. [“Was it your father, or did a man hurt you on the street? Goodness, did you come up here alone? Eru, did they harm you, dear one?”

Gilwen gasped. “Yes,” she answered vaguely. She had come up alone, yes; her father had hurt her. Though it was nothing physical; the damage felt just as strong. Gracious, she still could not truly get anything out of her mouth, such was her breath still gone. His gentle hands came to caress her back, and slowly she began to feel the ebb of her hysterics die away.

He muttered comforting words to her. Yes, she was safe here. She knew so; her father could not accuse her of harlotry or loose morals here. She was alone with him, where nothing could harm her.

He stood, and Gilwen’s eyes followed in confusion. Where was he going? His sword! Gracious, what in Eru’s name was he going to do with that? She still could do nothing to speak, though. It did not seem necessary, he replaced the sword and returned to her for a moment before leaving once again to shut the door.

The second he was back by her side she threw her arms around him and clung to his neck, cuddling her face into his shoulder. “I would say yes, Fael. Truly I would! I am so terribly sorry,” she gasped desperately, tightening her hold upon him a slight as she inwardly sobbed again. Oh, she would never dream of turning down his hand in marriage. He was her match; her Horse Master and protector. He was her happiness, and her Papa was trying to keep her from it. How could he? Did he detest her so much as to try and wreck her spirit, and leave her alone?

Would Faeldor take such denials much longer? What would happen when he tired of asking for her? Would he try to find himself an easier wife? Or simply whisk her away for a secret marriage?

She felt betrayed, panicked. How had all this happened and she not know of it? Why had Faeldor not spoken to her of it, or her mother? Indeed, why had her father never mentioned it before? Tonight; the eve of her birthday! How had such ill come on this evening?

[Faeldor]

As soon as he moved to sit back down, Gilwen threw herself about the man’s neck in a way she had never done so before. She was behaving so desperately! Heavens, his poor darling! What time was it, and how long had he slept before she had come? It could not have been too long, for the moon was still up, and Gilwen was dressed in the same that he had left her in.

“I would say yes, Fael. Truly I would! I am so terribly sorry.” Gilwen was gasping in tears, and gripping to him more tightly than it seemed she ever had before. All the while, the man was trying to comprehend what he had just been told. It made no sense to him. She would say yes to what? To being violated by some detestable man upon the street? Had she been threatened so that it had come to that?

He waited for her to continue, but she said no more, and the Stablemaster was uncertain of what to do. The thought of moving and going for his sword to murder every man he found upon the streets of the first tier was tempting. Though, Gilwen held to him so tightly, that he could not have moved save he wore her about his neck.

“It is not your fault, you need not apologize,” he said gently.

What was she apologizing for in the first place? The man’s eyes moved for the glint of his sword upon his desk. Oh, how he wished for it. Whatever man had laid even a finger upon Gilwen in harm should be slain. How could one harm someone so innocent? Faeldor took a deep breath, his arms finally working about the woman who was pressing into him.

His thoughts led him back to the day when she had been so near rude violation upon the street, and he had come upon the man and torn him off. That vulgar man had touched her, and to think that someone had done more to her was depressing. Faeldor’s arms tightened possessively. “I will not leave you,” he promised. Should she even think that Faeldor would say his goodbyes over the matter, she would have to think again. Truly, they had preserved their virtue thus far for each other; but Faeldor loved Gilwen, not simply her virtue. Someone might take that from her, though they could not take the love he had for her.

[Gilwen]

“It is not your fault, you need not apologize.”

She knew it was not her fault. Oh, but it was her pain. “I know,” she said quickly. She felt the need to apologize again within her. Beregar had done him wrong; he had done her wrong as well. She was sorry. For what her father had done, for not knowing he was seeking her hand. For everything. This was a mess!

“I will not leave you.”

His arms tightened about her as he made such a promise, and Gilwen began to calm. He would not leave her. No matter how many times her father smote his chances of having her hand, he would not tire of asking? Such a thing relieved her, and slowly she regained control of her breaths.

“He had no right to treat you that way,” she muttered finally, loosening her hold upon Faeldor’s neck. “I did not know, Fael. I did not know!” Six times had he come to seek her, and Gilwen had not so much as heard from him, or her family, on it.

It seemed as if she could not still her tongue, and now that her breathing was somewhat under control, she was able to blurt out everything her mind was dealing with; though, the stream it poured forth as was hardly a collected thought.

“He called you swine; I know you are not. He was so angry that I had gone with you.” Gilwen did not even think to specify who ‘he’ was, though it was surely obvious to Faeldor of whom she was speaking. Indeed, Beregar had called him such names to his face. “My Mama told me you had come. I did not know, Fael! I would say yes,” she rambled ceaselessly, loosening her hold upon him a little more. She pulled away slightly and sought for his eyes against the darkness of the room. “He even believes us to be expecting,” she added frantically. “And yet he shall not consent. He should have no right to deny you!”

She buried herself back against him, though did not tighten her hold upon him. Instead, she downcast her eyes and began to work to calm herself completely. She was quite in a state; everything seemed to have bottled up dangerously within her, and as such it exploded now. Perhaps she had kept her calm long enough; Gilwen simply needed to get it off of her chest and heart, and let the one who would not leave her comfort her.

[Faeldor]

Finally, Gilwen’s breaths began to still, and she pulled herself back to look upon him. “He had no right to treat you that way. I did not know, Fael. I did not know!” The man was certainly confused. He had no idea of who Gilwen was speaking of, and how who was he, and why had she changed the subject to himself? He did not even have the chance to question before the woman continued speaking, and he knew how truly upset she was. She had taken no alcohol; yet it was only under inhibition or much stress that she would say so much at once.

“He called you swine; I know you are not. He was so angry that I had gone with you. My Mama told me you had come. I did not know, Fael! I would say yes. He even believes us to be expecting. And yet he shall not consent. He should have no right to deny you!”

Ah! The word swine had given Faeldor a hint of what Gilwen spoke. She was certainly speaking of her father. Was that it the whole time along? Simply speaking of the words her father had said? He had a hope that it was so; and though he did not wish Gilwen harmed by those words, he hoped deeply that not a person had laid a hand upon her. His own inner panic began to reside, and his eyes no longer sought his sword, but simply looked upon Gilwen softly. He raised a hand to brush her cheek until he was certain that she had stilled herself for a moment, and she tried to bury against him, but the man held her firm in front of his face, that she might hear every word he had to say.

“Are you speaking of my visits to your parents home, Gilwen? I know that your father dislikes me, and believes nothing good of my family, but what are you speaking of?” he asked her carefully. “Please breathe, and then tell me again what the trouble is, for you came in here crying and breathless, and I awoke and feared the worst, that he has harmed you, or sent you out on the street; and that dreadful man from before or another has violated you. You need to tell me that such is not true.”

Faeldor calmed some more, for his eyes looking upon the lady had seen no injury, nor did she stiffen at his touch. Surely if she had been injured he would have been able to tell; and if she had been violated, she would not have calmed so easily as she was now.

“Here, take your coat off. I cannot take you back to your father’s house tonight, for I might not leave the stables, and you are going to stay near me. I will not allow you to walk on the streets alone. I wish you would not have done so,” the man said, as he moved back from Gilwen and began unbuttoning her coat for her, then pulling it off her shoulders. Though, he realized that perhaps he sounded harsh with his orders and statements, and so he stilled himself for a moment, his hands upon her shoulders, and the coat pushed halfway down her arms. “Though I am glad you came to me, if you had to go anywhere, this is the safest place,” he assured her. “For I love you, and will always see to you. I just wish you had not been outside alone, and at night. If someone were to harm you I could never forgive myself for not being there.”

Faeldor leaned to kiss Gilwen’s cheek; which was sodden and salty with tears. With both hands he wiped the tears from her face, and then kissed her fully upon the lips. He did not linger long against her, though, as he had more to say, and he sat back momentarily, his hands still upon her cheeks. “I will not leave you. You must always know that. True, my love for you is not yet legally binding, but legality means nothing, for my heart and life are bound to you, no matter how long it should take; or should we eventually go ahead and marry without his consent.”

With that, the man moved again to finish removing the woman’s coat, and then began to undo the laces of the doublet he had earlier gifted her. “Stand up and take off this dress. You can sleep in your shirt and pants. Eru, you did not even care for your hand. We must dress this properly else it could become infected. And what if that blade had been poisoned…” the man’s words flowed ceaselessly now, and he moved to his washbasin for a rag, and then to the bin of cloths he kept upon his shelf in case one of his stablehands, or even himself, should need bandage a would while working.

[Gilwen]

“Please breathe, and then tell me again what the trouble is, for you came in here crying and breathless, and I awoke and feared the worst, that he has harmed you, or sent you out on the street; and that dreadful man from before or another has violated you. You need to tell me that such is not true.”

Gilwen shook her head. “No, no, Papa would not send me out. I am untouched,” a sudden wave of guilt passed over her for frightening him so. “You have asked for my hand, and he has refused to let you have it. I—I did not know, Fael. I want nothing more than to let you have it. He should not think so ill of you,” her voice was slow and low, morose as all of her hopes seemed to have crashed down about her. She had thought certainly Beregar would give her over to him when he had inquired for her hand in marriage. That he would learn to save her dignity by allowing her the sanction of marriage.

Why was this so horridly difficult? Why did it seem that everything was against them? The Valar had led them together; did they not intend for them to wed? She felt hot tears well up in her eyes again, though Faeldor spoke once more, and she listened well to him instead of letting her tears fall once more. More than this, he began to undress her. Wht in heavens name was he doing? Oh, her coat. Yes, she was rather warm now that she had run all the way to the sixth tier from the first, and the stables were always warm for the horses that were within. She allowed him to slide it from her shoulders, though she watched him in silence.

“Though I am glad you came to me, if you had to go anywhere, this is the safest place. For I love you, and will always see to you. I just wish you had not been outside alone, and at night. If someone were to harm you I could never forgive myself for not being there.”

Gilwen caught her breath and watched him, listening intently as his words seemed to envelop her. She felt secure and safe right there, and her nerves began to quiet and settle; no harm would come to her here. She was with him, and she loved him. Oh, why could her Papa not see it? He was wonderful to her. He respected and loved her, why would Beregar think Faeldor would treat her poorly? If he thought her with child, why would he not do everything within his power to let them marry?

There was nobody in Arda that could love her as much as this man. She was certain of it. As if to accent her thoughts, Faeldor sent her into a flurry of heartbeats as he kissed her. “I will not leave you. You must always know that. True, my love for you is not yet legally binding, but legality means nothing, for my heart and life are bound to you, no matter how long it should take; or should we eventually go ahead and marry without his consent.” Gilwen sighed audibly, relieved to hear such things from his lips. Lesser men would have left her; much before this. She would never be able to find someone that was as devoted as this man. Even men who proclaimed love would have decided that such an obstacle as a father like Beregar was too much to overcome. But Faeldor…he was hers forever, no matter what. And she was his. “I want you to know,” she said very softly. “I love my Papa and I would never wish to disobey him, but I should follow you anywhere in Arda if it meant we were wed.” Her cheeks blushed slightly as she listened to herself. It was a weighty promise, though one she could never count as false. She was quite sure he understood; her love was great, and it seemed that every passing day led for it to grow more. Even if she did not think it was possible.

The conversation changed tones immediately, and Gilwen looked down at her clothes as he ordered her to change to ready for sleep. Immediately she stood to begin to follow through on his instruction, and certainly she made quick work of it. “Eru, you did not even care for your hand. We must dress this properly else it could become infected. And what if that blade had been poisoned…” She looked down at her hand, “Faeldor, it is fine. If the blade had been poisoned, we would both have taken ill,” she smiled slightly at his over-protection. Though, she dropped her eyes to look at his own arm and stopped, folding her clothes and placing them upon the chair. “Fael, your arm! Did you not wash it and change the bandage?” Even in the light she could see he had not taken care of himself. She frowned and marched over, a mothering instinct now taking over her completely. When he turned with the rag and the bandages she took both from his hand. “Sit down,” she ordered sternly; he would not argue with such a tone.

She knew he would protest; to still his words, after he had sat himself down she leaned forward and brushed her lips slowly to his forehead before setting to work. Her hands made quick motions to untie and rid him of the dirty cloth he had tied about it on the field; his own shirt! She did well to wipe the wound clean as careful as she could, though the wound her love had taken surely seemed tender and sore. She doubted it was without pain. Finally she wrapped the bandage around him, slowly and surely to ensure it was well covered and taken care of. “There,” she murmured quietly as she tied the not and stood before him a moment to look at the wounded arm, and then to Faeldor’s face. He truly disregarded himself at times; he sought after others so well.

[Faeldor]

“You have asked for my hand, and he has refused to let you have it. I—I did not know, Fael. I want nothing more than to let you have it. He should not think so ill of you.”

“Of course you did not know,” the man answered. “It should be that way, for should you not wish to have a normal courtship in at least one regard? I had hoped to ask your father and be granted permission, and then come upon you one day with the news; rather than see you suffer for knowing that he has not yet obliged, as you are now.” He frowned lightly. To see Gilwen cry over the matter was heart wrenching to him, and he wished that she had not been put such turmoil.

“Though I will admit, I did not expect it to be so difficult to… receive your father’s permission.” Faeldor paused for a moment. “He thinks you are expecting?” he asked suddenly, his eyes moving downward to look upon Gilwen’s waist. “You do not look as such, I swear; why, I think you are thinner since I have known you. And even if you were, why would he deny me your hand if he so suspected you to be carrying my child? Should he not wish for your dignity? Not to say we have done such a thing, but as well as it goes, I do not know why he will not allow you to be happy and well cared for…” the man rambled on.

The thoughts had certainly been within his own mind for weeks, as he went week by week to ask after Gilwen of Beregar, and usually had the door shut in his face. He had hoped that even the first time, Beregar would have granted the permission. The small ring he sought to place upon her hand had already been in his possession for near two months, and he would give it to her in due time, but how long must they wait? Until Gilwen had worked another dozen years off of her life, and aged herself prematurely; or until a man of the street actually had his way with her? Faeldor only wished to care for her and love her, and he was not being allowed the opportunity.

It was then that the lovely woman spoke into his thoughts. ”I love my Papa and I would never wish to disobey him, but I should follow you anywhere in Arda if it meant we were wed.” Faeldor could not help but smile. He did not enjoy the idea of disobedience either; for he had been raised well; though continuing to see after his lady ha d been disobedience in all regards to Beregar; he had forbidden it! But to know that Gilwen would follow him no matter her father’s ill conceived ideas was enough for the man to continue on in his pursuit. He would never relent.

The man was just about to start his work on Gilwen’s hand, though at this time it seemed that the tables had turned, and Gilwen’s doting senses came back upon her. She had not worried over it much before, though he recalled her having told him to care for his arm before he left her at her home. Now was her exclamation. “Fael, your arm! Did you not wash it and change the bandage?”

The man frowned slightly. He had not even thought of his arm; surely it pained him, though no more beyond that. He had been so exhausted; gracious, he hardly remembered even readying for sleep or laying down. Perhaps he had already been asleep before he had even entered his quarters earlier; his muscles had not been tested so as they were tonight since… well, perhaps ever.

However, he was still tired, and could barely protest when Gilwen made him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Surely he had been at full alert during the day, he would not have been so apt to listen to her without protest; but now, well, he truly wished to sleep. The whole evening, and then the startlement of Gilwen coming here to the stables had caught up to him yet again. He drooped on the edge of the bed and was quiet fine as the lady worked the knot he had tied into the shirt. Though, when she removed the fabric, the dried blood pulled at his sore wound, and he winced visibly.

Even then as Gilwen cleaned the wound, her cool and gentle fingers could not rid him of all his discomfort and he cringed again, a grimace and grumble slipping through his teeth. He glanced at his arm; the skin was certainly raw and red about the cut on his forearm, which was perhaps eight inches long, though the worst near his elbow. He bit his lip hard to forgo another weak sounding protest, and it did the trick. Soon enough Gilwen’s hands had rewrapped his arm in clean cloth, and knotted it securely. It was a much better wrap than the dirty shirt had done him, and though the arm had begun throbbing again as she had cleaned the skin, it was dull, and would certainly heal well.

“By the Valar, you will not let me have my way until you are through, will you, dear?” Faeldor asked, a lightness now to his voice, as he finally was given permission to reach for Gilwen’s hand from where he sat and remove to strip of cloth he had earlier placed about it. If he should not sleep until his own arm had been cared for, he was certainly going to finish what he had started. He stood up, scooping the woman about the waist with his well arm, and took her right to the washbasin where he immersed a new cloth for her own hand and set himself to work, tenderly caring for her, speaking all the while to keep himself alert; his drowsiness was returning with the full force of his day, and he was certain he could not continue much longer without adequate rest.

“I am sorry that there is more trouble to your hands. I can hardly think how the lye water of the mornings washings will pain you more.” He wrapped the precious hand in a clean white cloth and carefully tied it. “There you are,” he hummed. “Hmm… you always look so lovely. Even in breeches you are a Starlight.” He moved her back to the edge of the bed and sat her down, kneeling to remove her boots and stockings, and leaving them by the bedside. “Will it trouble you to sleep beside me?” he finally asked, as he moved to sit beside her on the bed. “I can sleep upon the floor if you like; I have spare blankets. But it should do my wounded arm a world of good and healing to stay around you this night.”

The man sighed; feeling rather light spirited for all the trouble that had come of the day. Perhaps it was simply the fact that he would bid Gilwen goodnight, yet still have her in arm. All the talk of wishing to wed her had great meaning; for each night should be like this when they were gifted their union, and he would never have to worry about being separate from her, nor leaving her alone. Faeldor kissed the woman’s cheek. “I am taking my goodnight kiss now that we are alone. I wished it earlier, though the street was far too busy,” he smiled, taking Gilwen’s lips against his for some moments. He was not passionate or arduous, simply loving.

[Gilwen]

“He thinks you are expecting?”

She blushed as Faeldor dropped his gaze to examine her. “Y-yes,” she stammered nervously gripping her hands together. “He is quite sure that we…have had plenty of opportunity to…” Her voice trailed off and she could not bring herself to finish the sentence. She knew she was not with child; there was no way in Arda she could be. Faeldor and she had kept true to the honor and virtue they had been instilled with. He was not swine, and she was not a harlot.

As Gilwen worked to clean Faeldor’s arm, her acute senses had not missed the winces and grumbles of pain that her love had made. She showed no sign of seeing them, however, and simply kept working, trying to be extra gentle, though with the severity of the gash it was impossible to keep all pain away.

She was certain his arm still pained him even after she had cared and tended to his wound, and so she slowly and tenderly bent to kiss his forehead again, this time taking her hand to brush his cheek. He tried so hard to be strong for her; she knew him to be strong. She did not know why he fought so frantically to prove it to her. “By the Valar, you will not let me have my way until you are through, will you, dear?” She smiled softly and righted herself, quietly folding the cloth she had used to wipe the blood from his arm. “I should think you should wish to keep your arm,” she said quietly, though perhaps lightly. “However would you hold me?” She teased. Perhaps she was working hard to regain and salvage the evening once more. She was not one to normally jest. But tonight. Her soul needed such lightness now.

He grasped her hand, and she made no protest, though perhaps inwardly laughed at his doting actions. It was barely even a scratch that she had taken, yet Faeldor tended to Gilwen’s hand with the same interest and care that she had just moments before gifted him. “I am sorry that there is more trouble to your hands. I can hardly think how the lye water of the mornings washings will pain you more.” Her smile faded from her eyes and lips, and she dropped her eyes to the floor. “I have had worse,” she muttered aside. Truly, the thought of work she desired to be far from her mind. She did not wish to rise tomorrow and march into the palace. And now! Oh, she had been foolish and forgot her uniform. Surely she would be penalized for such a thing; more than likely sent home. Her heart felt instantly weighted again. Her father would be furious. She was even disappointed with herself this time.

Gentle words interrupted her, though. As Faeldor finished he spoke of her loveliness in such a way that drew a color to her cheeks. But it eased her sould, and shoved the thoughts of work away from her mind for a while longer. She did not have to deal with them until morning. He sat her down upon the bed, removed her boots for her and then sat down beside her, though followed such an action with a curious statement.

“Will it trouble you to sleep beside me?”

Gilwen wondered at the statement. Had they not done such a thing already? She did not respond verbally, for Faeldor came to kiss her cheek, and then took his goodnight kiss from her with a tender brush against her lips. As he finished and pulled away, Gilwen was quite silent, though stilled and comforted. She slowly worked her hand into his, staring at him for a long moment, lifting her hand to trace his jaw thoughtfully a moment. How Beregar would scold her for this. “I would have you hold me,” she said ever so softly. She did not wish to be without his warmth and protection. She needed him beside her this evening. She had come to be with him, and there was no foul disregard to morals by simply letting him hold her. Not when she equally desired it. She would let him lay his head down, and she would fall in place beside him.

There would be a time when such a thing was commonplace. Where her beloved would not have need to ask for her permission to draw her against him or join her for the night. Their days had been tried; they both needed each other for different forms of comfort. Faeldor would probably feel best if he was protectively beside her, and she. Well, Gilwen wished to know she was utterly safe, and the feeling her love gave her was certainly security.