The Passing Days

[Gilwen]

“There is nobody in this room but you, and I, and Grandmother. Nobody at all. That man from the street is down on the first tier.”

“No. No, he is here. He was standing in the corner, he was watching me!” Gilwen said assuredly as she still hid herself nicely beneath the bed. Even though Faeldor bid her remove herself, and got down on the floor himself to fetch her, she did not oblige him and stayed firmly rooted.

“I shan’t come out!” Gilwen adamantly claimed in a childish manner, her fevered state beginning to once more make her descend into a further weakness. Tinuves joined Faeldor upon the floor, blocking in the other side, and Gilwen’s heart rate spiked immediately. She felt cornered, caged. Why was Faeldor being so insistent? Did he not wish her protected? Tinuves spoke gently, but Gilwen’s fear spiked immediately as the bed rattled.

It did not occur to her that Faeldor was the one that had shaken the bed by way of releasing his shoulder, and with a frightened gasp, she scurried out from under the bed through the unguarded side, quickly bounding to her feet and flying out of the room, her nimbleness matching that of a deer for a moment, as did her eyes.

Her heart was ramming against her chest, and the woman’s mind was swirling. Still, she pressed on and took to the staircase quickly. Her breathing was rampant, and her skin was certainly paling as she raced. She almost dashed for the front door, though changed direction. She wished to escape in a not-so-obvious manner, and instead bolted to the back door that led to the gardens. Her steps were becoming heavy, and though Gilwen was trying to fight it, she was certainly growing in meekness.

There was a fringe of orange to her vision, a halo of black around her peripheral, but the lady was determined to keep going. She stumbled, falling against the doorframe as she sought to throw it open.

Her hands were shaking, though she managed to swing the wooden door open, and stumble out to the garden. Cool air whipped at her immediately, the nightdress she was wearing hardly providing warmth at all, though Gilwen paid it no mind at all and instead kept up her steps, tripping over the stone step that led to the garden.

She slid to her knees, and for a mere moment lingered there before standing once more. Though she stood quickly, and such a thing did not sit well with her state. Everything became a blur of orange hues, and the women collapsed, even as she tried to take her next step.

Her form certainly looked lifeless, the way she so limply lied there upon the grasses. Her breathing was shallow, hardly noticeable, though it was enough to keep her alive. She was utterly cold, though her head still was far above normal temperature. She was unresponsive, surely. A deep unconscious had taken her, and it was not going to let her go from the darkness for a while.

[Faeldor]

“For heavens sake, what is she doing!?” Tinuves exclaimed, as the little woman shot out from the end of the bed and took off down the hall. “She will fall down the stairs!” In an attempt to get up and grasp the delusional lady before she injured herself further, Tinuves slid quickly out from under the bed and moved to stand so fast that she cried out a bit in pain. She grasped her lower back and gasped. “I think I’ve pulled my back,” she muttered to Faeldor a bit breathlessly. Her movements were surely impeded.

The man meanwhile had tried to free himself just as quickly, and ended up lifting the heavy bed slightly upon his back, bumping his head along the way, and bruising his ego over the fact that he had gotten stuck beneath the bed while his grandmother had seemingly no trouble. He thought too quickly though, and it seemed soon as he released himself that Tinuves was sitting down on the bed with a hand upon her own back. “Grandmother, are you alright?” he asked concernedly for a moment.

“Don’t worry about me, go get that girl! I think she is already down the stairwell!” the elderly woman exclaimed, not too pleased with the situation. She moaned frustrated, slowly rising from the bed. There would be no more running or chasing from her for a time, and now she would be the one that needed rest.

“Man alive, how does she have so much momentum?” the young man wondered aloud, as he took off down the hall. His long legs only made his trip momentary, but even as he made it to the bottom of the stairway, he saw Gilwen bolt unsteadily out the garden door, and he was soon after her. She was rushing down the steps as came to her, and he was nearly in arms reach, but just shortly missed catching her as she collapsed down the last step and into the grasses.

“Gilwen!” the man cried out as her frail body went limp. Had she hit her head? Had the sickness taken her? He dropped down to his knees beside her. She was not moving, or responding to the repetitive way in which he spoke her name. The man slowly moved to roll the woman over to her back; her face had fallen in the dirt and was streaked with mud from the damp grass, as well as her white nightgown.

Faeldor’s heart stopped in his chest as he looked down at the lifeless figure. She had done it this time! Her weak body had not handled the stress, and her life had left her! The man was about to cry out, and tears filled his eyes as he looked upon her, though, the faintest movement of her chest caught his eyes, and her eyelids fluttered slightly. Her breathing was shallow, though faintly still there. The Stablemaster held his breath for a moment to regain his emotions. “Oh precious darling…” he started quietly, moving to lift the woman into his arms, and aching at the blood that was beginning to stain the dirty, white garment. Right where her pretty knees pressed into it where she had fallen.

“Oh lovely, you need to let us care for you,” he muttered. “You need to make it past this. You are strong. Nothing has stopped you yet. This illness will not. I will marry you, and hold you for the rest of your life.” He spoke softly, wondering if perhaps his voice, or the vibrations of his chest, or anything, could help to comfort her. Though, the woman seemed utterly spent and unconscious. He continued though, to calm himself. “I love you. Don’t you know that? You must mend yourself for me. If you will not do it for yourself, at least do so for me, beloved.” His eyes held tears. Gilwen drew more tears from this man than had ever been spent in his adult life.

The man took the woman back to his bed. He lay her down on the sheets. Her gown was dirty, and damp in some places, though he could not give himself the permission to change it for her and compromise her so, even in her state. He did as much to take water and a cloth and clean the woman’s face and hands, and then move down to her feet. For a moment he considered simply carrying her down to the bath room, and bathing her himself to warm her little body. Yet, his propriety could bring him to do so. His mother had left when he had returned home for a well needed visit to a neighbor, with all of her children in tow, and she would certainly be home soon. However, the red stains upon the gown could not be ignored.

Faeldor carefully pulled that nightgown up past the woman’s knees, and moved to tenderly care for her scrapes. The poor dear, as if there were not enough going against her; that she needed shed her own blood as well. He sat on the bed and dabbed at them until the bleeding stilled, leaving the damp cloth to soothe her for some time, and watching her face for any signs of alert or even discomfort. Nothing moved though. Her breathing remained the only motion.

The man sat like such for quite a time. His hands worked to restore some of the warmth to the slender legs and feet before him, and when he was satisfied that the scrapes had stopped bleeding, he gently covered the woman again with the sheet and the quilt. Then he moved further up the bed to bathe the woman’s heated forehead with a cool cloth, and spread her silky hair carefully upon the pillow. He spent a long while stroking the dark tresses, and her hollow cheeks. Her skin seemed drawn tight over her face, for the past weeks of her illness and her homeless state had left her well undernourished for perhaps a month.

“My beautiful girl,” the man mumbled more to himself than any. “You will be well again. And your eyes will shine, and we will dance in Fela Isilme. As soon as you are well enough we will go again. Oh Gilwen, when I marry you, I will take you on a long trip to Belfalas. You so wanted to see the sea. We will go there and enjoy each other for days. Please, get better.” The man damped the woman’s lips with water, and then could not help himself but to press a short kiss to them. The only thing that made it feel as if he were not kissing a lifeless body was the heat radiating from her face, and Faeldor resorted to let his tears finally fall.

---

An hour had passed before Tinuves entered the room, bleary eyed and pale faced. She still held a hand lightly in the small of her back. When she saw Gilwen sleeping, she released a sigh, her shoulders relaxing, though the pull on her back made her to straighten again. “Faeldor, I am sorry… I had to lay down for a moment, and I stopped at the girls room and lay on Beleth’s bed. And I must have… just drifted off.” The woman had indeed been exhausted, and had not even realized that she had fallen so quickly asleep.

Words passed between the grandson and grandmother of what had been transpired, and it was declared that once Meleth returned, the woman would help Gilwen with her gown. For now, Faeldor would stay by her, and he declared that he would not return to work until her pretty mind was back in it’s right state. Tinuves did not argue. The woman was wild without her beloved there to care for her, and she marveled at it. Melanir had always been so sweet with her, yet he had never doted on her in the way that Faeldor did with Gilwen. It was a blessing, though, with the state that Gilwen was in, perhaps a curse. If the woman did not make it, her grandson would be so completely and wholly devastated.

---

The days passed on. There was no movement or sound from Gilwen, and her dark eyes remained clamped shut for a day, then two, then three. Only the occasional moan left her lips, though even that sad sound was a relief to the man. At least it meant that her body felt or reacted to something. Even though Gilwen had not once called out or asked for him, Faeldor remained by her side for almost the entirety of the next three days. There was hardly a thing to take him away, save his mother’s insistence of him to bathe and change his clothes and care for himself in at least the most meager of ways.

“Faeldor,” Meleth said on the eve of the third day. “You have hardly eaten a thing. Eat this now. The whole plate,” the mother insisted as she came brandishing a plate in the doorway. He had refused to join the family for supper. Some of the children, who had been forbidden to enter the room, looked in through the doorway.

“Mother, I think her fever is going down,” Faeldor said, ignoring the comment about eating. Meleth looked warily at his son, as if he were making such a comment up in his own belief that Gilwen would heal. The mother had been slowly losing hope. The woman had no nourishment in her body for too long, and even if her body had the ability to heal, she would not make it long or far now. Faeldor did his best to keep her lips damp, but they had truly no way to get her to swallow anything.

The woman finally stepped forward, to see for herself; placing her cool hand upon the sick woman’s forehead. She paused for a moment, sensing that of which Faeldor had said. Then, as if to double check herself she stooped downward to press her lips against the woman’s cheek, as a mother would check her own child’s temperature. “Perhaps you are correct,” she said in disbelief, smiling slightly. Faeldor dampened a cloth yet again to place upon the woman’s head and hurry the matter along. He smiled slightly, doting on the unconscious woman, and gently bathing her face with the coolness of his cloth and hands.

“This does not mean that you still need not eat,” Meleth said, shoving the plate on Faeldor’s lap. She was concerned for her son. His own cheeks were growing sallow. He was caring for Gilwen, but not himself. “Eat it,” she stated again.

“Yes, Mother,” the man said, still wiping Gilwen’s brow for some moments. Meleth watched him, and then moved t o take the cloth from his hand, taking up the duty he had given himself, and pointing at his plate. The man smiled the first smile he had in days, and hungrily picked up his fork as he still kept his eyes on Gilwen’s face for any sign of her awakening. As day faded into night, the man kept his steady perch in the chair beside her bed. It terrified him too much to lay beside the lifeless seeming body, though he would not draw himself from the room even at night, and if she awoke, he would be right at the bedside for her.

[Gilwen]

It had been days that she had laid there, though through the thick of it, Gilwen’s body had kept her alive. Truly it was a work of the Valar themselves, for a woman of any other sort would have succumbed to such illness. However, on the night of the third day, the darkness lost its battle.

Eyelids tightened a moment, then fluttered open, a small moan escaping quietly from her lips. The darkness parted, and it seemed everything had come into focus. A silver glow streamed in through the window, and the cool light of the moon illuminated her surroundings well enough for her to understand that she was in a room, though such a fact startled her, and the woman worked to sit upright.

She found that her arms had not the strength to let her rise, though, and she remained quite weighted to the bed. She had no energy to truly worry over the matter of where she was. Slowly she looked about the room, a meek and exhausted motion. Still, she marked the small pile of dirty clothes in the corner, the large window to the side, and the cloth that had fallen from her forehead as she had tried to rise.

Lastly, though, her brown eyes fell upon a form slumped in a chair. She frowned lightly, straining against the dark to make out enough features to know who sat beside her, though her frown soon changed to surprise and a bit of wonderment. “Fael?”

Her voice was quiet, neither loud nor frantic as it had been the past days. The woman said no more; her mind was whirring to try and piece things together. The last thing she remembered was that dreadful storm, the attempted visit to Meleth’s home and the assailment that had resulted from that. How had she come to be here?

Ever so slowly, Gilwen moved her arms, as if proving she still could. They still felt weighted, and the lady marveled for a moment at her own weakness. What had happened?

She looked to Faeldor once more, and after a moment of pondering what to do, she slowly reached to touch his knee and rouse him. “Fael,” she said slowly. She did not desire to wake him, for he looked as if he needed the rest. His cheery face was unusually thin, and something of it sparked a pang of worry within her that lead her to disregard her own state. Still, she was ultimately curious and spoke more. “Fael, what are you doing here? You have returned already?”

She took a deep breath, as forming the two questions had taken much strength and effort, which caused the woman to frown all the more. She had been feeling ill when he had left, though now she simply felt drained; it was as if every ounce of energy and strength the lady possessed had passed from her. She could not even rightly lift her head to address Faeldor properly, though she was too exhausted to mind too much. Instead, a part of her heart was gladdened he had returned safely. She had missed him.

[Faeldor]

Faeldor was in a heavy sleep. His body had been on alert for far too many days, and had utterly crashed this night. Perhaps some of the relief that Gilwen’s fever was indeed lowering had allowed him to rest this night. Though, his rest was not entirely peaceful. Just heavy and deep.

“Fael?” The word was drawn in his mind. Gilwen was speaking to him. Perhaps just in his dreams. Her voice was sweet and lovely, with no hint of panic or fear to it. He grumbled something inaudible and shifted slightly the chair. “Fael.” It came a second time. He started to come from his slumber. His eyes opened and adjusted to the darkness before him.

“Fael, what are you doing here? You have returned already?” The words were slow and drawn out, as if they took every ounce of energy to leave her lips. Yet, they were Gilwen’s words. Her eyes were open, drowsy, and looking upon him, and her slender hand was upon his knee. Not gripping or clinging, yet simply there, touching him. Her eyes! Her open eyes! Those pretty brown doe eyes. They were not bright, but they were open. They were focused, and fixed upon his face. No panic was within; the gaze was steady, and almost concerned. Was she concerned for him?

The man intook his breath. “Gilwen,” he said, his voice cracking as he spoke. “Starlight… oh, you are awake.” He bent over, drawing the slender hand against his lips, feeling the fingertips as they curled into his. Her hands were comfortably warm. Not freezing as they had been. He slowly moved the petite palm back to her side, and looked at her almost amazed, considering her question as he bent over her. His fingertips brushed her forehead. The skin was once more cool to the touch, as the night air, yet not freezing. The temperature of that pale skin was quite comfortable as well. He let his lips against her forehead as if to confirm.

“I am sitting with you,” he answered. “Of course I am back. I have been back from my trip for near two weeks. You have been very ill, my darling.” All the while his voice was low and gentle, that he might not startle her, or urge her fever return. He bit his lip, unable to still himself though, and slowly pulled back the covers from about her, crawling onto the bed beside the little woman, and draping an arm around her. He could not help himself. Her skin seemed drawn taught over bone, and she was too weak to move her own body against his, and so he cupped her back and pulled her against him. However ill she was, he did not care. He could hardly care anymore. For she was returning to him. His lovely Gilwen was awake as she had not been these long days.

“Oh, you are awake, Starlight, you are awake,” the man could not say anything else as that little woman was held against him. His eyes drew tears. He would have been miserable without her. She was so near death’s grips. He had prayed to the Valar to spare her life. Another in her condition would not have made it, but Gilwen was strong. She could survive anything, it seemed. The man’s throat brought forth a sob as the tears fell down his face. He had been so close to losing her. “Do not slip back into that fever, Gilwen, stay with me…” he pleaded quietly, as if she held control over the situation. “You must stay with me.”

[Gilwen]

Faeldor roused easily enough, and upon the instant his eyes focused and took not of her, Gilwen could see what looked to be a relief wash over him. “Starlight… oh, you are awake.” Such a statement seemed curious to the lady, though she did not linger on the thought long. A part of her deep down registered that such a statement marked her condition as worse than she originally thought, though the rest of her shoved such thoughts away to listen to him.

He kissed her hand, brushed her forehead first with his fingertips and then with his lips, a light in his eyes seeming to relay that he was pleased with the state he found her in. Then it seemed he took a moment to ponder on words before addressing her question. “Of course I am back. I have been back from my trip for near two weeks. You have been very ill, my darling.”

“Two weeks?” She replied surprised as Faeldor informed her of how long he had indeed been back into the city. Gilwen’s mouth dropped open as if she wished to say something else by way of question, though no sound came from her, and slowly her lips pressed back together. Finally she let the question escape. “I have been very ill?” She questioned quietly. She had known she had been sick, though for such a reaction to have come from her beloved certainly marked her state worse than she originally imagined.

He climbed into bed beside her, and the woman allowed him to drape his arm about her and pull her close; indeed, she would have moved herself a right closer if she could have spared the energy. “Oh, you are awake, Starlight, you are awake. Do not slip back into that fever, Gilwen, stay with me… You must stay with me.”

By the end of his words, Faeldor was openly crying, and his wet tears frightened Gilwen immensely. “Fael,” She said soothingly, for a moment floundering in wonderment. She had been that ill? She had driven him to tears? She worked her little body hard to sit upright, though used Faeldor’s side as a prop to keep her body controlled. A small hand rose to brush his cheek. “Fael, do not cry,” she said slowly, her brow furrowing in concern. “I…I am sorry to have worried you so,” she added quietly, letting her thumb move in a soft caress for a moment before finding it impossible to maintain in her state. “I shan’t leave you. Shhh…” Half from exhaustion, and half to comfort him she tucked her head under his chin. Oh, her Faeldor! Her heart felt as if it was tearing to hear the man she had known to be so strong and cheerful weep in such a way; it worried her greatly. Indeed, he hated to appear weak, and detested it more when he was in her own company. “It will be well,” she added quietly.

[Faeldor]

As soon as Faeldor started to cry, the woman had become concerned. The way her hand came against his cheek and the tone of her voice had changed. She was trying to comfort him. Sweet Gilwen was now looking after him, where he had been doing such a thing for her these past weeks here, and even before when she had spent the days in the stables with him. Now she was the one promising not to leave him. Her hand had brushed his cheek, and her motions did comfort him.

“You are yourself again. You are truly awake this time,” the man mumbled, in his own state of discomposure. It took him some moments to calm himself and he was grateful that Gilwen’s head had fallen against him where she would not see the wetness of his face. However, she would certainly hear the beating of his heart and feel the clenching of his breaths. He worked to steady himself.

Even in her weakened state she was trying to comfort him. The feel of that delicate hand upon his face had pushed him over the edge, but now he was slowly regaining himself. “It will be well now,” he repeated softly, finally ushering the words to his lips.

“Listen to me, darling, you will recover this time. Your body just needs rest and nourishment.” The man held that little woman against his chest. His arms about her, her body felt relaxed. She was in no frantic state, no clinging, no rapid heart beats, no crying. She would be just fine now. That fever had left her, her body was given a chance to rest. The man released a deep sigh. “You do not need to worry about a thing,” Faeldor added. “Just save your energy for recovering. I am just so glad now, you see. You were barely even breathing. You were so close to…” He cut himself off. He did not wish to think about her death, for surely his tears would come again now that he had himself under control.

Instead, he tightened his arms only slightly around her weak little body, embracing her, and letting his face tilt down to press his lips against the woman’s hair. “I love you so much,” he mouthed against her. He smiled slightly, holding the woman for some moments in this way.

Finally, the man looked to the bedside table. He could give her water. He could help her recovery further. The cup was no longer there though. His mother had removed it, in lieu of the damp cloth they had brushed against her lips for the past few days. “I am going to get you some water. You must be so thirsty,” he told Gilwen, as he moved her slowly back down to the soft bedding. “Will you lie still here while I go downstairs? Do not try to move about, save your energy. Will you be well if I step away? I should only be a few minutes.” He worried for a moment that Gilwen would try to leap from the bed if he left her there as she had before. Yet, she seemed so calm now. Her mind was here. Her right mind was returned, and she needed to do nothing but rest and mend now. Faeldor smiled, wiping his sleeve across his face to displace the remainder of the tears that had stained him. Then he leaned over the bed to kiss Gilwen’s forehead. He could not help but to kiss both of her cheeks as well, and her chin, and a soft brush to her lips.

[Gilwen]

The rampant beating of his heart and staggered breaths seemed alien to what Gilwen had known Faeldor to be. He was calm, not quick to upset or sadness. She had never before seen him in such a state and she floundered for a moment as she wondered what else she could do. Surely her body felt opposed to much more movement, though her mind slowly sought to plow forward.

“You are yourself again. You are truly awake this time.”

Gilwen frowned. What was that supposed to mean? Herself again? For a moment the woman started inwardly. How far gone had she been? She wished to inquire, but it seemed that Faeldor was so upset that she could not bring herself to ask about anything that must have happened over the past two weeks. She closed her eyes against him, allowing his tears and upset to run its course, though fought to keep herself awake. She listened to his heartbeat as she lay against him, and relaxed as she heard the beats begin to slow.

“You do not need to worry about a thing. Just save your energy for recovering. I am just so glad now, you see. You were barely even breathing. You were so close to…”

Gilwen stiffened. Close to death? Had she been that ill? Surely could she have seen her own reflection she would have understood, though in the darkness of his room there was no way for her to tell. “Fael…” She began, though stopped. He began to press kisses to her hair and face and then softly moved to words: “I love you so much.” She smiled meekly, though her eyes perhaps held a glint that was far lovelier than had been within them the past weeks. “And I love you,” she whispered back. “I am sorry to have worried you so,” she added.

They sat together for a moment, though Faeldor soon remarked on how she must be thirsty. Gilwen certainly was, though did not notice it until he had broached the subject. Still, she needed not waste her energy in response, for he seemed set to bring her a glass whether she was truly desirous or not. Though, the woman was certainly parched. “Will you lie still here while I go downstairs? Do not try to move about, save your energy. Will you be well if I step away? I should only be a few minutes.”

What a curious question. Gilwen looked at him a moment strangely, though ultimately nodded, too unsure to form words. Of course she was going to sit there; she did not have the strength to move, though she dared not speak of it. Surely that would set Faeldor into a state again.

Faeldor wiped his face clear of tears, and then leaned back over the bed to shower more kisses upon her. She looked upon him with a great wonderment. She had surely terrified him; she had been close to death.

It was a weighty thought, and the woman took her hands to cling to the bed sheets as if to prove she was very much alive. For a moment, perhaps, she was frightened. Though, she remembered Faeldor’s words: she would get better. She slumped back into the pillows, already wishing once more to return to sleep, though she did not wish to fall into a slumber when Faeldor had gone to fetch her water. Instead she sighed, and began to mark her surroundings once more.

[Faeldor]

Gilwen nodded in response that she would stay in the bed, and it gladdened Faeldor. Surely if she could as much as answer him, she would do such. And indeed she was weaker now than she had been before; but it seemed that she had stopped fighting against it. She would rest now, he was content. The man looked down at her face for a few moments longer as he leaned over her on the bed, watching her blink, and tracking her breathing. “You will be just fine,” the man hummed out, almost smiling now as he stroked her cheek for a moment. Then he finally moved from the bed, giving her another glance before he headed for the stairway.

The man made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was approaching the twilight hour of morning, and none of the family had risen yet. Faeldor would be rising soon himself if it were a working day for him, but he had sent Faelon to the stables yesterday eve to tell his head groom that he would be gone another day. It was difficult to step away from his work for so long, but surely the men understood. He would have allowed them leave had they been in his own situation. Gilwen needed him.

Faeldor thought back on Gilwen’s words. “And I love you. I am sorry to have worried you so.” He smiled to himself. Yes, the little woman would be back to her herself in no time. He would care for her, and she would be well. Her mind was already well. Though he did not think that Gilwen need apologize at all for being sick; it was completely out of her control, afterall, it was something so like her to do. Just the simple fact that she was speaking like herself was enough to calm the man completely. He could almost sing, and he did hum as he picked up the pitcher of cool water and a cup, and made his way back up the stairway.

As he returned to the room to see Gilwen lying still where he had left her, her eyes open, he smiled again, though he stilled his humming to return to talking with her. “You are in my mother’s home. This is my bedroom.” She had looked slightly confused. “I would prefer that you try not to speak much now, my dear, I do not want you to use your energy, but tell me, do you remember anything of the past weeks?” He still wished to know how everything had come to be; how she had ended up on the street, why she had not come for help, who had bruised her fragile body. As he spoke he moved the table nearer the bed, and lit the candle upon it. The orange flickering cast a warm glow and shadows about the place.

Finding his way back upon the bed, he gently lifted Gilwen into an upright position against him. Her poor, weak body saddened him, but he was still glad for her return from that darkness. Though she was utterly thirsty the man held the cup to her lips, allowing her only a short sip at a time. After so long without food and water, he knew that she should not take too much too fast, and he considered for a moment that he should go to wake his mother in case she wished to check Gilwen before they let the woman sleep again. Perhaps she could warm something for her to eat. She needed to gain back her strength and fervor.

[Gilwen]

He had left, and returned. Gilwen thought she had heard the gentle sound of humming from the kitchen, though could not be sure. After his release of tension in his tears, the man looked very much lifted. The feeling that gave Gilwen was a peace. She hated to see him so distressed.

She could not rightly tell much of her surroundings. A part of her seemed vaguely to remember it, but it seemed no more than a shadow of a memory, and she could not quite place where it had come from. Still, it did not feel harmful or dangerous. Faeldor was with her. In fact, just as she had thought of him, Faeldor returned with a glass in his hand.

“You are in my mother’s home. This is my bedroom.”

She simply looked to him and said nothing. There was no response needed, she did decide. Though, now her mind was settled of its curiosity, and she did let such thoughts and wonders go. He approached her bedside once more, and then set himself down beside her, lifting the glass for her to take her water in slow doses. The fresh liquid seemed to refresh her, and immediately the dryness of her mouth was gone.

“I would prefer that you try not to speak much now, my dear, I do not want you to use your energy, but tell me, do you remember anything of the past weeks?”

She thought a moment, and was hesitant to answer. Still, she slowly came to words, for it was clear he deserved an explanation, especially after troubling him so. Though, she thought grimly, it would do little to settle him. “I remember well the day you left. I…I came to your mother’s house, here…” her words were slow, and she trailed off as the memories flashed to her mind. “It was storming.” She could see the door, the light as Miriel had answered, the pleading she had done to try and get in to see Meleth.

But the memory that was sharpest was the sharp pains and the sounds of the rolling pin as it had struck her. Absently, her hand lifted to touch her side, and a sharp pain shot through her and she grimaced. Surely she could have expected no less. It had been quite a beating she had taken. She flashed her eyes to Faeldor for a moment before deciding against mentioning such things unless he inquired, and even then she was not sure she would be able to speak on it. He would surely be furious. “I do not remember nearly enough,” she admitted softly.

[Faeldor]

“I remember well the day you left. I…I came to your mother’s house, here… It was storming. I do not remember nearly enough.”

Faeldor nodded, his heart clenching. He could not bear to ask her more right now, for she was so exhausted and weak, but certainly later. She had trailed off in her speech, but Faeldor seemed to feel that there was more that Gilwen remembered than she had stated. His thoughts steadied on the bruises that his mother had mentioned to him. Upon his inquiry even the day previous, Meleth had told him they looked much the same. He supposed that bruised skin could not heal without proper care and nourishment at any rate. He frowned lightly. He would have to keep it from his mind now for awhile. At least until the woman had more rest and energy.

“Well, I found you and brought you here, darling. You must have lay in the street as you were for four days before I came. And you have been in my mother’s home now for near two weeks; in and out of consciousness, and with a horrible fever.” The man did not speak now of her actions while conscious. He would tell her later, yes, but not now. He would also speak to the lady on why she failed to mention that she was without a home. Faeldor was hurt that she had not told him. He could have prevented this whole illness if he had simply known. The thoughts however, only made the man to cuddle Gilwen against his side. “The fever broke last night, and I knew you would come back to me,” he sighed, bending to nuzzle the woman’s hair.

After allowing the woman to down half the glass of water, Faeldor set the cup aside to let her stomach settle first. Then he carefully let Gilwen lean back against the headboard of the bed, tucking a pillow behind her. “Mother will wish to know that you are awake. I know you are tired, but do not fall asleep on me yet, I want her to look at you first.” The man left the woman sitting up in the bed, and went for the door again, heading down to the end of the hall of Meleth’s room.

“Mother,” he said quietly, opening the door slowly.

“Fael, is something wrong?” the woman asked, an alert mother even in her sleep.

“No, no,” he answered quickly. “Gilwen is awake; come see to her mother.” Meleth seemed to look toward the window at the pale light coming from the purple sky. “It is nearly dawn he added.” The woman motioned for Faeldor to be quiet as Eoric started to move in the bed, and she tucked the little boy back in as she made her way in her nightdress, and barefoot across the floor, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

“She is alert, Mother. She is not fearful nor crying, and her fever has left her.” Meleth stopped for a moment, in wonder and relief. “Just come see her, I gave her some water.”

As Meleth entered the room to see Gilwen where she was in bed, she looked astounded. “For Eru’s sake. You are a sprightly thing to bounce back from this.” The woman moved toward the bed brushing her loose hair back behind her shoulders. She bent over the woman to feel her temperature, and check her pulse. Then she lifted the candle from the table and held it near her face to watch her eyes, which were focusing now quite splendidly. “Oh, just look at you,” Meleth’s face broke into a smile, as she kissed the girl’s cheek.

“Gilwen, oh you perfect child,” Meleth doted taking another pillow from the far side of the bed to help prop the woman up. “I am going to get some food in you while you are still awake. You just hold on a bit longer dear, and I’ll go heat something up.” The woman was quite gleeful. “Faeldor, give that woman a kiss,” she instructed, smiling.

“I have, Mother,” the man answered, his eyes gleaming. Meleth just smiled, and whisked out of the room. She had expected the worst when Faeldor woke her, but now! What a surprise!

The man moved back to the edge of the bed, letting Gilwen lean against him once more, and moving to kiss her forehead. “Mother’s orders,” he smiled.

[Gilwen]

“Well, I found you and brought you here, darling. You must have lay in the street as you were for four days before I came. And you have been in my mother’s home now for near two weeks; in and out of consciousness, and with a horrible fever.”

Gilwen was startled by such news, though it only flashed in her eyes for a moment. “Four days?” She whispered. She did remember settling in her alleyway upon her return from this very house, though the storm had blurred together her days, and she could remember nothing else. It sounded as if her state had been horrid for Faeldor to find her there, and the thought of him finding her upon the street instantly set her to embarrassment. For the moment she did not blush, though she downcast her eyes to her lap. For Eru’s sake, she had worked so hard to keep her dwelling a secret!

He maneuvered her upright, leaning her comfortably against the headboard, saying something about alerting his mother that she was awake again. “You need not disturb her,” she murmured, though it was to no use. Faeldor was already walking out the door and down the hallway. Gilwen sighed, though tossed a glance to the window for a quick moment. The skies were changing color and hue; dawn. Perhaps it would not be such an inconvenience for the baker, though Gilwen truly would have rathered Faeldor wait until she had risen of her own accord. She was not well, by any means, but she did not think she needed immediate tending.

“For Eru’s sake. You are a sprightly thing to bounce back from this.”

Gilwen gave a half-hearted smile. She was a daughter of poverty; she was bred for strength. If Meleth thought Gilwen was a fighter, she had not spent enough time with Gilwen’s parents. Nonetheless, Gilwen was quite strong of body and will; it would take something great for her to fall apart completely.

Meleth came to the bed quickly, quickly giving Gilwen a full assessment before seeming satisfied with her recovery. “Gilwen, oh you perfect child.” The words had caught Gilwen highly off guard, for she certainly did not feel perfect. Indeed, she was sure she looked disheveled and sickly. Most likely far from beautiful. Another pillow was added for her comfort, and Meleth left to fetch her food, though her parting words brought the truest sign that Gilwen had returned.

“Faeldor, give that woman a kiss.”
“I have, Mother.”

Faeldor even seemed proud of such a thing! Immediately, a light rose color came to Gilwen’s pallid cheeks, the first sight of color that she had had for much time. But the color only deepened as Faeldor crossed to her and kissed her forehead again. “Mother’s orders.”

Gilwen enjoyed his affection, but something of the situation seemed awkward; she sat bundled in Faeldor’s own bed, and to receive his kisses and embraces there felt more intimate by themselves. But to have his own mother know and see!

To drain the colored flush from her cheeks, Gilwen immediately sought to change the subject. “You waited by the bedside.” She started plainly, though meekly. “Were you there all the four days?” She sounded somewhat flabbergasted at the thought. Surely he would have had greater things to be doing elsewhere, especially in his work.

[Faeldor]

“I was not here all the time, though, it seems you did much better when I was here. I worked a few days off and on, but you needed me, dear,” the man answered. “That fever left you in a pitiful state. When you did wake at times, you had terrors and needed me. You were so afraid.” The man did not wish to say much more. He could tell her of all the things she had said and had done, though he did not think now was the best time. She would fret over it, and she had not the energy now to fret. Nor did he wish to dwell on the past days. It would only upset the both of him, and Faeldor wished for no further distress to befall the lady.

“But you need not worry now,” he added. “You are here with me, my Starlight. Nothing will harm you, and I will keep you,” the man promised. His promises were held true as always, for Faeldor would never let Gilwen be sent out again. From now on and forever she would always have a roof over her head, and a warm bed.

His musings led him past the minutes, and Faeldor hardly noticed that his mother had returned, bearing a bowl and a spoon. “Thank goodness I saved some of this last night. I will have to cook up another pot today. Are you tired Gilwen? Tell me how you are feeling and where your pains are.” Meleth sat down on the end of the bed, her cheeks aglow from rushing about so quickly after waking, but her face pleasant. The thought of looking after this woman another day was not so daunting now. If Gilwen could just tell her what she needed, oh, she would mend so quickly. She smiled as well at Faeldor’s obvious happiness. The man had gladly taken the offered bowl of broth and spoon, though had waited for his mother’s questioning to finish before slowly helping Gilwen to eat.

[Gilwen]

Gilwen frowned as she learned of the bare minimum of her behavior, though looked at him with a sense of wonderment. “You are here with me, my Starlight. Nothing will harm you, and I will keep you.” She smiled, an eased sigh escaping her silently. The last she had seen of her father and mother had been that dreadful day everything had been taken from her. She faltered for a moment, then, with the thought coming to the forefront of her mind. Faeldor had seen her upon the street; surely he was upset, and Gilwen mused a part was for not knowing what had befallen her.

“All the same,” she said quietly and with a small smile. “You needn’t shirk obligations for me.” Though, she could not deny it pleased her to know that he had sat beside her in her illness. It was comforting, even if she could not recall a moment of it now. A silence fell over them, and Gilwen relished the quiet, for it let her still her words and conserve her energy. She had, apparently, awoken after many days of being drowned in blackness, and already she felt the urge to let herself fall to sleep once more.

It was then Meleth streamed in, a bowl of what looked to be soup in hand, and she set herself down upon the edge of the bed. “Thank goodness I saved some of this last night. I will have to cook up another pot today. Are you tired Gilwen? Tell me how you are feeling and where your pains are.” Such question from Meleth warranted words, and a part of Gilwen was dismayed by the prospect of suffering through the speaking, and was even more so by the fact she would have to speak of such weakness in front of Faeldor, who also seemed to watch her intently for her response.

“I feel,” she began slowly, a knot tying itself in her stomach for the way she would be baring herself before them. She had wished to retain a bit of dignity in this situation, though such a thing seemed impossible. Finally she sighed. “Tired,” she began. Once she started speaking it seemed to come slowly, though she dropped her eyes as she continued. “I feel drained; I…I can hardly move,” she admitted lowly.

Now was the part that set terror into her heart. Her pains. Well, her knees felt stiff—a byproduct of her unremembered spill in the garden. “My knees are stiff. But—“ she stopped short, a hand raising to touch her side again. Truly she did not hurt, save for the dull pain that came from laying upon her bruises. Still, she dared not mention them in front of Faeldor. Instead, she bypassed mentioning them and said, “My head does hurt slightly.”

[Faeldor]

“All the same. You needn’t shirk obligations for me.” The man smiled, and spoke after a time before his mother entered the room. “You are my obligation, my love. I will gladly put everything else aside for you. Those horses are in quite fine hands with the men in the stables.” His statement was thorough and without any thought of argument. It simply was; and it was the truth of the matter for Faeldor.

---

As his mother returned with the bowl of soup and begin her questioning on aches and pains. Meleth was glad that Gilwen responded as she did. She nodded as the girl spoke. “Mhm… no doubt you are drained; and we will let you rest again in no time.”

The knees, well, both Faeldor and Meleth knew why she had pains there, and for the headache Meleth would bring the girl a compress for her eyes. She waited expectantly for the girl to finish. Though, it seemed she was done speaking.

“And your sides?” Meleth prompted. “I think that you might have a few broken ribs… you are bruised to the bone at least if anything,” the woman said evenly. “But I have not been certain. Will you breathe in deep and tell me how it feels?”

Faeldor waited expectantly, now that it had been brought up. He did not know if Gilwen knew of the bruises. He, of course, had not seen them, yet, he had heard enough. He knew not if whoever had beaten her had done so still within her memory, or if it had occurred after she entered her feverish state on the first tier. He felt his heart beat more quickly in his chest at just the thought of it… who could injure a woman, defenseless and ill as she had been? She had certainly not asked for it; the man knew her temperament well.

[Gilwen]

As well as Gilwen had tried to evade the subject of the soreness of her sides, it seemed that Meleth took care to bring it up anyway. Gilwen chewed her bottom lip, even more so as she was given an order. “But I have not been certain. Will you breathe in deep and tell me how it feels?”

The lady did not follow instruction right away, and instead looked warily at both of them as if she was deciding whether to comply or not for the sake of avoiding the question of how she had received such blows. Blows that had apparently turned to horrendous bruising. Though, such a thing was not a surprise. Miriel was a strong woman, and with her fury, and Gilwen’s own weakness, she had been utterly open to such blacks and blues.

Finally she did as she was told and took a deep breath, though winced halfway through and quickly expelled the air from her lungs and lift her hand to grip tightly her side. Her facial expression was enough to relay her discomfort, and she did not bother trying to catch her breath to utter any words, and instead focused on taking shallower breaths, trying to find the right balance of air and lack of pain.

She spared a glance at the two figures that sat before her, though downcast her eyes as she mumbled, “It is not so bad.” Though, whether such a thing was a lie or not was unclear. “I do not think anything is broken,” she added. Though, the pain certainly was still searing within her. She did not wish to worry either of them, though and silently prayed they would inquire no further and simply let her rest.