Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Apr 13, 2010 0:48:10 GMT -5
You best return, Gilwen thought strongly as he assured he would have to, for he could not be parted from her. Her heart could not take such grief. She still did not like that he had no companion aside from his mount, though Gilwen trusted and loved Lumiel. She did, however, think he should be in company of someone who knew the sword as well, so in case of a problem he would not be alone, but the poor woman did not have the energy to utter such things aloud.
She had let him lift her right in front of him in the saddle, and had stayed quiet as he had begun leading her down the tiers. She had pressed herself close against the biting and cold rain, inwardly aware that she would soon be without his warm embrace and cloak, and upon the streets to feel the rain again; her bones already felt the chill.
He had said lovely words, and he had clung to her, and her to him, burying her face within his chest for the last moments he had stood with her, her knuckles white against the gripping of his travel wear. Then, he had to go.
It felt as if her heart was ripped from her chest as she stood and watched him disappear, the rain pelting down upon her in the dismal looking city. She wished to cry. She wished to run after him. The thunder rumbled once more, and Gilwen wrapped her arms about herself, tightening her coat closer about her. Already it seemed weighted and heavy with water, and she was growing more aware that she was going to be unable to warm up. Her clothes needed to dry; she needed a fire, or at least a blanket to keep her body in a proper temperature.
It was with all swiftness she took off, backtracking all the way to the sixth tier where Faeldor’s mother resided, and the place she had been called to for aide. She did not wish to share her plight. But a storm such as this would surely leave her ill should she stay out in it, and she more so did not wish to be sick. She was weak, and still utterly exhausted in mind and body, so the climb was slow.
Her head felt hot, even against the cold rain. She felt faint, though shrugged the feeling away. She was not ill yet, she told herself as she climbed. Her body felt heavy, though, and it took her a good long while before she was back upon the sixth tier and in front of the great stone house that Faeldor lived in.
She looked a mess; dress, coat and hair plastered to her with the weight of the rain, desperately pale and ashen features upon her face. She looked every bit as horrid as she felt, and for a moment Gilwen wondered if perhaps it was a foolish idea to have come all this way to present herself to Meleth in such a state. After a moment or two of standing in the storm, and seeing a new flash of lightning, she decided she needed to find shelter, and took the remaining steps to the front door, and allowed herself to knock.
“Go inside and warm. I will see you in a few days.”
Yes, he had told her to do this. Gilwen would make sure she was still well for when he did return.
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Miriel
Man
Cook
Time engraves our faces with all the tears we have not shed.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 48
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Post by Miriel on Apr 13, 2010 21:35:01 GMT -5
The morning continued on as Faeldor rode a hard southwest. Much joy had been taken out of the actual trip, as the cold downpour did not cease, and the mud splashed with each beat of Lumiel’s hooves. He tried his best not to think of that solemn face that he had departed from. The woman seemed near tears! Had she grown to rely on him so much now that she could not manage a few days without? The man frowned to himself, feeling his heart pull. He certainly had grown attached to Gilwen as well. The thought of not wrapping his arms about her for five days was tedious, and he felt empty. Pressing Lumiel onward, he tried his best to think on lighter thoughts.
Meanwhile, as the storm fared through Minas Tirith, the household of Meleth were busy as a hive of little bees. The children loved the rumbling weather, and Marileth and Haliel had situated themselves near a window to do their lessons, while Faelon had rushed through his and was now running about the house like a mad child, playing hide and seek with Diore, who’s small frame had tucked herself upon a window ledge behind the curtain, though it would not be long before her laughter gave her away. Tinuves sat stitching a baby garment for her expecting granddaughter, while Eoric laughed on Melanir’s lap. Meleth and Miriel found themselves in the kitchen, and had spent the morning baking up a storm as fierce as the one outside.
“Is that the door, dear?” Meleth said, as she stooped over the stove to check the bread. “Oh, could someone truly be calling in this storm?”
“I think it’s just the weather,” Miriel replied, but wondered, “I will go check.”
“Heavens,” was Meleth’s only response, as she noticed the last pan of bread that she had left rising had been forgotten, and the dough was piling up out of the pan. She quickly took hold of it to punch it down and knead it again before it ruined itself. There was no sense to waste a drop of food, with a family this size. And a hungry family at that. She smiled lightly, the thought of hunger leading her to think of her eldest daughter. Miriel had certainly been ravenous lately! She had barely eaten the first few months of her pregnancy, and Meleth had worried desperately for her, though now it had caught up with her. The girl was finally gaining a bit of weight to go along with her rounding abdomen. And it was a good thing, for Meleth would not wish her first grandchild to be born unhealthy. She hummed to herself, thinking on the topic of babies.
Miriel wandered her way toward the door, certain that it was just the pounding rain outside, and content to turn back to the kitchen with her mother, though, she gave it the benefit of doubt. Rolling pin still in hand, she cracked the door to peek out into the storm, and what a sight!
It was none other than Gilwen standing there before her, and for a moment the woman’s mouth gaped. Why, she looked outright hideous and unruly. She frowned. She had been having a pleasant time working with her mother in the bakery, but now if Gilwen was to come over, it was surely to see Meleth, for she must know that Faeldor was out of town. Miriel was not about to give her comfortable morning over to this little brat. To be plagued with her even while Faeldor was out of town! She sighed.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped quietly, so as her mother would not overhear from the kitchen and wonder. “You look like a sniveling rat. We can’t let vermin into our own household. You would surely pass a disease onto the children.” Her face was contorted, and the pretty woman could not help but frown harder. “Get out of here, we don’t need beggars on our doorstep.”
The green eyes glared at Gilwen, and waited for her to turn around and miserably leave. She looked cold and forlorn, but Miriel’s heart only hardened, and she gave her no pity for whatever situation she was calling for. She seemed to be waiting for something, and not heeding Miriel’s command. “I said get out of here, before I do something to make you leave. Faeldor is not here, and you may not come in. Go on!” She raised her voice lightly. The slight woman was not moving and inch and it infuriated Miriel that she stood on her doorstep. Worse than a simple beggar, she was, for she had caused so much turmoil in Miriel’s heart since the day Faeldor had first boasted of her, that she knew not what to do.
“Go on, shoo,” she stepped forward angrily, using force now to shove upon Gilwen’s shoulder, though unsatisfied with the result she used the rolling pin in hand as a weapon, and hit the woman hard on the side, showing no remorse. “Get out of here,” she commanded, hitting her once more, then again, and finally sending her with a blow strong enough to send the woman to the ground, she turned to slam the door. Miriel stood with her back to the door for a few moments, breathing heavily, and trying to calm herself. There was nothing more frustrating than Gilwen now. When she had almost taken a few days to forget about her, now she had to be here.
The thought slipped into her mind that she may have injured the woman more terribly than her previous instances, and she had looked so cold and upset already. Perhaps it had been too much. She bit her lip for a moment, and attempted to shove the thoughts to the back of her mind. It was simply Gilwen. She mattered not. Miriel trembled slightly, though, at what she had done, and rubbed her arms to try and banish the chill. She looked at the rolling pin in her hand and almost dropped it, though quickly made her way back to the kitchen.
“Just the storm?” Meleth commented, a smile on her face as she finished with the bread.
Miriel only nodded, causing her mother to look at her concernedly. “It is chilly outside. The wind caught me off guard. I think… I will go change to something warmer,” she said, her voice sounding depressed.
“Okay, that is fine, I will just finish up here…” the mother replied, wondering at her daughter’s change in mood. Though, it was not unusual for Miriel’s mood to change at a whim lately, so she paid it not much fervor, and finished her work.
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Apr 13, 2010 22:03:38 GMT -5
What fate had led for Miriel to be the one to answer the door! Gilwen felt her stomach churn inside, and she felt the urge to simply collapse right there. No, she told herself. Not even Miriel could send her away in a state such as this. The first question seemed fine; Gilwen expected such a question as to why she was upon the doorstep. “Fael told me to see your mother,” she said quietly, barely able to get the words from her mouth.
“You look like a sniveling rat. We can’t let vermin into our own household. You would surely pass a disease onto the children.”
It felt as if she had been stabbed, and Gilwen’s eyes began to tear, though was hidden by the falling raindrops. “Please, Miriel. I merely wish to speak to your mother.” The plea was quiet, though certainly troubled. Gilwen had never truly thought of pleading with the woman before her. In a healthy state, she never would have done anything of the sort and she would have simply turned and walked away, or been a bit more forceful in her reserve. But her reserve was utterly shattering.
The command was repeated for her to go away, and Gilwen desperately staggered forward, for a moment her body failing to hold its own balance. “I will not trouble you.” She said fervently. “I just need to see Meleth. I do not feel—“ A sharp pain ripped through her side, and the woman felt herself still her words for a small cry of pain. Immediately, Gilwen’s eyes flew to the rolling pin that was in Miriel’s hand, and she looked wide-eyed to the woman before her. What was she to say or do?
She could only stay. She had to be forceful enough to at least see the woman. Gilwen was a proud girl, but she could sense she was teetering on the edge of some great illness. Possibly one that could lead to death. If ever she needed help, it was now. “I…I am sorry I have offended you,” Gilwen gasped her arms wrapping about herself to hug her wounded and throbbing side. “I am sorry! I simply—“
More deep and searing pains fell upon her, until finally the woman crumpled under her own weakness and harm, staring doe-eyed at the door as it slammed in her face. It was only a few moments until she was utterly in tears, lying upon the ground for a time before she found the strength to get herself to rise.
She had an inclination to try again; perhaps this time someone else would open the door, someone with a sweeter attitude or calmer heart that would take her inside. But the thought of being struck once more by that rolling pin had caused Gilwen to flinch, and instead, she slowly made her way back into the storm, gasping under silent tears. Her only solace were the words Faeldor had left her with:
“I love you, and I will come home soon.”
“Please hurry,” she whispered quietly in a whimper. She could sense now that it would be hard for her to last until his return in four days.
-- Gilwen could not recall what day it was. The night and day had been equally as black against the storm clouds, and her lack of nutrition had certainly led to a strong case of delusion. It had been some days since Faeldor had left her upon the first tier. Her bruises from Miriel’s blows were dark and seemingly engulfed her stomach and sides, making the nights upon the ground utterly unbearable.
The rain was pelting down so hard that the beads of water left Gilwen’s skin stinging. There were no stars in the night sky, only great and rumbling clouds that flashed with bright white every few seconds. Gilwen huddled herself close together, pulling her knees up to her chest and trying to keep herself securely against the stone wall of the smithy behind the stacked empty crates.
The entire world seemed to be drowning in the downpour, torrential winds ripping through the sleeping city. It was now that Gilwen utterly desired to have a roof. She had never braved a storm so foul before, and her heart could not seem to calm itself. She had crawled into the farthest corner she could have managed, and her body trembled; half wracked with fear, and half from the cold rain that had thoroughly soaked her. She felt as ice; and she had never held such a fear in her eyes.
The thunder rolled again, and the entire city seemed to shake with its force, and the lady gasped. But it was the blinding flash of lightning that caused the woman to cry out, screaming into the howling wind, and cowering lower into herself. The storm did not seem to end! For four days it had pelted down now.
For four days she had worsened in fever and in state. She had not stepped foot into a building since being turned away from Meleth’s doorstep a few nights ago by Miriel, nor had she taken anything by way of food. She had not moved from her little alleyway at all, and many a night she had cried herself into states of unconscious. Sleep was hardly something that came to her; her only rest was when her fevered state led her to pass out completely upon the stone pavement and not mind the pain that came with her dark remnants of a rolling pin. Her fever was certainly raging now, but Gilwen no longer could tell. She was certainly well on the brink of dangerous health, though the woman had sought no help for it since Meleth; she was too sick to understand how dire her situation was getting now.
She was utterly terrified, her fevered mind made frenzied against the howling wind and tumult. She was cowered against the stone wall, scared out of her wits, and unsure of what to do. She did not have the energy to get up now; she felt so ill.
“Gilwen!”
The voice! Gilwen nearly gasped, though could not seem to find the breath to do it. The voice! Faeldor! Immediately she worked to move away from her spot. He had come to protect her!
Her mind did not think for a moment on how Faeldor was still in Lossarnach, or how it was impossible for her love to be there in the city. Nor did it cross her mind that he would never have stepped out into such a storm in search for her, because she had not ever spoken of the fact she had lost her home.
“Gilwen?!”
It was Faeldor again!
Another clap of thunder shook the white stone and earth, and Gilwen suddenly got upon her hands and knees, crawling toward the road. Faeldor had come for her when the storm was at its worst. Her mind, in some way, was trying to bring her comfort amidst her fear and ailment. Her eyes searched the darkness.
“Fael! Fael!” She called, desperately. Her voice was weak, though all she could muster. Her frantic attempts to crawl were shaky, and the woman hardly had the strength to keep moving, and collapsed under her own weight a few times.
The street was empty. Of course no person in their right mind would have been out during this particular storm; it was the worst Gondor had seen all year. “Fael!” She called weakly. “Fael you can come get me now!” She gasped and threw herself against the wall as another flash of lightning filled the sky with light, closing her eyes and tucking her head against the wooden crates to hide herself from everything.
The woman was crying. Shaking so horribly that slumped down the wall, remaining effectively hidden behind the large crates and away from sight. “Please, Fael!” She cried out again, this time a bit more pitched and desperate. “I did not mean to hide in the alley. I shall come with you now.” She could not understand. Where had he gone? He had been there looking for her!
“Please!” The earth shook again, and the woman called out once more. He would not leave her there, surely he must not have heard her. She tried to be louder, though could feel a lightness rushing into her head, and a heaviness into her limbs from her exertion. She had not taken a meal in so long, her body had not the energy to care for itself.
She tried once more to pry herself from the wall and make her way into the street to find him once more; but the end of the alley seemed so far away. “Fael,” she repeated his name many times until she had collapsed completely, continuing to mutter words against the cold stone ground. “Come back. Please. Don’t leave me here. I’m scared.” Her words seemed ceaseless, and the woman began to cry once more, her salty tears mixing with the sharp raindrops as they fell.
She did not have any concept of how long she had laid there, though she had certainly cried and muttered such feverish words until everything had gone black.
Not even her bruises, the cold and the rain bothered her now.
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Apr 14, 2010 13:15:34 GMT -5
Four days and nights had passed in Lossarnach, each one bearing the same stormy weather as the last. On the eve of the fourth night, Faeldor’s work was finished as planned, and the next morning he set off toward Minas Tirith; three strong steeds in tow. The torrential downpour had let up, at last it seemed, though the sky was still grey. The whiteness of the city rising ahead seemed startling against the darkened day as the Stablemaster made his way over the last swell of the fields.
As the man entered the Great Gate, and the dreary streets led him upward of the first tier, his eyes sought out the familiar doorstep of Beregar’s home. Amidst the damp day, he saw the fire burning through the window, and thought he saw a person pass by, and for a moment he almost stilled the horses to simply watch and see if he could make out Gilwen’s figure, though, he continued to press forward. There were still hours left in the day, and though she was expecting him today, he knew he needed to care for the new mounts, have the stalls readied, and let the Stablehands know that the Steward himself would be down in the morning to inspect.
He shook his head slightly, smiling. My, but that lovely woman muddled his mind. Just the thought that he was near Gilwen here had distracted him. Soon enough, the man assured himself, as he sped the group of horses forward. Soon he would find himself on her doorstep. But not before he cleaned himself up! If he were to appear before her father once more, he should at least be presentable! Not muddied and damp from the morning, and in his traveling garments. He would hold all his honor, and truly petition that man once more, giving him the chance to consent.
Yet, Faeldor could not be without his lady much longer. Perhaps it was all that had passed between them that made the necessity for him to marry her quickly. Surely if they married, the rumors would still. There would be no need for her to live in danger upon the first tier, nor to live in a household where her value was contested. She need not work nor worry about a job, or where her next meal would come from. Though, Faeldor could care for her well, his foremost desire was to see his lover happy. The thought came to mind as he continued upward through the tiers. The night of her birthday, when she had come to him in the stables. What lovely laughter! And the smile upon her face! How well it had seemed to hold her there in his arms. The warm feeling led him all the way to the stables, where he did the necessary routine with the horses, and soon took to his house.
Meleth and the children were more than glad to see their Fael return home. He changed into dry clothes and presented them all with all the hugs and kisses a brother could give, promising that he had gifts for each of them later. Though, upon the news from his mother that Gilwen had not come to see her, he grew a bit concerned, and declared that he would go fetch her and bring her home with him for dinner. His eyes turned to Miriel as he made the announcement, and where he expected the usual sour expression from his sister, he caught almost a blank stare, and a look that he could not quite recognize. She looked unhappy, but not in the same way as usual, and quickly made excuse to turn for her room, saying she felt a bit ill. Well, he hoped, that meant that Miriel would not trouble his Gilwen.
The Stablemaster pinned on his winter cloak, and with a light step and a whistle, he made his way through the grey afternoon back down to the first tier. How glad he was to see his lady! He envisioned scooping her up into his arms and laying a kiss upon her lips as soon as he saw her, and then the evening spent with good supper. Perhaps if she was not feeling weary, Grandfather would agree to play a few songs for dancing. Even the children would enjoy that, and it would be good for them to all spend time together. Perhaps later on by the warm fire, he would have his opportunity to ask her the question that he had been so desiring to ask her for some months now, and make it completely official with her. His heart felt warm as he took to her stoop, and knocked upon the door. Even Beregar would not be able to bring down the man’s mood now, and he waited patiently for his answer. His highest hopes were that Gilwen answered the door herself, or Niniel at least. But, even if Beregar did answer, and if it came to the worst and he forbid their marriage, and did not allow her from the house; Gilwen would certainly find her way out to him. Nobody could separate two in such love.
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Apr 14, 2010 16:22:03 GMT -5
The morning had been quiet. Now rumbling thunder or pelting rain made any noise this day, and for that the entire household was thankful. Indeed, even with the bleakness of the sky, the day seemed more beautiful than the last.
Niniel and Verya sat upon the couch, quietly sewing. Beregar sat at their table, book open before him and eyes upon the page. Faeron, Merilwen and Merilla had ventured to the market for grocery on this day, for indeed the rain had kept them in long enough. All in all, the less-crowded house would seem as a blessing.
If it were not for the incredible tenseness radiating from the two adults, it could have passed as normal.
“Verya, dear, could you hand me the thread?” Niniel asked quietly, though the stress this seemed to add to the room seemed great, and Beregar’s eyes left the page long enough to flick to his wife with a look of frustration. It had been nigh on two weeks since they had spoken at all, and he truly longed for her to at least speak to him.
He had heard her crying the past few days, brought to her last nerves by the storm. He had heard her saying things to Verya and Faeron. Where had her Gilwen found shelter? Why had she not come to speak to them since they had gone? Was this storm too much for her darling daughter? Where had she gone?
The questions seemed ceaseless. Not a day had passed since Gilwen had been cast out that Niniel did not think of her, or ask about her. Though never to Beregar; he had taken such notice. It was said about him, though. Near enough so that he could hear every word. He was sure they were meant to insight pity, or regret. And inside, they surely did. Such emotions could not escape a father’s heart, but he had buried them deeply. He could not spare much thought. She had done it to herself, he assured himself. Though, his heart still pained until it had turned to numbness.
The quiet was near deafening. Beregar was certain it would last. But then, the door.
Someone had knocked.
Immediately, Niniel shot up, with a gasp as if to rocket to the door. “Niniel, sit down. I will get the door.” Beregar said, pointedly closing his book and standing. Niniel froze, looking over her shoulder.
“I shall get it myself, I am able,” she replied smartly.
“You shall not defy me.” Beregar moved past her as she stood still, offering her a firm glare as he passed.
“If that is Gilwen, by Eru you best let her in this house!” Niniel spat, crossing her arms and standing nicely in view of the doorway, so as to see who had called upon them.
Beregar said nothing in response and turned his attention to the door, riling himself up to face his own daughter. He would surely turn her away again; she could not come back to sully this house again. She had surely gone to stay with that Faeldor. Nothing proprietous could have come of that.
He opened the door, though was met with someone he did not expect; both Niniel and Beregar’s faces showed their distinct surprise. Faeldor was upon their doorstep. Did he not know that Gilwen was not here? For a moment a bit of worry flared within him. No, he must know.
Then there was only one question left then. “What do you want?”
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Apr 14, 2010 17:30:34 GMT -5
Faeldor’s smile only lessened slightly when Beregar opened the door to his home. He had hoped that another would answer, though, he was not daunted by the man. Afterall, he had come to no real harm with his threats, though it had been a few weeks since he had last called upon him.
“Your blessing for your daughter’s hand, of course,” he said, his voice cool and level, with a hint of glee to it, then added quickly, and in a continuous stream of words, that Beregar might not interrupt him, “Forgive me, I have been in and out of the city on errand for the past few weeks, and have missed my weekly appointment with you. Though I have not changed my mind. And I will inform you that this is the last time I will ask you. While I would wish your blessing for our marriage, if it is not given, I will wed her nonetheless. I love her, and will provide for her, and I have found a home for us to share. I will even show you if you so desire.” He glanced past the man for a moment to see Niniel standing not far off, and one of Gilwen’s cousins upon the couch with her sewing upon her lap. “Whether you answer with a yes or no, you will of course be invited to the wedding and welcome in our home thereafter.”
The man knew well, as Gilwen had told him, how sound carried in the home and as he glanced about the room and saw not his lady, he assumed that she was in the bedroom, and he waited for her to come out. He saw nothing blocking or locking the door shut from this side, which made him glad, as a few weeks ago that had so been the case, and he waited a moment.
“And I wish to ask Gilwen to supper at my house tonight. I should hope to have your permission as well. I know I have taken her without before, but she is expecting me. I told her I would return to the city today.” He glanced to Niniel, giving her preference over the large man blocking the doorway. “Is she resting now? I do hope she is feeling better than when I left. I was worried that she was becoming ill.” The man’s cheerful attitude certainly showed; it was perhaps the first time he had stood in the doorway here since the night he had first taken Gilwen to his dinner party and met Niniel, that he had not felt nerves. Or perhaps, the first night that he had ever been at the door with Beregar without a worry.
Even if the man were to see the practical manner of allowing his blessing, simply for the sake that Gilwen would be looked after now that she was without a job. Faeldor hardly cared for the sake of why it was given anymore. Only that it was. Beregar was too hard hearted over the matter to reason with over small things. Oh, but where was she? If she were awake in the house, she surely would have come out to greet him. He recalled once more the pitifully sad look upon her face when he had departed, and made his promise to return to her. The fact that she was not in the room though began to disturb him. Perhaps she had become ill. Heavens, he needed to still his mind and words, and give her mother and father time to answer.
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Apr 14, 2010 19:36:06 GMT -5
The response Beregar received caused the man to growl slightly. Ask for Gilwen’s hand? Heavens, dare he troubled him with this? His daughter was not even under his roof, however did Faeldor think it was necessary to come accost his afternoons with such questions.
“Forgive me, I have been in and out of the city on errand for the past few weeks, and have missed my weekly appointment with you. Though I have not changed my mind. And I will inform you that this is the last time I will ask you.”
Faeldor seemed to ramble, and Beregar listened quietly, still somewhat dumbfounded that the man was upon his stoop at all. “You have come to trouble me with this?” The man’s voice was sharp, and indeed his frustration and hatred seemed to come full force in those few words, drawing from Niniel a sharp glare.
“If he should not give it, take her in my own blessing,” Niniel said curtly and defiantly, causing Beregar to turn and look at her. Niniel raised her eyebrows pointedly at him, and she said quietly, “I am tried of your opposition for her, Beregar. Give the girl to him, you do not wish for her here.” Of course, Niniel and Beregar seemed to have more knowledge on the depths of such a thing than Faeldor did.
“And I wish to ask Gilwen to supper at my house tonight. I should hope to have your permission as well.”
This stilled Beregar’s tongue, and Niniel’s building tenseness with her husband and in two sentences seemed to be as water to a fire. Instantly both of them snapped their head to look at Faeldor. “You came for her here?” Beregar’s question was sharp, and a part of him seemed annoyed at the disturbance. “Is this some sort of way to ruin our evening here? Swine you are. Gilwen has not been under our roof at all. Not for nigh on three weeks now.” Certainly Faeldor knew such a thing well. Gilwen had been staying with him, he knew it. No alarm showed, past a slight flare in his eyes, though Niniel sweeped in, pushing her way right in front of Beregar, a sudden frenzy in her.
“You do not know where she is?” Her voice rose a slight in panic, and she clasped a hand over her mouth. “She has not stayed with you?” Her eyes began to water and she fumbled for words. “I though surely she would have gone to you. Please, please tell me she has found shelter with you!” She did not wait entirely long for an answer, though seemed to find it in Faeldor’s eyes. She whipped around, shoving Beregar’s chest roughly with bitter and worried tears now flowing down her face.
“You threw our daughter into the street!” She cried out. “How dare you cast her out! She has done nothing to deserve it. That storm! So help me, if anything has happened to her...” Niniel’s thoughts were rampant and she turned back to Faeldor immediately. “She is not here, she has not been!” She barely seemed able to breathe, indeed Beregar himself had fallen quite silent. "She has been sick? I have not been able to find her!"
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Apr 14, 2010 22:24:39 GMT -5
“If he should not give it, take her in my own blessing.” Faeldor managed a smile at Niniel. Though Beregar seemed to disapprove the blessing and would not give his own, the Stablemaster would receive what permission he had. Certainly it was not his place to come between Beregar and Niniel’s decisions. Yet, Beregar
“You do not know where she is? She has not stayed with you? I thought surely she would have gone to you. Please, please tell me she has found shelter with you!”
“No…” was all Faeldor managed before Niniel cut him off again. Yet his mind raced for a moment; she certainly was not referring to the one night that Gilwen had stayed with him. Soon enough though it was out, and Niniel had brought mention of Beregar sending the woman out of the house. The mother was frenzied, and speaking to the man in a way which Faeldor had not witnessed before.
“She is not here, she has not been! She has been sick? I have not been able to find her!"
The words were directed back to him. “I have seen her every day, she has come to the stables to pass the day and do some cleaning for me, save the last few I have been out of town since the night after the storm started. I have picked her up here on this step, and dropped her off every day though.”
“The first night of the storm, that was my last here, and she was so tired, and relieved, when I let her stay in the stables rather than walk her home in the rain. How could I not have realized?” The man’s hand came to his forehead in shock for a moment, though, he shortly dropped it and turned his look to that of anger, glaring at Beregar. “You sent your only daughter out of your home? To live on the streets? All on the basis of lies and rumors?”
The man’s breath was of ice and steel as he spoke; there was not a spark of humor nor cheerfulness remaining. “What kind of father would do such a thing?” he spat, his glare burning through the older man. His anger though quickly transformed to fear and anxiety over where Gilwen might be, and what had happened to her. “Where could she be?” he asked suddenly, his voice strained and looking upon Niniel. He could not think of a single place where Gilwen might go. If not to his mother, who else did she know in the city? She had lost all reputation among her coworkers and former friends. Who else did she have?
And she had been coming down with something. No wonder she was so exhausted daily and took her sleep in his quarters! No wonder she had slept like a rock that night in his bed. She had been so hungry. Heavens! Had she eaten since the last supper she had taken with him? Had she rested? She must have, it had been days! Where could she be? Was she left out in the storm? She had never made it to visit his mother. What if she was injured, hurt, cold, afraid? The man’s mind ran wild, to the worst outcomes that could have taken her, and without another word he spun around to face the street, and took off through the crowd, in search of his beloved. He would not stop until he found her.
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Apr 14, 2010 22:52:11 GMT -5
He had seen her, but not for some days. The words seemed daggers into Niniel’s heart and the woman began to tremble with her worry and fear, very much alike to Gilwen’s own displays. “You dropped her here? Why did she say nothing to you!?” She was hysterical, and the woman’s brown eyes filled immediately with tears. Her baby; she was out somewhere in this city, and not even Faeldor knew where she had gone!
“You sent your only daughter out of your home? To live on the streets? All on the basis of lies and rumors?”
Beregar looked at the man coldly, instantly noting the anger and fire in Faeldor’s eyes. It was an intense show, one he had not seen. Her vaguely recalled some sort of temper in the stable master when he had emerged drunk from his home to take his daughter away from Faeldor, but this was much more intense.
“You sent your only daughter out of your home? To live on the streets? All on the basis of lies and rumors? What kind of father would do such a thing?”
Beregar said nothing, though inwardly was burning with rage. Was he to speak to him like this? It was his right to do so, he was saving her. And her family. If she had simply behaved, she would have still been in the house. It was not his doing that had sent Gilwen to the streets.
Niniel turned immediately, striking her husband square upon his cheek, vision blurred from the water that was streaming from her eyes. “She was a blessing to us,” she fumed. “She is our little girl! The Valar sent her to us to make our family whole and you cast her out on the advice of a self-centered, spoiled woman who is in no way blood to her!” Niniel was breathing frantically. “Cast that woman upon the streets! The one who has come to our home and done nothing but give us insult!” She stopped once more, glaring dangerously at her husband. “If anything has happened to her, Beregar. Anything…I swear by Eru I shall leave this house. You are not the same man that I married!” No, that man had cared for his daughter, and loved her so much that he often spoke of wishing he had more children just like her. Now! Oh, now he had thrown her to the streets as if she were garbage.
“Where could she be?”
Niniel turned back to Faeldor, stammering for her heart and mind were far too fast for her tongue. “A-a-arien. Perhaps she went to Arien! Surely she would not let herself to the street!” The woman outwardly sobbed, and caught herself on the doorframe as she began to feel weak from her fear and worry.
It seemed immediate that Faeldor took off, and Niniel called after him, “Please find her! Save my little girl!”
“Aunt Niniel,” a quiet voice came, a tender hand upon the woman’s shoulder. “Come lie down. Faeldor will send word, certainly, when he has found her.”
“My Gilwen…” She muttered utterly broken. “I should have gone to her. I should have found her long before this. What kind of mother am I?” She was muttering such things even as Verya took her toward Gilwen’s bedroom to offer her a place to lay her head.
Beregar watched for a while in silence. What had happened to their family? He looked back to the street, marking Faeldor’ s retreating figure. The stable master had leapt to save his daughter and to seek her to bring her to some safety, and he, her own father, had stayed rooted upon the step.
For a moment, just a moment, the thought crossed Beregar’s mind that perhaps Faeldor treated Beregar’s lovely treasure better than he did himself.
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Apr 15, 2010 22:20:07 GMT -5
Arien, yes. Faeldor would go in search of Arien. Where was her shop again? The fourth tier? The man took off quickly in that direction; surely his mission was greater than that of any person who was moving upon the streets now. Hopefully his worries were to no avail, and the woman was sitting happily chatting with her friend in the warm shop while Arien worked. The man built his hope as a short while later he approached the cozy shop. He slowed his pace, caught his breath, and smoothed his hair back appropriately before entering. However, only a few minutes later he found himself back on the street. Gilwen had not been present.
Where could she be? The man was so worried that he could hardly think. He began his walk back down to the first tier of the city, knowing that he would do nothing but search for the woman until he found her.
The lowest level of the city was certainly busy today. With the rain let up, and the markets open for the late afternoon, it seemed that everyone was about. The man’s eyes searched the crowds, but did not see her. It was a chilly day; she must be wearing that brown coat he had given her, and for a moment he wondered why he had not procured something of bright yellow, red, or orange. She would have hated to stand out so, but at least he might have spotted the small woman easily!
Faeldor clasped his hands behind his back as he strolled through the street. His rushing pace had ended, for he could not find anyone when he was moving so quickly. It seemed that certain things he had not noticed so much about this part of the city came into view, now that he was looking. A beggar sat in rags on the edge of an alley. Another young boy not much further. Where would Gilwen have gone though? The man eyed the buildings, trying to think. If she had been left out in the storm, she would have sought shelter.
The man in the alley caught his eye again. There was some shelter beneath the eaves. Perhaps he should search the alleys as well, in case he missed her there. Faeldor went on and on down the streets, wandering between the main stretch, and the side streets, checking each alley. An hour had passed, and the sky appeared to be glowing with a yellowish grey haze once more. It would storm again; he knew it was not over. Some of the markets were closing down, and the street people were thinning.
“Gilwen!” he called down each alley; with a reply at none. His voice was growing urgent. What if he could not find her? His mind continuously roved to the ideas of what could have happened to her. Some of them were highly disturbing, and the image of the man that he had beaten away from her some months ago now was beginning to haunt him as the sky darkened further.
Passing by another tavern, and between another alley, he called her name again; and then his heart quickened. There was a person lying in the shadows. Or what appeared to be a person at any rate. More like, a bundle of wet rags which made no movement, but he saw a hand, spread palm open on the cobbles.
A small hand, a very feminine, though scarred hand. The man rushed. If it had been any other person, simply napping, he might have startled them out of their mind! But the body was that which he was searching for. “Gilwen, Gilwen,” he repeated her name. At first though, she appeared as death! Yet, he found her to be breathing shallowly, and when he rolled the woman gently upon her back, she groaned; such a painful sound from her lips.
“My darling,” his voice felt choked, and he knew his eyes held tears, though he did not care. “I will take care of you, do not be afraid.” He simply stared at her for a moment, not knowing what to do, until he startled himself with his own tear falling down and dropping upon her cheek. He tried to rouse her, but she would not wake. Though her eyes did not open, she did wince and groan again as he moved her.
The man slipped off his cloak, laying it upon the ground, and amidst Gilwen’s painful groans, he lifted her and placed her down once more upon it, wrapping the woman up as if she were simply chilled. His tears fell upon her face again, though this time, the man was more startled, with one, two, five, and ten hit her pallid cheek. He looked up to the grey sky, and realized that it was not him, but the sky opening once more in a storm, and as if on cue to his thoughts, the thunder rolled. “I will take you home with me,” he almost whispered; his voice unable to speak any louder to her. He lifted the woman as a limp doll and held her securely against his chest as he began to make his way quickly as he might toward the sixth tier.
---
Meleth stared out the window of her home. Supper had long been prepared, and the children were beginning to complain; but tonight was special, and she had to wait for her eldest son’s return. The rain was now falling down, and her thoughts wondered if they had gotten caught in the rain and stopped somewhere else. He had not said he was going back to the stable, had he? The mother clenched her fists against her stomach, feeling a dreadful worry.
“Mama, I’m hungry. Can we just have a bit to eat before Fael comes back?” Faelon asked once more. He had already asked for supper twice over, and been denied, but ask for a snack was different, was it not? Haliel was close behind her brother. “My belly is rumbling, mama,” the little girl pouted. Marileth and the other children entered the front room as well, and though they did not complain, their little faces were pert and sad. They had all been so excited to see their brother again, and now he had been out for a near two hours! He said he was coming right back, and even the little ones knew it did not take two hours to walk to the first tier and bring Gilwen to supper. Meleth wrung her hands and worried, turning back to the children. “I’m sure they will be here soon. We will just wait a few more…”
Even as her words came out, the front door flew open, rain coming in, and Faeldor came through into the lantern light, a bundle in his arms. It took all of them a moment to realize the situation, and not knowing what to do, the Stablemaster stood in the open doorway with Gilwen clenched tightly in his arms.
“Oh Fael! You are soaked!” Marileth yelled, rushing to shut the door and moving to help him with his wet cloak. Though, as soon as she approached him, she saw, what in her eyes could have been one of the most terrifying things! He held a body, and not just any body, but Gilwens! The young girl shrieked loudly at the sight, stumbling backwards, as Meleth in the same instant gasped. “She is dead!” The little girl yelled, finding her words, her face horrified and fixed on Gilwen’s pallid skin. “Mama, she is dead!”
“Is that Gilwen? Gilwen is dead,” Haliel looked from her mother, to Faeldor, to Marileth, and back to the bundle in Faeldor’s arms. Her view could tell her that it was a woman, but she could not see her face. The little girl began to sob on the spot, and Faelon stood with his mouth wide open. Footsteps came rushing down the hall at the sound of the scream, and both Tinuves, and Miriel following found their way into the front room.
Faeldor’s voice was emotional, and he barely had the words to speak what he needed to say. “Mother, she is very ill,” was most of what he managed. “She is burning with fever, yet she is freezing. You must help her.” In all the years since his father had died, Meleth had never seen her grown son with tears in his eyes, or heard such a heavy voice from him, and the words seemed to further her daze.
“Meleth, go light a fire in the bathing room and fill the tub. We need to warm her first,” Tinuves said coolly, trying to be unaffected by the emotions throughout the room. Her skilled hands had quickly gone from the young woman’s hot forehead, to freezing hands to assess her. Meleth ran down the hallway to do as her mother bid her. “Miriel go get some blankets and towels. And one of Beleth’s night dresses.” The words were so short that Miriel nodded and had headed upstairs before she could even see the pointed look that her grandmother gave her not to argue.
Young Marileth’s hands were shaking. “Heavens child, she is not dead. Just very ill,” she assured the girl. “You go clear off Fael’s bed and pull back the covers. Then I want you to go to the kitchen and get supper for yourself and the little ones. Do as you’re told now, did you hear me?” Marileth nodded. By this time, Melanir had wandered into the front room from his seat in the sitting room, little Eoric in one arm. A glance at the situation told him to go with Marileth and help with the young children in the kitchen, and so off he went.
“There, Faeldor, you carry her down here. We will warm her right up and put her to bed, and she will be fine,” the grandmother assured him. “She could die,” was all Faeldor could answer, his voice quieter than usual. “Not if I have a thing to say or do about it,” Tinuves said, and they made their way down the hall to the bathing chamber. Meleth had the fire already lit, and the water was beginning to heat. Tinuves moved to spread a towel upon the floor and motioned for Faeldor to put the girl down. The man stalled a moment, as if he did not wish to release her, though finally relented, kneeling beside her. He leaned over the woman, pressing his lips to her forehead and frowning, and then before Tinuves could say another word he had reached for the buttons of her drenched coat, beginning to undo them, and removing the limp woman’s arms with utmost care.
Meleth’s heart clenched for a moment as she watched her son. Heavens, she could not have been more gentle herself! Faeldor’s hands though, were shaking and as he moved for her shoes and stockings, Even then, he was set in his motions, and as he moved to undo the fastenings of her dress, Tinuves stopped him. “We’ll look after her from here.” She pressed Faeldor’s hands away from the young woman, though the man was reluctant to leave. “I do not want to leave her alone,” he whispered. Meleth returned, “We will call you when we need you to carry her up the stairs.”
“I want to stay,” Faeldor protested, moving back for Gilwen’s dress. He did not care if he was not wed to her yet, he loved her, and would care for her. There was nothing dishonorable in that. He was not going to leave her side. “Fael, she will be fine with us,” Meleth pleaded. Miriel came back into the room with the blanket and towels, and a white nightdress folded atop, placing it to the side. “I can help?” she offered meekly, looking down at the ashen face of the woman she had hated so. How could one hate someone who was so ill though? The guilt began to creep back into the young woman.
“Miriel, look after your brother,” Meleth commanded. “Fael, the water is almost heated; go on now and change into something dry.” Faeldor slowly stood, though made no move yet, his eyes locked on Gilwen’s lovely face. A pointed look from Meleth to her daughter caused Miriel to grasp her brother’s arm though, and attempt to pull him, and he reluctantly followed, his face downcast.
--- It was with Miriel’s full assistance that Faeldor discarded his wet clothing and donned something dry and warm, and even while she was picking the damp clothes from the floor, he had left the room and retreated downstairs to stand outside the door of the bathing room. He could hear his mother’s and grandmother’s hushed voices as they bathed and warmed Gilwen. He stood forlornly in the hall.
“Mother, can I come in?” he asked once, and was answered with a definitive no. “Gilwen would not be glad for you to come in while she is bathing,” Meleth answered. Miriel had joined Faeldor’s side, yet he hardly noticed until his sister had pressed a soft hand against his arm, and when he turned to her, she came even closer and buried her face against his shoulder. The man had enough care to put his arm about her widened waist, though could do not much else but wait expectantly, until finally his mother opened the door, and he released Miriel, moving past Meleth.
“How is she?” he asked worriedly in one breath. They had dressed the woman in the nightgown, and she looked so small amidst the folds of fabric. Beleth was somewhat taller and fuller than Gilwen, and in such garment she almost looked a child. “She has warmed up a bit. She needs desperately to rest,” Meleth said, following her son. She bit her lip, and continued. “There are… terrible bruises. It looks as if she were beaten. Her sides and her back are black and blue.” They had, of course, also seen the dreadful scars. Though, Meleth having worked in the palace for many years, had some idea of what went on with the palace servants. It was better to not worry her son over scars that had already healed.
“Beaten!?” Faeldor questioned, anger rising in his exhausted voice. “As if being cast out on the street, starved, and unloved by your own family is not enough! Whoever has laid hands on her shall surely die by my own,” he growled. Without asking or saying any more, Faeldor tenderly lifted Gilwen into his arms, and moved toward the stairway with her. She would receive all comfort here. He would not leave her side. How could such a thing happen to his dear one?
Miriel cowered and lingered in the washroom, after her grandmother and mother had followed Faeldor, and began to cry. Her guilt overrode her hateful emotions, and she knew not what to do. She knew very well that she had caused the bruises, and her heart was torn over the fact that her brother was so angry, and Gilwen was deathly ill. Perhaps if she would not have hit her… or would have allowed her in… She had never meant to make Faeldor feel pain, and the tears in her brother’s eyes were enough to make her own heart stop.
---
Gilwen was lain upon the soft mattress of Faeldor’s bed, and covered in a warm down blanket. A cold cloth was upon her forehead, and Meleth had brought cool water that every so often her face might be bathed. She damped her lips with water, and kept a cup upon the table, that when she awoke, they might have her drink and rehydrate her little body. Faeldor had moved his armchair across the room until it was up against the bed, and sat there the rest of the evening. Meleth had to near force feed him, and his eyes would not remove from his beloved even as she did so. “The fever will break,” she said gently. Faeldor had no response, but buried his hand beneath the covers to find Gilwen’s little hand and clasp it in his.
Upon her next check in, Meleth found her son asleep in the armchair, his head bent over, and his hand still wrapped about Gilwen’s. She bathed the woman’s head once more, and then covered her son with a blanket to let him rest.
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Apr 15, 2010 23:11:18 GMT -5
Gilwen was hardly alive; her breathing was horribly scarce, and her mind was barely functioning. She could mark certain things about her surroundings. She knew she was being moved. She could feel the pain her bruises offered her as she was moved. She wished to give protest, who knew what foul hands were touching her now! But she was too weak to do anything. She could not open her eyes, nor could she dream of it. Perhaps this would lead to her death. A part of her would not mind the release from her illness.
She felt heavy, though weightless. She was moving a long way. She moaned quietly and cringed as her body was jarred with some sort of motion, but her consciousness did not last long, she had soon fallen back into blackness.
The next thing she was even somewhat aware of was a great rush of warmth. A part of it was soothing, though the rest of her felt opposed to it. Her head felt on fire, and she struggled to gain control of her muscles. What in Arda was going on? She could hear women’s voices. Hands were touching her, and inwardly the woman wished to shy away. Where was she? What on earth was happening to her?
She was lifted again, and Gilwen groaned softly, and tried to form words. “Lahmeegoh,” it was super quiet, and likely, whoever had taken her captive had not heard. She did not understand. The last thing she remembered was that dreadful storm.
Her anxiety and worries did not last long, she once more returned to darkness.
The deep rumbling roar roused her, and did Gilwen rise with great fervor. Immediately she gasped, sitting straight up. Her eyes flew around before her. She was in a room, though it did not seem familiar. “Let go,” she cried feverishly, arms flailing as she tried to rid herself of the blankets. She could only recall the feel of the hands. Unfamiliar hands. She was in the chamber of a man. She could tell as much by the décor. Terror seized her greatly, and her heart rate immediately skyrocketed. “No! You shall not have me!” She thrust herself from the bed wildly. Faeldor! She needed him! “He will come!” She muttered in warning to her captor. The room began to spin, and the color seemed to become tinged with orange, and the woman began to stumble.
She fell, a short but meek shriek of surprise escaping her as she tumbled down into a lap. Immediately she was in a frenzy to escape. “No! No, no!” She gasped, attempting to get away. She would not sit still; Faeldor would not like her to let a man hold her like this. The thunder sounded again, and she nearly jumped right out of her skin in terror with a wild breath.
“Fael!” She mumbled and slurred, tears beginning to stream down her face. Her cheeks had grown hotter with her new terror, and her fever was certainly not ebbing from her lack of rest. She did not know where she was. She did not know who she was upon.
She looked, desperately trying to see through her tears and fever to make out the details of the man’s face. She could tell it was a man; the muscles she felt were indicative of such a thing. The beard, dark curls.
“Fael!” She cried out, rocking forward and madly throwing her arms about his neck. “You found me. You came. Where am I? Who took me here?” She was sobbing, shaking and unable to calm. She did not wish to be here anymore. She wanted to go somewhere familiar. “The storm. I was scared. I’m cold…” Her mouth did not seem to still. Nor did her movements. At every sound of thunder or flash of lightning, the woman was clearly shaken and could not control her body. She was so weak! She wished to sleep, but not until she was somewhere safe.
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Apr 16, 2010 22:48:34 GMT -5
Faeldor drowsily opened his eyes. Was the storm growing fierce again? The thunder was rolling loudly, and when the lightning flashed and lit the place, the man startled at seeing Gilwen move about in the bed. Before he could do anything or think, she was yelling and struggling against the sheets, and then even as she freed herself, she fell off the edge of the bed upon him. She still cried out, though it seemed only short moments before she recognized the man for who he was, and babbled to him in an unending stream of words.
“You are under my roof,” Faeldor answered gently to the frantic woman. He knew that Gilwen needed to lay still and rest, yet the fact that she had moved, her eyes were open, and she was speaking, comforted him greatly. He thought that the image of the lady laying so pitifully in the street would never leave his mind.
The thin body trembled in his arms at the sound of the thunder, and she seemed to jump with the lightning strikes. Faeldor was not certain how to comfort the woman without hurting her; the thought of how terrible his mother said the bruises had been was on his mind still; and now that she was awake he wished to question her. Though, he held those thoughts. The woman seemed slightly delusional at the moment, and the man did nothing but wrap one arm about her shoulders, and the other about her hips.
“And this is my bedroom. Remember the day we came to get Haliel’s kitten? The window overlooks the garden. I brought you here to be safe with me. You will never be put out again, trust me, love. Do not be afraid.” He kissed the woman’s forehead. She was still burning; it seemed as if her fever had hardly come down. He looked about the room, finding the cup of water his mother had left on the bedside table within reach. “You must drink this water for me now, Gilwen,” the man tried to speak seriously, prying the little woman slightly from around his neck. He held the cup to her lips, tilting it to force her to drink, until she would take no more.
“You are safe; you must never be afraid when I am with you, for you will always be safe with me.” The man spoke gently, as he adjusted Gilwen in his arms, and moved to tuck her back into the bed. As much as he wished to simply sit and hold the lady, she needed to be warm and comfortable, and fall back to sleep. Rest would heal her body. He let her back upon the soft mattress, pulling the down blanket over her, and letting her silky hair fall over the pillow. “There, you need just to sleep.”
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Apr 17, 2010 8:41:00 GMT -5
Gilwen could hardly think well enough to understand what Faeldor was saying. Her mind was whirring and working far too hard to simply keep herself sitting upon his lap and out of the blackness that seemed to wish to overtake her.
She felt him wrap his arms about her, though, and the woman attempted to frantically bury herself against him. She still did not fully understand where she was; Faeldor’s words had been lost amidst Gilwen’s illness. The dark shadows that stretched across the floor seemed menacing, seemingly dancing about the room and creeping toward her, first quickly, then slowly. No, this place was unfamiliar.
She was moved away a slight for Faeldor to hold up a glass of water for her to drink from. She did not drink much; the water felt heavy on her tongue, and Gilwen’s body felt opposed to the thought of consuming anything.
“You are safe; you must never be afraid when I am with you, for you will always be safe with me. There, you need just to sleep.”
He had lifted her and tucked her back into the bed, though Gilwen had clung heartily to him. Or, she thought she had. Indeed her body was weak enough it likely did not feel to Faeldor that she had been trying to cling to him to save her own life, and it had been utterly simple for him to lay her down.
Gilwen could not understand. Why was he putting her back? She did not wish to be in there! “Do not go!” She cried frantically, sitting upright once more and crawling to him. “Do not leave,” she added just as fervently, though in a whisper. The shadows would harm her. She did not wish to be alone.
She also did not register how sick she truly was; the woman was stubbornly opposed to sleep. She reached for Faeldor’s shirts and held them loosely, unable to muster the strength to cling to him as she could have normally, brown eyes looking up into his grey ones. “I do not want to sleep. I wish to be with you,” she startled again as the thunder resounded through the city. “Please stay with me,” the last words seemed intermixed with tears.
She was frightened, and Gilwen could not understand much of anything. Nor did she feel all that well, though she had grown quite numb to such things for the fact she had not felt well in some time. She did not desire to be alone anymore. She was certain harm would come to her in the darkness of the room with the fierceness of the storm raging outside. She desperately needed to allow her body to heal, though Gilwen was not concerned with such things, and instead of allowing herself the rest she needed, she kneeled upon the bed, pitifully clinging to Faeldor and begging him to stay.
Clearly, the woman was not herself.
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Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
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Post by Faeldor on Apr 17, 2010 16:01:48 GMT -5
Faeldor had barely stood back from the bed after placing the woman down, than she had thrown the covers off once more, and crawled back to the edge of the bed, grabbing his shirt with her weak hands. She was crying again, her face was streaked with tears, and in the faint light, the man could see how the glimmering trails silhouetted her face.
The woman was clearly not well of mind, for even her cries were different. The sound was weak, along with everything else about her, but there was a sound nonetheless. She had not the restraint that she usually held, and he could tell even by the way her grip was already loosing itself upon him, and she was falling against him, that she did not have the energy to put this fight up long. Faeldor sat back down on the edge of the bed, his arms coming back about the woman. There was little to do than draw her back against him, and he lifted her lightly into his lap once more.
“I will not go. I will stay with you,” he assured the woman, letting her burrow against him as she pleased. She was feverish, and the frantic motions she was going through would do nothing to help her recover from this state; only heat her wracked little body more. The man once more took up the water and forced Gilwen to drink some more, though this time afterward he did not move her from his lap. Certain that it would not be long before she fell asleep once more, he sat still with his arms lightly about her, and wondered what he was going to do. The thunder did not seem to help the situation, for every rattle and crash her body shook more.
The man was shaken himself. He had never seen Gilwen like this, or imagined that such ill would befall her. She was always so strong and brave, and rarely willing to admit when she needed help. He could not decide in himself if this state that she was in now was better or worse than the unconsciousness that had taken her earlier. At least then she had been resting and mending; certainly nothing was helping her now. How long had she been in this stupor before he had found her on the street? If Faeldor had not the very woman against his own chest, he would have cried aloud himself at the misfortune that befell her. Now, though, she needed to rest. Sweet rest would return the Gilwen he knew to him. And so, as a calming motion to drown out the storm, the man began to sing quietly.
“I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch Was glorious with the sun's returning march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light, They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, And, in their fading glory, shone Like hosts in battle overthrown. As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance. Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, And rocking on the cliff was left The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. The veil of cloud was lifted, and below Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow Was darkened by the forest's shade, Or glistened in the white cascade; Where upward, in the mellow blush of day, The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.
I heard the distant waters dash, I saw the current whirl and flash, And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, The woods were bending with a silent reach. Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, The music of the village bell Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, Was ringing to the merry shout, That faint and far the glen sent out, Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke.
If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills! No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.”
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Sunrise on the Hills- Longfellow
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Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Apr 17, 2010 21:44:31 GMT -5
He scooped Gilwen up into his arms, and the lady immediately felt some sort of comfort. He promised he would not leave her, and she completely buried herself against him. If it was possible, she would have melded herself to him; she never wished to be apart from him again. He had gone away. But he had come back.
She could not tell that he was so shaken and troubled. Her own sickness blinded her to it. Gilwen never would have desired to trouble him, but there she felt as a child, desperately needing comfort and security. A childlike air was certainly about her now that she was so physically helpless and visibly frightened. Perhaps it was why Faeldor had kept her in his arms.
He began to sing to her, and Gilwen slowly began to listen. It was hard for her to do, for truly she felt on the verge of sleep. Nonetheless, she managed to listen for a while until the sound of his voice had lulled her into a sense of repose that she could fight no longer, and her brown eyes closed to sleep.
Her arms did not release him, though, and her grip was as tight as she could muster. Her head slumped against his chest, head tucked under his chin. If the woman could have, she would have fought to stay awake. She did not feel the need to do any of the things that would help her heal; she was too far gone to realize she needed to.
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