Malintended Murk, Mire, and Mud

[Faeldor]

“Barahel, hurry now. We shall not waste our time walking at the pace of a snail,” Rosiel chastised sharply. The dark haired child, just over five years old almost ran at the woman’s side, though her freedom to linger was taken from her as Rosiel grasped the little girls hand, dragging her along at the pace of a quick adult stride.

“Stop pulling on me,” the girl whined, her little face pressed into a pert frown. “I hate that, stop it!” She tried to pull her little arm from her cousin’s grip.

“Shut your mouth, you little brat. I hate that you are walking with me. So perhaps we are both in the same accord,” Rosiel sputtered, not looking down at Barahel, but jerking her arm forward. “And stop dragging your feet, you will scuff your shoes.”

Barahel protested with another whine, though attempted to quicken her legs pace, that her arm might not be yanked on so. She hated to visit the city, because her father would always leave her with her older cousins. Almurdir was always kind to her, reading to her, and sitting her on his lap. Though, she grew bored with his long hours in the study, and after a time would ask to do something else. That was when her aunt suggested she go on errand with Rosiel. She hated to go with Rosiel! She was always so mean and bossy! “You are stupid. I hate you, Rosiel,” she whined again, a bit louder.

The walk from Rosiel’s house to the stables was not increasingly long, though the child was making it so! A few heads had turned as the unruly child made her last exclaimation. What a thing for a child to say!

The woman had hoped to check in at the stables, to see her Stablemaster, hoping that perhaps he would be on his mid-morning break. It seemed that almost as they had made their way to the great entryway, and Rosiel could smell the horses. She smiled. Despite the fact that the ‘smell of horse’ was excruciating in her mind, to her nose it did not matter as much as she attested.

“Let. Go. Of. Me!” Barahel was protesting and pulling hard now, yanking on her arm at every word. “I hate horses. I don’t want to go see them. Let me go. I want to go to my Papa! I hate you. Let go!” The little mouth spewed out words faster than Rosiel could chastise her for them, and though the woman’s grip was heavy on the child, the little arm twisted and turned and only a moment later, Barahel had freed herself. “I hate you! I am never coming back!” The pert little face with its dark curls and ivory skin was only seen for a moment longer as she took of past the stables; little legs going as quick as they might!

“Barahel!” Rosiel screeched after her. For Eru’s sake, they had almost made it to the stable and now this! She knew this would happen, as soon as her mother had told her to take the little girl along. The girl was out of sight for a moment, and Rosiel started after her in a quick paced walk. She would very well not be forgiven by her family if she lost the little one, even if she did think her a brat, undeserving of her time. As she turned the corner, she saw the little girl take off up the path to the seventh tier.

Rosiel frowned momentarily, lifting her skirts to quicken her pace, in honest worry. The child could get into much trouble on the seventh tier, and that would do their family name no good! Though, she thought she saw a few eyes turn toward her, and slowed. She would not look unkempt, running about the streets in the same manner as the child, though she was flustered and upset. She followed the little footsteps all the way up to the courtyard of the seventh tier, where Barahel had become distracted, looking at the fountain, and it was not long until Rosiel had caught up to her. She was just about to yell at the girl, and perhaps even in her frustration shake her, though something else caught her eye.

Perhaps the Valar had led them here for this opportune moment, for even as she stood, she saw her; Gilwen. The young woman appeared to be making her way to work, and did not seem in much of a rush. She was walking toward the palace, probably enjoying the warmth, for it was a fine day for this late in the season. Even as Gilwen moved closer to the palace, Rosiel’s mind was rampant with ideas, and it was only the sight a brown puddle up ahead; leftover from the previous evening’s rain, and trampled enough by men during the day that the water was no longer clear, that gave her the perfect plan.

“Barahel, come with me… I shall teach you a lesson that you should learn now. Hush, don’t say anything. It will be amusing for you,” Rosiel’s voice was smiling as she spoke, and her grip was not tight upon the little girl. With such treatment, Barahel did not protest or try to run again, but she was in honest interested in whatever it was that her older cousin had to show her.

“What is it?” the little girl asked.

“Shh…” Rosiel hushed her, smiling and stepping lightly. “Now stay by me; do not run off;” she added happily, releasing the little girl’s hand. Barahel obediently followed as they went.

Soon enough, Rosiel had reached her target of mal intent. She quickened her pace to catch up with her, following not far behind for just a moment. Then, at the opportune time and step, Rosiel moved in a way that perhaps only a sly fox or cat would, feigning what might have appeared as a stumble to the public surrounding them; but what was certainly not. She caught the woman’s shoulder against the palm of her hand, and at the same time stepped on her foot and pushed her roughly. It was not a force that anyone unawares could attend with; and the murky puddle at their feet was quite welcoming for the smaller woman. The hem of Rosiel’s skirt was splashed with mud, though it hardly mattered for the amusement she had just gained. Wouldn’t Miriel be pleased? This was so much better than wash water. Little Barahel had caught up to Rosiel, in a bit of shock, and stood at her side, gripping slightly upon her skirt.

“Oh forgive me, my Lady, I am so sorry!” Rosiel gasped, her hand feigning surprise as it shot to her mouth. “I did not mean it!” It was perhaps the first time that Rosiel had spoken in an un-conniving tone to Gilwen, though it was not honest; she held her voice well though. “Oh… wait…” Rosiel’s voice now contained a smirk of amusement that she could not hide beneath her sweetness.

“Is that you, Gilwen? The starlight waif beneath all that mud?” Her tone was velvety, and she laughed slightly. Little Barahel looked up at her cousin, wondering why she was laughing. “Perhaps I am not sorry. You see, Barahel, this girl is in the scum hole she deserves. This is where people of her breeding belong. You must never let one like her take what you rightfully deserve. Go ahead though, you are a child and children like to play in the mud along with the waifs.”

Barahel smiled slightly, that Rosiel was speaking with her so nicely, though had no comprehension of what she was saying. Rosiel demonstrated, dipping the toe of her boot in the murky water, creating a rippled effect as she pulled away, and a further splattered effect upon Gilwen’s skirt.

“There, you try,” Rosiel smirked. “It’s just what a little harlot such as her deserves. Poor thing. Oh, she’s so filthy she won’t even be able to work for her supper tonight. You’ll certainly have a time finding a filthy man to take you now in this state. And you’ll have to consort to an alleyway, because I hardly thing even the most low down first tier man would take someone so filthy into a home. Though I suppose you need the fresh air and exercise at the end of the day anyhow, after scrubbing floors with lye and emptying chamber pots all day.” Rosiel’s grin was wide at this point, and Barahel laughed, though mostly only at the mention of chamber pots. Rosiel smiled at the little girl, which only encouraged her to stop down in the mud puddle.

“Good job, little one, that is the only way someone such as this girl deserves to be treated,” Rosiel praised her, and Barahel beamed. The praise was enough encouragement for her little boot to again find it’s way into the puddle and kick the murky water right into Gilwen’s face. Barahel squealed in laughter, and Rosiel almost did the same.

“There now, Bara, don’t dirty your boots any more for someone like that…” Rosiel preened happily. Barahil was entirely into the matter now though, and had bent down, sticking both hands into the mud and splashing it on Gilwen, and even afterwards, taking a handful of the scum, and with a quick little hand, shoving a handful of the muck to Gilwen’s lips.

Rosiel laughed aloud, and the little girl was encouraged, bending for more mud, though even Rosiel knew that she had to stop her. “There now, little one, that is enough play for now,” she reached for the little body, pulling her back from the puddle by the arm. “Your Papa won’t be happy that you’ve gotten so dirty. Though at least we can change you. I doubt Gilwen has another thing to put on. She’ll be dressed in brown all day now,” Rosiel smirked, her eyes glinting at the woman.

[Gilwen]

Gilwen had been able to sleep in for a time. It was a blessed change of pace for the serving woman, who seemed to find that the makings of dawn were her own midmorning. Or, so it seemed at times. A little over two weeks ago, Gilwen’s home had been inundated with four more bodies. Her uncle, her aunt and her two younger cousins. They were the only family that she truly had other than her own mother and father, and it had at first been a thrill to see them. She had not seen them in some time, and the newness of their company had given her great joy; but it was not long before she realized perhaps why her father had not kept so happily in touch with them.

Her uncle was a placid man; calm, mild, and in every way gentle. She had quite enjoyed seeing him, and she could tell that her parents had as well. It was his wife and eldest daughter that seemed to have the family soured, for their personalities were harping and meddling; it was as if she lived now with a Miriel and Rosiel of her own. Though her youngest cousin was lovely indeed. Soft spoken, though talkative and certainly held a heart that was of pure gold.

This morning had been spent in her company, simply talking. While it was hard for Gilwen to speak at times, it was not unbearable to pass conversation with Verya and they had found themselves on many topics, one of which was Verya’s interest in Gilwen’s own courtship.

The time for her to leave had come too soon, and Gilwen had promised to continue the conversation later upon her arrival home from work that evening. Verya had not been offset by Beregar’s foul talk of Faeldor, nor had the rumors phased her in the least. The other two females of the home had swept right up into them and had seemed to fuel her father over the past few weeks, and Gilwen held an inkling that it was because her older cousin Merilla found Faeldor attractive herself.

Nonetheless it was a lovely day out and Gilwen had set off quite relaxed in spirits. Merilla could spy upon her and her Faeldor all she desired; they had done nothing to defame each other, or ever done anything more than catch each other’s eye upon the doorstep. All of the foul things she spoke were false, and Gilwen desired deeply not to think on them any more.

She had worked her way upward without much regard on time. It seemed that she did not realize she was on the seventh tier until she could see the courtyard herself. Blessed Eru! Perhaps the day would go by fast!

Just as the pleasant thoughts had come to her mind and the woman had dared smile quietly to herself, then did she feel a horrible shove against her and Gilwen fell down with a dirty splash into a pile of mud-water. “Oh forgive me, my Lady, I am so sorry!”

The voice. Gilwen’s eyes shot up. Rosiel.

More words were passed, but Gilwen did not hear them. She was in far too much of a shock to truly understand anything. She looked down upon her servant’s dress and frowned. She could feel the water soaking through it, and the woman was flared a slight in anger from the fact the dress was ruined.

She did not notice that Rosiel had egged the little child beside her on, though she did see the child sweep in to stomp in the mud puddle, and felt the added muck splashed over her. “Please, stop,” Gilwen pleaded quietly, though regretted such a thing immediately as a handful of dirt and sod was shoved at her lips.

The woman began to cough and gag, turning her head downward to try and wipe some of the mud free from her face with her sleeve, though it was hardly helpful. It was covered in mud already.

“Your Papa won’t be happy that you’ve gotten so dirty. Though at least we can change you. I doubt Gilwen has another thing to put on. She’ll be dressed in brown all day now.”

Gilwen frowned, and something within her snapped in anger. All at once the lady pushed herself from the ground, and turned to face Rosiel with teary but fiery brown eyes. She took a deep breath and was ready to confront Rosiel with all of the unsaid words she had kept before when something else caught her interest and changed her fury to anxiety.

“Gilwen.”

The voice of her supervisor was unmistakable, and Gilwen slowly turned and dropped into a little curtsy, noticing now all of the attention that she had attracted in her muddy and messy state. “Mistress,” she murmured quietly, keeping her eyes downcast. Her cheeks turned red beneath the brown of the mire caking to her face, and the woman clenched her hands before her and wrung her fingers together in a nervous gesture.

“What in Eru’s name has happened to you?” The woman was tall, though not nearly as old acting as she looked. It was doubtless the lady was a hard worker, and her graying brown hair seemed to be a byproduct of hard labor about the palace.

“I…” Gilwen glanced to the two behind her, Rosiel and the remarkably Rosiel-like child before casting her eyes upon the cold stone once more. The name Rosiel carried with her family was stronger than her own could ever be in reputation about the palace, and surely the child was of the same blood. “I fell,” Gilwen finished with bitter tears. She could not blame them for this here in the open; only foul things would come of it she was certain.

“I am not speaking of this, Gilwen.” The woman’s voice was clearly upset and she motioned with one flick of her wrist to the present state that Gilwen presented, matted hair and dress and wet and sodden clothes. “For ten years I have watched you in these palace halls, and never once have I had a problem with you. Now it seems that you cannot cease to cause trouble.”

Well, there had been a problem once. Gilwen still carried the marks of the punishment upon her back. But she had not done anything to draw attention to herself since then. She was always careful and prideful of her work. And looking back over the past few months certainly drew the woman to frown. Everything had gotten quite out of hand.

“Your reputation is not fit for the steward, Gilwen. A woman of…your stature,” the woman chose her words carefully, though the implication was still the same as calling her openly a sleeper or harlot, “has no business in the palace at all. I did you a favor to allow you to keep your job, and this is what you do to thank me for it?” Her voice was rising, and it was clear that the supervisor was in a tumultuous fit.

“I am sorry, milady,” Gilwen muttered guiltily. She had not meant for these things to happen.

“Sorry? Sorry does not begin to repair the damage you have done, Gilwen.”

The words were sharp, and Gilwen’s heart panged immediately and her eyes immediately flew upward look up at her supervisor.

“I am going to stop this madness before it goes any farther and do what I should have done months ago. Do not report to work any more. We no longer have a place for someone like you.” The woman looked upon her for a moment more, before turning her back on the disheveled girl to work her way back into the palace.

Gilwen was open mouthed, staring after the woman as she retreated. No longer a place for someone like you. The words danced through her mind, and with each resounding echo, her muscles tensed and her hands began to shake. Her job, the thing her family was relying on, had just been taken away.

With a heated flush, she marked the eyes that had born witness to her humiliation. How was she to pay for food now? Rent? Her entire family would become more destitute than they were already! Her heart was pounding and her head was in such a rush that for a moment, the young woman almost fell back to the mud of her own accord. But she held herself firm and steady. Atop of everything else, she did not need to look weak.

[Faeldor]

The little girl had stilled her laughter, done playing in the mud. But it appeared that Rosiel had just started. She restrained her laughter behind her palm for the time being, though certainly it could not be withheld after she retreated.

What Rosiel did not see in her mirth was the man who had come from behind. Faeldor was, on rare occasion, running late for a scheduled meeting with the Steward, and had just come upon the courtyard. He stilled his steps when he heard the raised voice of the mistress of the palace servants, and stopped in his tracks as he, and a few other’s about in the surrounding area, stopped to watch.

Faeldor’s fist came together when he saw Rosiel standing so near Gilwen. He had not seen what had ensued with that dreadful woman, though he knew from the moment he recognized her that this was her doing. He wished to wipe the grin off her face with the back of his hand, though his thoughts turned from her instantly, as he overheard what Gilwen’s supervisor stated.

No longer a place for her. They had taken her job.

His face fell, knowing that this was the greatest insult that could have been cast on the woman, and even as her supervisor retreated back toward the palace, Faeldor quickened his steps. “Gilwen,” he said firmly, his voice in frustration that he had not been able to intercede on her behalf.

“Oh, I was looking for you Faeldor. Sounds like Gilwen here is going to have to sleep with the dogs tonight. I doubt she can show her face in her household now. How will her family survive?” The malicious tone ringing in Rosiel’s voice was displayed as sweet and succulent as honey. “Why, she’d have to sleep with the Steward himself to make up for what she has lost now.”

Faeldor’s eyes shot spears through the prideful woman before him. “It would be in your best interest to not speak in such a way in public, Rosiel,” he said carefully, minding his tongue. A few people nearby also held looks of horror for the degrading way in which the woman had spoken of the Steward Denethor. Yet, Faeldor’s eyes burned more for Gilwen’s sake. “You and the child go home now,” he said harshly. “You have no business here.”

“Oh, hm… perhaps I don’t…” Rosiel preened. She was rather satisfied with what she had already done, in fact. “Faeldor, have you met my cousin Barahel yet?” She attempted to change the subject, though Faeldor was not to have any of it.

“No, hello child,” he said, sparing a glance for the little girl, who was rather adorable in her little dress, though a bit muddy herself. Faeldor did not wish to think in how it might relate to Gilwen’s state. He ignored Rosiel now, for some moments, and finally the woman saw that he would not be distracted, and made a comment for the little girl to follow her. She would meet Faeldor later; satisfied she was now with her work.

Faeldor paid her no more heed, and placed a hand on Gilwen’s shoulder. She looked so lost and forlorn! And he had not the time to comfort her now. He desired to with all his heart, though, an appointment with the Steward missed, if the man was on a foul day, could not give him favored accord with the man. He needed his job as well as Gilwen had needed hers, to support his family, and someday her own. Perhaps that day had come sooner now, than later, he realized.

With the woman in her state of dress, he certainly could not wrap her up in his arms for comfort, and so the most he did was touch the wet cloth of her dress. “I… do not know what happened…” he started slowly. “And I am late for meeting with the Steward, I cannot stay.” I cannot comfort you or protect you as you need at this time. Faeldor was torn! His sweet love needed him and he could not be with her. He took a breath, his mind returning to his hurried state. From his pocket he pulled his handkerchief and tenderly reached to wipe the mud and water from the woman’s cheek. Though, he could do not much else. There were still onlookers.

“Go home, I will meet you there as soon as my meeting is finished,” the man promised, his voice strained with the fact that he could not take her away somewhere safe and assuring at this very moment. And to know what had happened! What had Rosiel done? “I do not know how they can believe such lies,” he added, just above a whisper, and the man leaned to kiss Gilwen upon the forehead, unconcerned for the misconstrued judgement. With that, he painstakingly turned, looking sorrowfully back at Gilwen once, before making a hurried retreat for the palace, taking the steps two at a time. He could not bear to turn around and look back again, for fear that he would abandon the Steward’s meeting at her sake, and lose his job. That was not a needed prospect.

[Gilwen]

The woman was stunned, standing shakily in the courtyard. Her eyes alternated from looking at the retreating supervisor to fasting to the stones to hide her shame. She seemed all consumed, but the sound of her name being called ripped at her heart and took away her breath. “Fael,” she said horrified, turning and praying that perhaps she had heard the voice wrong.

No, she had not. Faeldor was almost to her now and instantly Gilwen’s stomach seemed to pain her in nerves. Had he seen? Had he borne witness to her greatest shame? She lowered her eyes, afraid to make eye contact with the man at all for the fear that she would find judgment in his eyes as well.

“Oh, I was looking for you Faeldor. Sounds like Gilwen here is going to have to sleep with the dogs tonight. I doubt she can show her face in her household now. How will her family survive? Why, she’d have to sleep with the Steward himself to make up for what she has lost now.”

Gilwen wallowed in the words. How was she to face her family? She could not very well keep this from them. Papa would be so furious! How had she let this get so far out of hand? She had worked hard to make up for everything; heaven knew she had slaved away for the past few weeks. How could they take it from her now?

She heard a Faeldor speak to Rosiel for a time, though was so consumed within her own bitter thoughts that she hardly heeded them at all. It wasn’t until she felt the weight of his hand upon her shoulder that she remembered she was still standing in the middle of the courtyard. She looked up for a moment, startled. Though she quickly dropped her gaze again to avoid eye contact and hide her shame.

“I… do not know what happened…and I am late for a meeting with the Steward, I cannot stay. Go home, I will meet you there as soon as my meeting is finished.”

Gilwen chanced a look back up to him, though her broken expression held also a hint of fear. Returning home. Beregar would surely do something drastic now. And she had not a means to provide for her family any longer. She could no longer provide. Her family was surely going to suffer for this!

“I do not know how they can believe such lies.”

Faeldor gifted her a small and quick kiss to the forehead, though the motion seemed to ignite her in another fit of nerves and frustration. She looked about at a few of the eyes who were still upon her, heard the sparse and low whispering that had begun as Faeldor left. Had he truly said he would meet her at her home? Oh, to make her sound as more a harlot!

For a while she was rooted in place by the weight of her fears and spirits, though finally slowly turned to head back to her home, tears beginning to stream and streak down her face. She simply wanted to change; though change into what? The only two garments she had now were the dresses that Faeldor had given her.

Everything else had been ruined.

Her dresses. Her reputation. Her family.

Ruined.

---

The door was pushed closed and Gilwen, quietly tried to haul off to her small bedroom, pushing through the sitting room and attempting to avoid any confrontation by her guests. All eyes were on her, though, as she ghosted through the doorway, and Merilla could not well let her pass without uttering something. “Oh, Gilwen, you’re home! Gracious you are tracking mud all through the house!”

Gilwen’s brown eyes rose to look at her, and the serving woman’s steps faltered a slight. It took her some time to find the words, and even when she spoke them they were soft. “I…I shall clean it.” she murmured.

Niniel frowned from their kitchen. “Gilwen, what in Eru’s name happened?”

The young lady began to tremble once more, scenes flashing through her mind from the moments earlier that had completely destroyed her, seeking the words to describe or begin to explain. Just as she was about to open her lips to begin, however, Merilla took over for her “Oh, I am certain she would be! It must be ever so tiring to work in the palace and go visiting! Perhaps she fainted from exhaustion into a puddle.” The words were thick with a feeling of accomplishment. Her eldest cousin, Gilwen was sure, relished in the act of playing with the family situation.

Beregar snapped his eyes upward, “Visiting?” He asked a bit roughly.

“No, Papa. I hardly have time to go visiting.” Gilwen replied quickly. “Do excuse me, I…need to change.” She slowly moved toward her door to wash up. She would speak to her father over the matter of a lost job in a moment when she was not dirty and soaking wet. At least stares could be avoided from the way she presented herself, if they could not from her situation.

“Come now, Gilwen,” Merilla sang as she weaved her way through the crowd of people that now called the tiny little house a home. “You needn’t be ashamed of it. He is right handsome, that one.” A sneer worked its way across her lips, and Gilwen’s heart sank even more. Could things not go well for a change?

She looked to her father, then, and Beregar was certainly fuming. Niniel chewed her bottom lip, and Verya quietly said, “You do look exhausted, Gilwen. After you change, you should head off to sleep for a time. We will mind the noise.”

For only being two and twenty, Verya was by far the most mature of Gilwen’s two cousins. It was perhaps Merilla’s lack of suitors and esteem that caused her to lash out in such childish ways. “Yes, dear,” Niniel piped up, crossing to her. “Give me those clothes before you lay down, I shall see what I can clean off of them.

A bit of an anger welled up within her for the extra people that had taken refuge in their home, and while Gilwen knew she should not feel so bitter over the matter, it seemed that all things were wearing thin upon her. She crossed to the doorway, slipping inside to begin undressing, quietly listening to the conversations outside her door.

“Merilla, does she visit often?” Her aunt’s voice inquired sharply. Gilwen almost groaned.

“Well, often enough, I would say.” Merilla replied. As if she knew anything of Gilwen’s day! “That Stable Master does spend enough time with our Gilwen.”

Beregar scoffed. “I cannot believe he insists on seeing her! I have ordered him to let her alone. But you,” he must have turned toward Niniel there. “You have condoned their time together!”

“Beregar, please. Watch your voice, it is not as if she will not be able to hear you. And yes, Faeldor is good for her; he is a good man, and if you would allow it, he would be a good husband for her. He provides already—“

“Do you mean to imply I cannot provide for my own family?” Beregar barked.

“No. I mean to say that he could give Gilwen things we cannot—“

Merilla laughed there, and Niniel’s words stopped. Gilwen frowned as she lay in the darkness. “Yes. He could,” she finally said. “Like children. Uncle, I would not lie to you. I agree with you—he is not well for her. I have seen them together.”

“Do you not control your daughter?!” Merilwen cried in response. “I should say that I would not like my daughters learning from yours.”

Faeron seemed to utter something quietly, that must have been a protest against his wife’s statement. Indeed, Verya spoke up in agreement with him. “Mother, Father is right. Gilwen is a fine young woman, and she and Faeldor do nothing but wait for approval of a betrothal.”

Yes, Verya had liked him and thought him a fine man, just as Niniel and Gilwen had.

“And if she were my daughter,” Merilwen started again, “they would not have it. And mark my words, by what I hear of your daughter’s actions, Beregar, you shall have grandchildren by her anyway.”

Niniel had become angered by this, and immediately following the statement, her voice cut in quite firmly, “That is quite enough. My daughter is virtuous, and you have no right over her at all.”

“Well, this is why she is incorrigible. She does get it from her mother. If you wish to right her, Beregar,” the woman’s voice turned even sterner. “It would be best to get her out of this house.”

Gilwen was utterly aghast at such a statement. Her aunt, perhaps, had never been a woman she admired or adored. But this! To even suggest that she should be sent from the house! Anxiously, Gilwen waited to hear her father’s answer. But no reply came. Instead, she hurriedly finished changing and washing, and emerged once more, wearing the heavy riding dress that Faeldor had gifted her for her birthday a few weeks prior, relishing in the heavy coat for the chill she felt in her bones.

“Here, Gilwen. I shall take those,” Niniel said sweetly as she grasped the muddy pile of clothing into her hands. “It does seem you have had a horrid start to your day,” she observed sympathetically.

Gilwen could not take it any longer. “They took it,” she gasped desperately.

Everyone stopped and stared at her a moment and Beregar’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Who took what, Gilwen?” He had already drawn conclusions over certain matters of virtue, though did await to hear her answer. “My mistress. My position. They…they took it.” It was hurried, and Gilwen’s eyes shot nervously about the room.

“They took your work, Gilwen?” Beregar asked lowly. “For what?” His voice began to climb, and it was clear he was livid and furious. “For your wasted reputation or the fact you have shrugged and shirked off duties to fall into defiant behavior? If you disobey me, I am sure you disobey them!”

Niniel moved forward a moment, neither of the parents noticing their daughter in her doorway. “Beregar, please. Calm yourself—“

“Do not speak to me of what I will do!” Beregar snapped, quickly turning to face his wife, who had frozen mid move toward him. “Gilwen!” He half screamed. “We have raised you better than this! You have tarnished our name, and now taken the only means we had for living away. For what? Pleasures and time alone with a man?”

Pleasures? Shirked her obligations? Gilwen frantically stepped forward. “No, Papa. I—“

“Do not dare call me by that name with your filthy mouth!” Beregar continued storming, taking a step forward and finally blocking Niniel’s path to their daughter. Gilwen flinched, and she took a step back as if in self-defense. It seemed as if he was about to strike her, with the dangerous glare in his eye and the twitching of his fists by his side.

There was a silence that followed, and Beregar was taking many deep breaths to calm his nerves, and his storming temper; though it was not helpful. His eyes were still cold and feral, and his veins still seemed to show on his neck. “You,” he spat at her, “You are a disgrace to this family. Was it not enough you dirtied yourself by your lewd behavior, Gilwen? Did you feel the need to let your erotic escapades come haunt us as well?”

Gilwen dropped her mouth open as if to speak. She had never done anything of the sort! The tears in her eyes were that of betrayal. Her father would never believe anything she claimed otherwise; and she had thought that his love for her would outweigh those horrid rumors that had been started in the palace! “Papa, I—“

“What did I say!?” Beregar erupted, causing this time both mother and daughter to jump. “A daughter would never disgrace their father and mother this way!” There was a beat of silence, and it seemed placed simply to make the next sentence a dagger into Gilwen’s heart. “You are no child of mine.”

Gilwen was shaking now. How could such a rumor destroy everything like this, when there was no truth in it at all? How could her father hate her so much for something she had not done? And all for Rosiel’s little shove into a mud puddle this morning!

“Merilwen is right. There is only one thing to do to save the honor of this family.”

“Beregar!” Niniel gasped, appalled. Their daughter was virtuous. She was a victim of a horrid rumor, not an obscene and wayward streetwalker. Such words were sure to wound the family deeply.

“Niniel,” he spat over his shoulder. Beregar’s tone was enough to silence the woman, who was standing wide-eyed behind her husband. He shifted his eyes back to his daughter who was utterly broken in the middle of the living room. “Get out of my house.”

“You cannot send her out to the streets, Beregar!” Niniel shrieked, completely stunned that her husband would do such a thing.

“You cannot tell me what to do in my home!” Beregar boomed, wheeling and turning to his wife. “Go to the bedroom.”

“Not until—“

“Now!”

Stunned, and with tears in her eyes, Niniel set her lips into a straight line, clenching her fists by her side. She slowly shook her head, and then turned to take the short steps to Gilwen’s bedroom, pausing only to gift Merilwen a daggered glare as she passed. There was nothing she would be able to say to him to convince him to let Gilwen stay, and he was the head of house. Still, it sickened her that he would cast her aside like that. Their own daughter! Their only daughter! She slammed the door behind her and threw herself across the bed and began to weep, Verya rising to go console her, while Mirella simply smirked amongst the shadows.

Beregar paid her no mind, and after watching to make sure she closed the door, turned back to Gilwen, who had not moved an inch. “Was I unclear?” He asked her firmly.

Her father’s contempt was radiating, so she quickly decided that it was best not to dawdle, or indeed to speak any words to her youngest cousin or her mother. “You have done the right thing,” Merilwen was saying, giving Gilwen a contemptuous glare as he emerged.

She faltered and looked at her father once more, as if she expected him to change his mind; but he just glared back at her, and motioned for the door. Still, she did not cry, merely turned and led herself out the door and onto the street, shutting it behind her. That was when the recognition came.

Her lips began to tremble, and her eyes to burn. Had her father been so pushed over the edge? It was certainly not the first time someone had come to their door. Why did he throw her out like this now? She had not moved from the doorway, and her knees felt altogether weak. What was she to do now? Where was she to go? To Faeldor?

Heavens no. She could never do that! His family was large as it was, he did not need her there. Aside from that, what would her father say about such a bold statement of her lewdness? And Faeldor would be positively fuming that she had been forced out of her own home! As upset as she was by her father’s treatment of her, she was not about to spur a physical confrontation on her beloved’s part. She loved them both dearly, and to see them harm each other like that would kill her.

To Arien’s? No, the seamstress worked too hard to be imposed upon in such a manner. And the servant was the older of the two. Certainly Gilwen was supposed to be able to hold her own just as well as Arien. She could not do such a thing to her friend.

More than this; Gilwen was too proud to seek such help. So it was settled…she would find a place elsewhere, and none would know. She finally pulled herself from her doorway, warily letting her brown eyes fly over the streets. They seemed relatively empty at this time of day, and inwardly she prayed that gracious Eru would keep her safe as she sought a place to keep herself.

An inn? No, she did not have the funds for such a thing. It would seem the woman would have no roof over her head at all. She was walking briskly, perhaps trying to spur her mind to think of a destination equally as fast. She did not wish to be out and about like this. Even with Faeldor standing with her, men had approached; and when that dreadful man had come to her alone, by the grace of the Valar he had come to her aide. Now, though, her valiant warrior would not be there to rescue her.

[Faeldor]

Faeldor’s smile throughout his meeting with the Steward was halfhearted. Of course nothing could be taken on good accord when asked to meet with the Steward Denethor, so most of the higher authority in the city of Minas Tirith would have the same feeling. It was either for Lord Denethor to tell them that they were not up to standards in their work, that a severe change or accommodation needed to take place, or for an added responsibility.

She had not even looked at him! Faeldor did not think ill of the lovely woman, by any means. If she thought so, he would surely inform her otherwise. It was not her own fault that her job had been taken from her. She had worked diligently, and hard. Her exhaustion over the past months, the state of her health, and her hands; they all gave testimony that she was working with all her might.

It was the fault of others; many others, who had played into rumors. Miriel had started it; Durion had accelerated it. Rosiel had done enough to add. Countless others had been involved. Gilwen’s coworkers… the other servants, the men on the streets. Faeldor sat in contemplation as Lord Denethor spoke to him. At rights he wanted to change the subject from horses and breeds to the fact that employed by him were so many slanderous, lying souls! Though, the man knew in his heart that a single servant in the palace halls would not bring great concern to the Steward of all Gondor.

He tried to refocus his attention, nodding as the man spoke. By the end of the session, it was evident that indeed, he had been given an added responsibility, and that was to begin business dealings in Lossarnach, where a man had apparently a breed of horses that famed to be descendent of the Mearas breed of Rohan. Whether it was true or not, was for Faeldor to decide. He was to be sent out today, and spend a few days in Lossarnach working with the horses, and purchasing them if they lived up to the word of mouth. The captains of Minas Tirith deserved only the strongest, and fastest, war horses afterall.

Some hours later, Faeldor made his way from the palace halls, exhausted, though eager to depart. A man in love with horses was keen on seeking this breed. Though, Faeldor’s love for Gilwen had become greater than that which he bore for the equines and he was aching to jog immediately down to the first tier to take her up in his arms.

Nonetheless, he had his own duties to perform, and Faeldor returned to the stables to as well put the head groom in charge and lay out the orders for the next few days. No sooner had he done so, than did he mount Lumiel, and leave the warmly lit hall. It was not long before the man had made a stop at his own home, to inform his mother of his plans, and change from his finer meeting clothes, to some for travel.

Upon kissing his mother and grandmother, and Miriel and the children farewell, he left for a moment in the back gardens. The sorrow that Gilwen must have held for loss of her position was paining him, and he did not know what he could tell her, and now he was being sent away. Well, he would not be stilled from stopping at her household to at least bid her farewell, that she would know he was simply on errand and not avoiding her, as he had done before.

The man plucked some of the early autumn blooms from the flowering plants in the garden, in hopes that he could draw a smile from Gilwen before his departure. To know that she would be well was his greatest concern, for now, the only thing he could picture of her was her downcast, weary face from the courtyard some hours past. He sighed, moving around through the gate, and once more mounting Lumiel.

The winding way of the tiers seemed longer than ever. Surely the man loved when he was presented with outings, for to have the time of day to gallop across the plains was not often likely; and there were often family affairs on his days off. To be out of doors, and astride his horse on a fine day, on mission to do work that he loved, would be an ideal dream of any horse master. Though, his heart could not be lightened! Even as he reached the first tier in the mid-afternoon, he anxiously wished to see Gilwen. It was not long before he had reached her doorstep, dismounted, and stood a bit forlorn upon it, the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

What if Beregar answered? Would he turn him away immediately? Faeldor had not gone to inquire after Gilwen’s hand yet this week, though the door was often slammed in his face when he had previously. He took a deep breath, and knocked. Even if Beregar were to send him away immediately, he would force him to take the flowers he had for Gilwen, and he would call into the house for her; that she knew he had come for her and kept his promise.

[Gilwen]

A war had seemingly raged in the house of Beregar, the stubborn will of Gilwen’s father and mother coming to a head in a match of raised voices and bitter tears. It had not taken long for Beregar to retreat from the house and make his way elsewhere in the city, slamming the door frustrated behind him, and for Niniel to exhaust herself and go to lay down in Gilwen’s own bed, spending her tears in her seeking for sleep.

It had left Merilwen and Merilla with Verya and Faeron in the sitting room, and such a tenseness had lasted even through that, the father and youngest daughter having sided with Niniel while the other two were set that Beregar had taken the appropriate action.

Verya had excused herself shortly after, and Faeron himself had gone to lay down in the master bedroom where he and his wife had been sleeping the past few weeks, Verya moving to join Niniel in Gilwen’s room upon the floor.

Merilwen and Merilla were beginning to pass joyful conversation between each other, both working on a bit of embroidery that they had recently started. The day had been very quiet; a mocking silence compared to the uproars of the afternoon.

A knock sounded at the door, and Merilwen looked to Merilla. “You best get the door, dear. If it is Gilwen, I would not be able to resist the urge to strike her.”

“Of course, Mother.” Merilla stood, placing the stitching down upon the couch and crossing to the door and opening it with full intents to jibe and prod at Gilwen to send her off once more, though found herself face to face with someone she did not expect.

Faeldor was standing before her, hand clutching a few lovely blooms and a facial expression of grave concern. “Oh, Master Faeldor,” Merilla hummed aloud, leaning elegantly against the door with a smile. “Whatever can I help you with?”

Clearly the vagrant had not gone to him for assistance, for it certainly looked as if he had come seeking Gilwen herself. For a moment her mind wandered curiously to what the young lady had done with herself since she had walked out the door earlier that morning, though offered very little care to it either way, and instead kept a steady smile for the stable master before her.

[Faeldor]

His knock was obliged after only a few moments, and Faeldor was relieved when the door was opened, smooth and gentle by one of the ladies of the house. The lady was smiling at him, and as the man looked past her into the room, he saw no angry man rushing for the door, nor were there swords flying at him. He let out a relieved sigh.

“Hello, my Lady,” Faeldor said courteously to the young woman. He might have called her by name, had he remembered her name. Well, he remembered her name, and her sister’s name. But for the life of them, he could not tell the two apart. Was it Verya or Merilla then? Gilwen had said they were not twins, but the man was still confounded.

“I had come looking for Gilwen,” he answered her. His eyes searched the room once more, as if she would be present. He had said that he would come for her, and had half expected the woman to be waiting near the door in anticipation of it. “Is she not in?” he questioned concernedly, his eyes sought the closed door of her bedroom. If they had locked her in again, he would take out the window.

The man’s thoughts were drawn. Surely if she had been present, she would have come to him already. It did appear that Beregar was out, for the short conversation had drawn no anger. He was almost relieved, though the young woman that was one of Gilwen’s cousins gave him almost a loathing feeling. He did not like the way she looked at him; it was in the same way that Rosiel cast her eyes upon the Stable Master.

Faeldor could not spare the Steward’s time though. He had to go for his task, and be done with it; whether or not he could bid his lady farewell. While it would have been nice to sit and talk with Niniel in kind, even if Gilwen had not been present, her cousin and aunt did seem a bit detestable. Gilwen had more than once left her home in the morning with a look of frustration over her family. Though she never rightly told Faeldor why she was so upset. The woman often seemed content to lend her focus to her Stable Master instead; and as long as she was safe and happy with him Faeldor allowed it. Though, he did wonder.

[Gilwen]

“I had come looking for Gilwen. Is she not in?”

Merilla frowned momentarily. “Oh, no. She certainly is not.” Her voice held tracings of displeasure, feigned for the stablemaster’s sake; mock sorrow that indeed Gilwen was indeed out and missed his visit. “It was a trying day for her, you must understand. She is probably getting ample fresh air. I do hope the dear holds up well,” Merilla weaved fancifully, somewhat enjoying the fact that Faeldor had no inkling as to how severe everything was at that moment, and that the reason Gilwen was getting plenty of fresh air was because she had no roof to take shelter in.

She studied as Faeldor glanced about the room behind her. Slowly she smiled. “Most of the house is otherwise occupied,” she offered, glancing over her shoulder as well and making eye contact with her mother for a moment who looked completely stern and disapproving of the man at the door. She had stopped her stitching to look up and watch the situation. “I can perhaps relay a message to her if you would wish me to,” Merilla finished looking back to the man once more.

“I am certain she shall like to hear from you when she returns, and be glad you stopped by. I would invite you in so you could wait for her, but I am afraid she shall not be back for some time.”

Merilwen scoffed in the background and returned to her work. “The air should do her good,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Merilla smiled slightly, though strove to hid such a thing from Faeldor. She glanced at his clothing, and then the packs he had strapped to his horse’s side. “You do seem ready for travel. I do hope she was not to go with you!”

[Faeldor]

“A message, yes, that will have to do I suppose,” Faeldor said, relieved that he had something to offer, yet worried at the same time. They did not even know where she was? Simply outside? On the first tier? Alone? His heart quickened and ached slightly at the thought that he could not search for her this very instant.

Perhaps she had taken a trip out to the plains. Though, he was certain that she was more cautious about it now, after the fiasco on her birthday. Perhaps, well, perhaps she had gone to see Arien. He reassured himself with that idea. It was better to be wandering up to Arien’s dress shop alone, than to be wandering the plains or the first tier alone. Faeldor’s eyes turned to Merilwen as she seemed to laugh in the background. He frowned; wondering whatever could be so funny with his situation.

“You do seem ready for travel. I do hope she was not to go with you!”

“Ah… yes,” Faeldor started from his thoughts, “I mean, no, she was not to go with me, though. When she returns would you please tell her that I am going on errand for the Steward, to Lossarnach for a few days. I will possibly be back in two nights, though it may be three or four. Will you let her know then? And that I will need to speak with her on my return.” The man hoped with all hope that he would run into Gilwen on the way out of the city, yet his heart was still heavy.

“And perhaps you could put these somewhere for her to find later?” He held forth the blooms in his hand. They had been meant to cheer her, and bring a pretty smile to her face. She deserved to smile more than she was allowed it. He sighed, taking a step back from the doorway. It was distressing to leave her here in the city now, after what had happened this morning, and not even have a chance to speak with her. Surely, she would not doubt his love for it though. Her cousin would let her know, and while perhaps she would worry, he would return to the city well and ready to wrap the little woman up in his arms. It would be good to look forward to such a thing, rather than to dwell on the fact that it was not what he was doing right now.

[Gilwen]

Merilla smiled and waited as Faeldor did seem ready to leave a message. She watched carefully as a wave of concern washed through his grey eyes and was quickly covered again and suppressed. A bit of it brought great amusement to Merilla. She had thought certainly Gilwen would have gone directly to him for her comfort and to find a place to lay her head for a time. Though clearly she had not so much as spoken a single thing to him since she had left those hours ago.

“Ah…yes. I mean, no, she was not to go with me, though. When she returns would you please let her know that I am going on errand for the Steward, to Lossarnach for a few days. I will possibly be back in two nights, though it may be three or four. Will you let her know then? And that I will need to speak with her on my return.”

“Oh, good. I would hate to think that she had forgotten such a date with you,” Merilla chimed as he finished speaking on how Gilwen was not to have joined him. She listened easily for the rest of his winding words and then smiled. “You are an important man for the Steward to set you with such responsibility. I do hope your travels are safe, Master Faeldor. I do think I heard of your last excursion; the one on our dear Gilwen’s birthday? I shall let her know that you will be gone as soon as I see her next, and while I will also say that you will need speak with her, I doubt she shall have a problem at all allowing you that.” She smiled silkily, drumming her fingers against the wooden door slowly and watching his facial expression some more.

Her cousin was rather plain to have attracted a man as handsome as this.

“And perhaps you could put these somewhere for her to find later?”

“Oh, those are quite lovely!” Merilla said with a glinting eye as she took the flowers from Faeldor’s outstretched hand. “I will make sure she finds these. Perhaps beside her bedside so Uncle does not see them.” She paused a moment to smell them and finger the petals, as if the bouquet was for her. “Oh, I am certain this shall cheer her. However thoughtful of you.”

Merilla had already made up in her mind to keep the flowers, for indeed the blossoms were lovely in color and smelled equally as grand. They would find their way to Gilwen’s room though, for it was there she and her sister had been staying for the past two and a half weeks.

She turned her attention back to Faeldor. “I do hope your travels go well, and that your errand does not put you in to much harm.” She hummed in a rather lovely way, putting forth her best smile for him. “I should hate to see harm come to you, after all.” She finished rather suggestively, though only lingered in the doorway for more than a moment before stepping back.

“I shall relay your message, though. And give her your flowers. I would not wish to keep you from your duties.”

[Faeldor]

Faeldor nodded, “Thank you,” he said shortly as the woman took the flowers. He watched her finger the petals, and hold them up to smell, while he smiled slightly. If she enjoyed the flowers, certainly Gilwen would. It seemed that flowers were bane to a woman’s heart. One could not be given a bloom and then frown.

“And if you do not mind to tell your Uncle, that I should not make it for my appointment this week; but he should be sure to expect me next week upon the same day,” he smiled slightly. Perhaps the young woman at the door would have no mind as to what he meant by such a statement. Faeldor had certainly shown his face to Beregar weekly to ask properly for Gilwen’s hand. He would not wish to give the man the inclination that he had given up, by his missing this week’s meeting.

Faeldor took a breath, “To you and the others, take care,” and he tried to draw a smile back to his face upon departure. Just for the fact that Beregar drove him mad did not mean that the Stablemaster need be rude to Beregar’s family. He could treat them in all kindness, perhaps, and they would perhaps be willing to allow Gilwen to him in marriage. Certainly, they could play an influence on Beregar’s mood and ideas. Though, the man did not fully know how much they already had laid influence over the man. Enough for him to send his own daughter out on the streets.

With that, Faeldor gave a brisk wave, and stepped back toward Lumiel. He skillfully mounted, her and with hardly a glance behind, set off. Though his eyes were ever focused upon the crowds and the people, he reached the Great Gate without as much as sight of Gilwen, and even as he strayed slowly out of the city, she was not upon the outskirts. He only hoped that she was safe. Certainly her cousin would deliver his message, and he might not fret or worry for him, but he was still stricken that he had to leave the woman without even taking chance to comfort her over the loss of her job. That was something she would worry about, and had he been present, he might have stilled her heart.

The man had to suck in his emotion, and travel onward. It would take quite a few hours to reach Lossarnach, even by gallop. Lumiel would enjoy the exercise, and Faeldor would enjoy the fresh air, but surely he had left his heart in Minas Tirith.

[Gilwen]

He had turned and mounted to ride away, and the young woman closed the door behind him. Turning to once more return to her mother’s side, Merilla grinned. “Mother, are these not lovely?” She half sighed.

Verya emerged quietly from Gilwen’s room, pausing a moment to look from the door to her elder sister and frown. “Was that Faeldor?” She asked softly, though sternly. She had heard the voice and knew already that he had come by. “Why did you not tell him Gilwen’s reason for her absence? Surely he would desire to know!”

“Oh, Verya. It is not our business to tell him,” Merilwen hummed, flicking her eyes to her daughter in a rather scolding manner before dropping her eyes back to her work. “After all, perhaps she has not told him for to preserve her own dignity and virtue. Surely he would simply offer her a place with him, you see. And I surely think that such an act would lead to more; not all would be virtuous.”

“Aside, if he keeps bringing flowers, I shall be sure to keep them. He does pick lovely ones!” Merilla chimed happily, smelling the blooms once more.

“He will come to know eventually,” Verya snapped gently. “I would rather him know sooner rather than later if it means Gilwen is off the streets.”

“She placed herself upon the streets, sister,” Merilla retorted easily. “She was the one who let herself to harlotry.”

--

The evening had come, the sun beginning to wane from the sky in a brilliant show of colors. The marketplace was beginning to shut down now, and all of the attendants began to slowly seek their way home. One form, though, lingered longingly amidst the crowds. The market of the third tier had been the only place Gilwen could think of to pass her time, and so she had walked the busy streets eyeing the shops and vendors, wallowing in her own shame and pain.

A few times she had felt tears trickle down her cheeks, though she shortly had sought to cover them. Gilwen could be strong for a time; surely she was not the most unfortunate creature in Minas Tirith. There were others homeless as she.

Homeless. The word seemed horrid upon her mind, though now Gilwen could not consider herself anything else. Her home had been taken from her, and she and her family had relocated. And now, now she was alone upon the streets.

The crowds were clearing, and Gilwen longed to linger a bit more in the safety of the third tier, though knew very well that her loitering could be deemed by hyper-vigilant vendors as intent to steal, and she certainly needed no more accusations against her. The dark night was coming, and Gilwen indeed simply wanted to rest. Inwardly she sought ideas of where she could do such a thing; she had no blankets or changes of clothes. She had nothing. No money to buy food or drink, no items to keep her warm save for the lovely coat that Faeldor had purchased her for her birthday. She had no home, and no family to turn to. A great feeling of emptiness swelled within her breast and the woman let out a muffled whine, though did clamp her tongue hard between her teeth.

She had Faeldor. Though, she could not face him like this. She was an emotional wreck; it had all gone away.

She found herself wandering the streets, brown eyes flicking from side to side as she discretely sought a single place to rest her head. She had wound her way all the way down to the first tier once more in search; the third and second tiers did not seem to have many places for one to simply hide away in shadows, though the moment she had set foot upon the bottom tier her heart was in her chest.

The streets were full of people. It was as if the darkened streets called forth the drunkards and scum of the city into the streets and bid them raise their voices and their boldness. A few eyes watched her, though she quickly avoided gazes and sped her way onward. Taverns and shops she passed, a few sparse homes. Oh but the streets were flooded with foul people. She paused a moment a few paces from her home, watching the flickering and dancing flame. She almost burst into tears at the sight. A safe place, so out of her reach.

A movement had caught her eye, though amidst all of the movement, Gilwen could not rightly tell why such a particular thing had caught her attention. She turned her focus to it though, curiously, instantly gasping and startling.

The man’s face was familiar, and the way his nose was malformed from a horrible healing made him utterly terrifying to her. That was the man that had touched her and tried to take her. He was still upon the tier! He was out on the streets with her! Blessed Eru had her see him!

Immediately the young woman had taken off immediately, not knowing where her feet were leading her, though ended up deep in a dark alleyway between the tavern and a smithy that was filled with wooden crates.

Her heart was pounding as she pressed herself against the cool stone wall, and he woman slowly worked to let herself relax. Oh, but such a thing was impossible. She slid down, finding a seat upon the dirty and cobbled streets, finally succumbing to a terrible fit of tears. Tucked behind the crates, she was sure no body would find her. But it was not safe! If Faeldor only knew, she would be in worlds of trouble.

She had cried until her exhausted body had curled herself to sleep, though it was hardly restful. Every sound that wafted her direction seemed to rip her from her dreams; a man’s voice or heavy step was enough to jar her utterly. It seemed alarums had sounded; every sound could mean danger.

Dawn had come all too soon, and the woman whimpered as it had slipped into her tired eyes. Was this how she was to live now? Her bones and joints ached, and she felt as death. She waited a moment upon the ground before moving at all; she would go see Faeldor. He would know what to do.

But he was not in the stables waiting for her.

A sign that the Valar wished her to not speak to him on her situation.