Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Jan 16, 2013 22:49:16 GMT -5
“I know she will wish to see you, and we will all have some supper. Perhaps then I will be able to walk you back home before the dark is upon us.”
Niniel took a deep breath and offered Faeldor a small smile, and ultimately followed Faeldor and his siblings into his home. She paused in the entryway, though not from dread as it was awe. Niniel had never been in a house so grand in all her life. This was a hall just to receive visitors! Perhaps she had heard of something like that before, but never had she seen it.
Niniel’s mind was distracted the minute Diore took off into the house, calling at the top of her little lungs to her own daughter and giving way what she had hoped to be a surprise to ease their meeting. She drew a quick breath.
“Gilwen! Your Mama is here, and she brought you your dolly!”
In the sitting room, Gilwen looked up and caught a breath of her own, hearing Diore call out into the house and only shortly afterward seeing her break into the room with Haliel following. They did not stay long, it seemed, for their spirits could not be so easily subdued. The little woman kissed Eoric’s cheek and set him down on the floor for he certainly wished to go to his sister. She gave Diore a small smile. “Is she here?” She half hummed. Diore must have thought that was all she needed to say, because the little dear turned right around and raced back down the hall, Eoric toddling behind.
Niniel stood with a polite and friendly smile to Marileth, and for a moment noted Faelon as he sprinted through. My, but that boy was in a hurry. And the blonde child that had come behind Diore—that had to be Eoric, the little child that Gilwen so adored and had spoken so fondly of. Perhaps Niniel had heard her daughter speak of how full the House of Faelon was, but she had never felt it. And to think, some of his family were not here.
The children went to prepare the table and ready themselves for supper, and Faeldor finally led Niniel down a hallway and into a spacious room with a stairway that led upstairs, furniture that looked to be of the highest quality that she had ever seen, and…
“Gilwen,” Niniel gasped, falling still near paces into the room.
Her daughter definitely looked as if she were still ill—Niniel had never seen her in such a state, so thin and so meek. And Faeldor had said this was an improvement! Her heart ached, and her brow furrowed for a moment in sadness.
Gilwen marked them enter, her brown eyes as alert and cautious as she had looked in some time. Her Faeldor crossed to her, and held out his hand to help her stand. After a moment she had stood, and while she was very much exhausted after all the work she had done with the children that day, she did not fear falling, she was held so close to his side.
Her voice failed her. She did not know what to say. Gilwen, then, was relieved when Faeldor broke the silence. “I have asked my Starlight to marry me, and she has accepted.” Intrinsically, her hand raised to touch the ring about her neck.
“Oh, Gilwen,” Niniel whispered.
“Mama,” Gilwen finally replied. “It…it is good to see you,” she continued slowly, her heart beginning to quicken in nerves.
Niniel nodded, slowly at first, and then more readily. “Yes…yes, and Gilwen, it has been so long. Far too long,” the woman breathed in an airy murmur. The woman was squeezing Anna in her hands as tightly as if she were made of gold, and with a bit of hesitation took some steps forward. Still, Niniel finally fell still again. A few tears were misting in the mother’s eyes, and she smiled. “Betrothed?”
Gilwen nodded, glancing up to Faeldor with a strange shade of peace in her expression. “Yes,” she said finally, a thick fondness and pleasure in the word that made Niniel sob openly for a moment. “Mama.” Gilwen looked back to Niniel and took a step from Faeldor toward her. Her own brown eyes were beginning to water. “Is…is that…Anna?” She whispered.
Niniel looked down to the rag doll and extended it, chancing one more step toward her daughter, though going no further. “Yes, Verya and I thought you might like it,” she stated. “She…we…miss you.”
Gilwen looked at the doll for a moment before lifting her eyes back to her mother. “Mama, I—”
“I’m sorry, Gilwen! I’m…so…sorry,” Niniel could no longer contain her tears, and she near folded into herself as she began to let them stream from her eyes and finally lost her fight with control. “I should have—I wanted to—please,” she was gasping, and shaking.
Gilwen’s little face contorted into a frown, and tears came to her eyes too. “Mama,” she whispered. It was barely audible, and Niniel certainly had not heard it. “Mama,” she repeated. And then, she could contain herself no longer; Gilwen crossed to her and threw her arms about her mother’s neck.
At first, Niniel was too surprised to realize precisely what was happening, though her arms soon locked about her daughter tightly, and they both for a moment cried into each other’s hair. “I should not have let him do it, Gilwen,” she murmured.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Gilwen replied meekly. Her cheeks felt hot, and her heart was racing more than it had in quite some time. She needed to get control of herself, for she knew that perhaps she might feel a bit ill soon, and she did not want Faeldor to worry for her. And she did not want her mother to leave. Not again.
“Oh, here,” Niniel pulled back and thrust Anna into Gilwen’s hands, cheeks and eyes red. She sniffed roughly but smiled. “If it is all right, I would like to visit often. I cannot be here all the time so, maybe, you could know I think of you.”
Gilwen’s smile was faint, though sincere. “I have missed you, Mama,” she whispered. She gripped the doll tightly in her hands, though the flush in her cheeks and the heartbeat she carried had caused Niniel to frown slightly.
“Gilwen, dear, sit down,” she hummed, reaching for her arm and guiding her back to the sofa. Gilwen obliged, and looked to Faeldor gratefully. She would have to thank him for this. She had been frightened of it before, but now. Now she was happy. “Tell me,” Niniel continued. “Have you started planning it yet? Your wedding, I mean.”
Gilwen laughed through her tears, and shook her head. “No, I—we haven’t,” she reached for Faeldor’s hand. She gripped him as firmly as she could to draw him close. She wanted, for the time being, to be surrounded by them both. She did not think she was feeling well enough to carry a conversation fully on her own, and her stable master gave her a bit more comfort than she was willing to part with right away. “We will soon, perhaps,” she added quietly.
“I will help any way that I can,” Niniel blurted enthusiastically. “Oh, my Gilwen! I knew Faeldor was the one, right from the beginning. I told you! I told your—” Niniel broke off immediately and her face fell.
Gilwen’s face looked pained, but she squeezed Faeldor’s hand and glanced upward to him for a moment. “I…I know, mama.”
--
With sweat, grime and heaves of strength, Beregar and Faeron had toiled through their day. The sun was bright, and while the days were cool, they and the men they labored with felt nothing of its comfort. The fields would not harvest themselves. Faeron was used to such labor, as before the days had grown so dangerous and money so scarce, he had cared and cultivated his own farm day in and day out. Beregar, though, was not. While both men were strong of will and of body, it was very clear that the older one of them was having a bit of a harder time adjusting.
Tossing sacks of grain, wheat, potatoes and the like required a different kind of strength than that required of a foot soldier, and Beregar’s face looked grim and drawn.
Though, Faeron mused to himself, his brother’s face had not so much as smiled since he and his family had joined his older brother in his home on the first tier. He had not kept much contact with Beregar, for while both could both read well enough it was another matter entirely for them to write with any grace, but as soon as they had met in person, it had not taken long for Faeron to hear of his dear brother’s misfortune.
Stripped of their home, stripped of his job, his lovely daughter stripped of hers—it seemed like it had been a dreadful year. And then, Faeron figured, to have the small space shared by four others had added its own share of extra stress. Though, the younger sibling was sure to please his brother by announcing that soon he would have the money ready for a home in the city himself. Faeron knew his wife and eldest daughter were trying on the already frayed nerves of his sister-in-law, Niniel, and his brother. Perhaps half of all of the troubles might have been avoided should they have not come to the city for aide.
The sun sank low, and while there was still much work to be done there in the fields, the men were dismissed and sent back to the city; it was no use to labor without light. And so Beregar and Faeron moved back toward the Main Gate, the elder still carrying a thick frown upon a now haggard face.
Faeron studied him knowingly a moment before turning his eyes back toward the gleaming White City. “You may not like it, brother,” he began in a quiet voice, “but it is a job.”
Beregar snapped his eyes to his younger brother and grimaced. “I liked the one I had,” he answered gruffly. Since Faeron had moved in with him, Beregar had changed a bit in mood. At first, Beregar had been slightly pleased to see his younger brother for in the past years neither of them had been able to see each other for some time. It was a change for the better to once more share a drink, to speak and to exchange stories that had long been unshared. In the past few weeks, though, Beregar had been curt with him. And, Faeron figured, it was because of the fact Faeron’s spirit was much like his Gilwen’s. Neither were ever loud or trying, and both preferred quiet days to boisterous crowds.
“Niniel is happy that you have found work,” Faeron mused in a low hum. “Things will get better.”
Beregar frowned, brow pinched sharply and lips scowling heavily. “Is she, Faeron? Is Niniel actually happy?” He could hardly imagine how such a thing could be true; Niniel had not even spoken to him since word had come to him of Gilwen’s illness, and in truth, they had not even looked at each other either. Many things could be used to describe his wife: stubborn, proud, frustrated, angry, resilient—but certainly not happy.
“Well, she was pleased you took work,” Faeron responded gently. “And you are too, Beregar—you’ve never been one to be idle. It will be good for both of you.”
A snarl curled at Beregar’s lip, though he said nothing else as they passed into the city from the plain. Good for them? Niniel despised him for what he had done to Gilwen. But she had wronged their family name. She had deserved it. Beregar grimaced, looking down to the cobbles of the street. No, he thought in correction. Nobody deserved to be homeless.
He was a proud man, though, and he had not yet admitted to himself that it had been stupid and careless to let his precious daughter leave home. Still, he had thought the lady would have come back and promised she would not see that Faeldor again. And when she had not done that, Beregar had assumed that the man had taken her into his home and that she had been safe—though defiant!—with him.
That night when Faeldor had come to his home and asked for Gilwen, and Beregar had not seen her in some time…perhaps he did not show it then, but he had been terrified. Niniel, of course, had burst into tears and broken and crumpled in Gilwen’s room upon her bed, but Beregar had gone back to his own room and sat down in quiet. He had not told anyone that his heart had shattered, that he was filled with sudden regret and worry, that he hated himself.
And he still could not bring himself to the point where he could admit he was wrong aloud, that he could reach out to his wife and to his daughter. His Gilwen. Perhaps the only thing that Beregar approved of about his small, first tier home was that it was no long distance to walk from the gate to his own front door.
Faeron and he approached in silence, and opened the door without much else said between them.
“Welcome home, father,” Verya chimed lowly as they passed through the entry. She stood over a meager stove, preparing what looked to be a rather fresh, though small, meal. “Uncle.”
“That smells lovely, Verya,” Faeron replied, giving the girl a smile.
The girl smiled and turned back to the pot, for a moment giving it a stir. “I thought I would take care of dinner tonight.”
Beregar paused and stiffened in the doorway. Verya was cooking? He looked about the house. Where had Niniel gone? Merilwen and Merilla both sat lazily upon the sofa, the former working with some needlepoint and the latter absently twirling fingers through her hair, but other than that the room was empty. More than this, though, Beregar could tell that nobody else was in the house. It was silent.
“Where’s Niniel?” He finally asked aloud. Verya glanced over her shoulder, and Merilla sat up a bit with interest and smiled.
“She’s—” Faeron’s oldest began, mouth shaping into a rather sharp grin.
“Out!” Verya cut in. “She had some business to take care of.” She offered her sister a sharp look, and Merilla rolled her eyes.
“Business?” Beregar repeated gruffly. He eyed Merilla sternly for a moment. Something was amiss here; he knew it. He was no fool. Still, he could not tell what it was, so he dropped the purse of his pay onto the mantle over the small fireplace and began to make for his bedroom to wash up. But the man froze.
Slowly, the man turned back, eyeing the bare shelf with cold eyes. Anna. Gilwen’s doll was gone. Niniel had put her on the mantle to act as a scathing reminder to her husband exactly what he had done to his daughter—but today, it was not there. His shoulders stiffened, and his frown twitched deeper.
“What business?” He repeated in question, voice a bit sharp.
Verya looked up quickly, taking the stew from the fire and placing it off to the side. She had taken the doll to give to Niniel earlier that evening, that she could send it along to Gilwen. Verya had never once thought Beregar had paid it enough notice on the mantle to notice that it would be missing. He never even looked! But, apparently, he had. “She…” The gentle girl could not lie, but she did not want to say where she had gone. She had promised Niniel she would not say anything of her visit to Faeldor’s home.
Merilwen glanced up a moment from her sewing and scoffed. “That man picked her up before dark.”
“Yes,” Merilla nodded. “Faeldor, right? She went to his home for supper.”
Beregar wheeled. “She what?” He demanded.
“She went to see Gilwen!” Verya interjected. “She went to see Gilwen,” she repeated a bit softer. Her uncle’s expression nearly frightened her.
Beregar wasted no time and turned, fists clenched by his sides. “Where are you going?” Faeron asked as his brother passed by him and back to the door.
Beregar looked sharply at him, though Faeron could tell it was not so much directed at him as it was some other sort of fury. “To fetch my wife,” Beregar snapped through gritted teeth. Maybe Gilwen had disobeyed and defied him on seeing Faeldor, but Niniel would not.
The man stormed through the streets, height and scowl clearing a path before him as he climbed. How dare she go to that place? How dare Faeldor show himself upon his door! He would not be made to look a fool.
First, second, finally the third tier he climbed, looking for a moment to mark his old home along the familiar street. Seeing it empty and abandoned, for none had moved to buy it yet, further ignited his displeasure. He was not going to stand for that family to break his family any more than it already had. Cold eyes returned to the street, and his quickened pace helped him yet to climb.
Faeldor, son of Faelon. As he began to near the sixth tier he approached some people who stood pleasantly upon the road, beginning to inquire as to where, precisely, his house was. Some had been none too helpful palace staff, not knowing the lay out of the sixth tier at all though remarking he worked in the stables as the master there. Still others must have marked Beregar’s expression and had thought better of giving a precise location, instead waving a hand down the road and saying, “Ahead a pace, I do believe.”
The man was growing frustrated, for each house was grandly built and very much the same, and most of the people were now heading inside. He planted his feet firmly in the middle of the street, and frowned all the harder, cursing under his breath.
“I beg your pardon,” a genteel voice wafted from behind the old soldier, and Beregar turned to face it. The man was handsome, well dressed and tall, though not overly built. His face held no smile, though, and instead seemed to wear a look of confusion or worry. If Beregar, though, had been familiar with Durion son of Daeron, he would have never trusted his expression. “Did I hear you were looking for Faeldor? Son of Faelon?”
“What of it?” He growled in reply, muscles tightening in ripples down his arms and across his chest at the very thought of the man’s name. Durion studied him a moment, perhaps with a careful consideration.
Beregar could not see, but the crooked man smiled behind his eyes. “I wish merely to help,” Durion breathed easily, holding up his hands in mock submission. This was the soldier, this was Gilwen’s father—he knew that. He knew also that this could possibly be the best game play to rid himself of pesky Faeldor all together. Beregar was quite tall, with crafted muscles and an expression that reminded the lord of a wolf. Maybe this was his next move for his twisted game. “He lives not far from here.”
“You know him?” Beregar demanded.
“Yes,” Durion nodded, though grumbled under his breath an added, “He has very well lived here for many years,” he added, drawing his lips together in a tight line and pondering his next words. “Ask any who have lived here long enough, and they know quite where to find him. I try to avoid the house, truly,” Durion continued, though for once the sour look in his eye was not feigned at all. “He’s always been too aggressive for proper company.”
Beregar frowned. The people of the sixth tier thought Faeldor aggressive? And his daughter and now his wife were somewhere in his house? The thunder in his expression darkened immediately. It probably had not been his sister at all that had harmed Beregar’s daughter. It had been him! “Show me his home,” he ordered.
Durion inwardly smiled, though offered a slow nod. “Of course, this way.” Beregar stormed after the lord, trailing behind with heavy and quick steps, and it did not take long before Durion could see Faeldor’s pathetic little home and the light of their doorstep before him. He motioned to the house with a wave of his hand, “That one there, with the steps.”
Beregar growled and barreled forward, not even uttering a word of thanks to Durion as he went, and as much as the lord wished to linger and see the destruction that was going to come from the unhappy soldier and arrogant stable master, he had an equal if not stonger desire to make sure nobody noticed him. He would find out what happened later, he mused, from sources he had in the stables and in the lower tiers. He would not risk Faeldor seeing him before his home, or chance the fact the blasted fool would turn Gilwen’s father on him instead, so Durion for a moment watched, and then slipped quietly back to the shadows and toward his own home.
The soldier climbed the steps, breath labored and face maroon in his fury. Niniel should have known better. Faeldor should have known better! He wanted his family left alone. He offered three short knocks, though in his anger they rattled the door on its hinges.
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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 Jan 16, 2013 23:49:22 GMT -5
Faeldor stood quietly behind the two woman as the meeting ensued. As he saw Gilwen's face upon her mother's entrance, he knew he had not done a wrong in inviting Niniel. No child wished to be separated from a parent. Faeldor often sought Meleth's comfort, and he missed his father terribly. He would never wish to be separated from his mother for any matter of time in which it would have been off limits to speak with her, or not know if she was well. As he watched the two women, he guiltily thought of his sister Beleth, who he had sent away from home. At least she is with family, he mused to himself.
When Gilwen moved to sit down again, she took his hand, and he seated himself on the arm of the chair next to her, comfortably pulling her shoulders against his hip after she squeezed his hand. They did not say his name, but they spoke of Beregar. Both women had come to silence. Faeldor flustered.
“We thought, perhaps we would have the ceremony in our gardens, behind the house,” Faeldor offered to Niniel, trying to bring peace back to the conversation.
–
Haliel and Diore had taken back down the hallway before supper to fetch their dolls. Diore ran first to Meleth's small room on the first floor, where she slept with her Mother and Eoric in the big bed. Despite her cheerful and exuberant attitude during the day time, she was still too frightened to sleep alone or with the other little girls at night, and preferred to be at Meleth's side. Diore found her doll, and lit back to the kitchen ahead of Haliel, as the other little girl hobbled to the end of the house to fetch her doll from the library, where she had earlier been reading to her from one of the schoolbooks of tales that Grandfather had found for her.
“There you are, Gwendolyn,” Haliel chastised the doll as she picked her up under one arm, and began to carry her back down the hall toward the kitchen. Wouldn't Gilwen be surprised! The dolls would have company for supper too! Perhaps Mari would let them play pretend with some bread rolls and fruit, and sit the dolls upon the table.
As Haliel made her way back to the kitchen and was walking past the entry, the door resounded with three loud knocks. Oh, we must have shut Grandfather out! She thought to herself, as she went to the door. The latch had a habit of falling shut if the door was not shut properly... something Faeldor had neglected to fix in his recent busy days. Grandfather would know that they were sitting down to supper.
In reality, Grandfather did know that they were sitting for supper, as Faelon had called him in from the garden, and he had already made his way about the house to the dining room with the children.
Haliel went to the door and it took her a moment to pull the latch. “Coming!” she called. The smiling little girl struggled with the knob for a moment, as she had never been good at opening doors. They were much too heavy, and it was difficult to twist the handles and make them work, while at the same time keeping her balance. She stumbled back with her crutch as she finally pulled the door open, and standing above her was a man. Not her Grandfather.
He was tall and large, like Faeldor, though with a wider stance and broader shoulders. And he looked angry. Haliel was not certain what to do, so as she caught her balance, she simply stood in the doorway, Gwendolyn in hand, looking up at him with frightened, blue eyes. Her lip trembled and she looked quickly behind her toward the hall again.
“Mama!” she called for her mother in her fear, though remembered that Meleth was out. “F...F... Fael...” she called quietly for her brother next.
The dark haired girl meant to step backward away from the door, but stumbled, dropping on the floor, and simply sitting in the expansive entryway.
–
Faeldor heard the knock on the door from his seat in the sitting room, and sensed that something was not right. It was too loud and brisk to be his Mother or Grandmother returning, and Grandfather would not knock the door so loudly anyhow. Perhaps there was someone from the stables with a message. He despised messages, thinking back on the solider who had once come to their yard and offered the news of his father's death.
“Excuse me,” he said quietly, looking to Niniel and patting Gilwen's shoulder as he stood.
He moved from the sitting room as he heard the creaking of the front door, and Haliel's frightened call.
Oh, dear Eru, what has happened, the man thought to himself, and as he left the sitting room, he sprinted down the hall as fast as he could for his sister. If there had been no trouble, Haliel would not have sounded so fearful! Oh, his little sister. Nothing could happen to her! He raced into the entryway and stood cold at the entrance as he saw the door partially opened, his little sister sitting on the floor, and Beregar in the doorway. Faeldor was only frozen in place for a moment as he moved for Haliel, picking her up from the ground, handing her her doll and her crutch. “Take Gwenny to supper,” he said gently to his sister , though he did not take his eye from Beregar. Haliel backed up a step behind her brother, but peered around him, moving no further.
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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 Jan 17, 2013 0:39:03 GMT -5
“The gardens! Oh, that would be lovely!” Niniel exclaimed pleasantly. Gilwen smiled, and squeezed Faeldor’s hand for a second time. Truly, Gilwen had not truly minded anything about the specifics, it was the fact that when everything was over, when the ceremony was done, she would belong to Faeldor. Forever. And nobody would ever be able to speak against them again.
Niniel, it seemed, was about to continue prattling on, asking more questions about food, guests and the like, but a harsh rattling at the door drew all of them to silence. Gilwen’s brow furrowed as Faeldor excused himself to go to the door. She peered after him as he went, knowing him well enough to see his face held some sort of unease. Haliel’s voice called for him, and Gilwen frowned all the harder. She sounded terrified.
Immediately the woman sought to stand, though Niniel stilled her and shook her head. “Stay here, Gilwen,” Niniel murmured gently. “I shall go.” And with that, her mother stood, and Gilwen could do nothing but watch as she vanished down the hall, too.
--
Beregar had not been expecting a little girl to open the door. He recognized her, of course; it was Haliel, the one he had played with on the floor of his home on the third tier those months ago in the storm. If he had been of his right mind, he would have noted how terrified she looked of him there—but he had not come for Haliel.
“Take Gwenny to supper.”
There. Beregar’s eyes like coals fell upon that pig. That dirty, twisted man. Faeldor. “You,” the soldier grumbled fiercely, like a thunder. “I have warned you to stay away from my family.” He took a step into the doorway, looming darkly against the outside. The man was near pulsating with the tension in his arms and chest. He pointed at Faeldor roughly. “I told you what I would do to you if you kept coming around. I warned you—”
“Beregar!” Niniel gasped from the hallway, eyes immediately cross and hands coming sharply to her hips. “Have you lost your mind?” She hissed.
“Me? Have I lost my mind? What are you doing in this pig’s house? He has ruined our daughter!” Beregar snapped, and then turned his attention back to Faeldor. “If you had left us alone, if you had listened to me none of this would have happened!” His chest was heaving, and his fist was balled tightly and it twitched at his side as he took another step forward.
Niniel noticed for the first time Haliel, and she grabbed the little girl and pulled her back. “Go sit with Gilwen, yes? I don’t want her all alone.” She offered the girl a smile and set her on her way. This did not look to be anything that was going to end well—Haliel certainly did not need to see this.
“I have had it with warnings,” Beregar growled, reaching and snatching Faeldor’s tunic tightly in his hand and yanking him roughly forward. “I know it was you,” he spat, thinking back for a moment on the bruise on his daughter’s pretty face. “I know it was you, you loathsome rat! How dare you strike her! How dare you?!” Beregar wheeled around and slammed the man against a wall, using the hold he had upon Faeldor’s tunic to keep him pressed there.
“Beregar!” Niniel gasped.
“She was perfect before you!” He hissed. Beregar’s face was absolutely red, the veins in his neck were pulsing and he pressed his weight further into the stable master. Beregar wanted to hear his ribs break, he wanted him to bleed. He wanted him to pay for the pain he caused his daughter. A faint mist of tears came to Beregar’s face. “You have no right to come into my home and defile my daught—”
“Papa!” A voice screeched from the doorway. Gilwen stood there, brow bent in fury, heart pounding in her chest, with trembling hands. “Let him go! Right now!”
Beregar glared for a moment at his daughter with the same fury he had looked to Faeldor. “Stay out of this, Gilwen,” he growled, and he slammed Faeldor back against the wall again. “I told you I would cut off your hands,” Beregar hissed. “But that seems too nice a fate for you!”
“No!” Gilwen screamed, rushing forward.
“Gilwen, what—?” Her mother could not catch her though, the girl was already well out of reach of her mother’s arms.
The woman took a deep breath and put every bit of strength she had in grabbing her father’s arm and shoving him away from Faeldor. “Let him go,” she threatened.
Perhaps it was the fact Beregar had not expected his daughter to act so boldly against him, but the man did lose his grip on Faeldor and stumbled back a pace. Gilwen did not turn to see if her horse master was okay, though. She glowered as fiercely as she could at her father instead. “Gilwen!” Beregar barked furiously. Then he noticed the ring she wore about her neck. His face once more turned red with anger. “Are you going to marry him, then? He shall abuse you!”
“No,” Gilwen growled in response. She had never felt so angry, so dangerous. “He won’t.”
Beregar could see that his daughter had full intent of staying between Faeldor and himself, so he took another step forward and reached to move her. That pig was not going to get away with having hit his sweet daughter. “Move, Gilwen!” Beregar ordered.
Gilwen threw herself forward, slamming her fists into her father’s chest. Her heart was pounding. “Leave him alone! Get out! Get out!” She was almost screaming, pounding her fists into his chest as hard as she could possibly manage. “He saved me. He saved me and you let me go. Get out!” Her cheeks were flooding with red, and she could already feel her knees beginning to tremble; truly she was in no shape for this. “You left me to die, Papa. How dare you! How dare you!?” Her fists began to slow.
“Stop this, Gilwen. He has hurt you!” Beregar protested, but he had quit fighting her. He was just standing there, taking her aggression without so much as a sound of discomfort. But his face showed a bit of his anger fading.
Gilwen was crying. “No, he hasn’t. You have. You get out. You leave. Now. Don’t come back,” she could barely breathe. Her fists were moving so slow now. She could feel her energy gone.
Niniel bit her lip. “Gilwen, stop—you are not well enough for this.” She made a motion to step forward, but Gilwen slumped against her father’s chest in a fit of tears.
“Why can’t you let us be happy?” She finally wailed. “I love him, Papa. I love him. He would never hurt me. He loves me!” She lifted her fist one more time and slammed it into her father’s chest one last time. “He loves me more than you do!” And then her knees finally gave way.
Protectively, his arms flew about his daughter before she could fall, and Beregar caught his breath. “Gilwen,” he whispered. Fury to confusion had Beregar’s face gone. And now, to stunned silence and sadness. “Little one, I…he could never love you like I do. He has hurt you, Gilwen.”
But she was gasping in tears. “Then why is he the one here with me, Papa? He saved me. He loves me. He loves me. He does.” Her voice began to fade in her exhaustion, but her tears had certainly not stopped. She was shaking horribly, and had her father not kept a firm grip on her, she would have been on the floor. “Don’t hurt him. Stop it.”
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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 Jan 17, 2013 10:33:48 GMT -5
“I have warned you to stay away from my family. I told you what I would do to you if you kept coming around. I warned you—”
“What right have you to keep me away from your family... you sent Gilwen out to the street. You don't even throw your dirty laundry upon the street... how was I supposed to let her be there?” Faeldor growled as the man pointed a finger into his chest. Faeldor braced himself, knowing it would not end here. “You keep a mother from her daughter. May I remind you that you are in the house of Faelon. Not the house of Beregar. Had neither of those women wished to be here, they would not. I am not forcing them to grace my doorway.”
Faeldor's head cracked suddenly against the cold stone wall as Beregar nearly lifted him from the ground. The barrel chested man had lunged at him, and he hardly had a moment to react as the man convicted him of striking Gilwen. His face burned in anger and he reached for Beregar's shoulders to try to shove him back. He realized soon though, that the older man, in his fury, was going to be no match. He would not be able to knock him off.
Beregar threw more accusations at Faeldor as he pinned him against the wall, pressing against his neck, his shoulders. He felt sharp pain in the sore ribs that had not too long before born the beating of a horse hoof to his chest. Beregar's eyes were frenzied, and Faeldor was not certain what to do.
“Hali-” he started, as he looked to the doorway and saw his little sister staring wide eyed near Niniel, watching. Suddenly Gilwen was in the doorway shouting, though he barely heard her as he struggled to free himself and get the upper hand on Beregar's anger.
“I told you I would cut off your hands. But that seems too nice a fate for you!”
Gilwen had seemed to replenish the man's anger in her shouting, and Faeldor felt himself shoved against the wall again. How could he manage such strength? He must have been running on pure adrenaline, for Faeldor had been in many a fist fight in his youth, and had never been so tossed about.
Suddenly Gilwen had thrown himself upon the man, and Beregar released him. Faeldor attempted to lunge back at Beregar in defense of Gilwen, but as he moved, he felt his aching head and grew dizzy, losing his balance and almost stumbling to the floor. He clutched the stone wall for a moment and gripped at his head, feeling the warm trickle of blood against the back of his head. He did not understand what Gilwen was saying, but she had pulled the man off and was beating against his chest and shouting, more than he had ever heard her shout before. She was in a rage.
Faeldor managed to focus his gaze back on the center of the room, where Beregar had stilled his fighting and was now speaking in a less aggressive voice, though still accusatory. Gilwen was hammering upon his chest.
“Then why is he the one here with me, Papa? He saved me. He loves me. He loves me. He does. Don’t hurt him. Stop it.”
“She needs to rest,” Faeldor said firmly, gritting his teeth, his eyes grey steel. He took careful steps to the center of the room, and grasped Beregar's hand to release the woman, protectively pulling her against him. Her beast of a father would not hurt her again. He... he... well, he wasn't rightly sure what he would do, but he would as soon take Gilwen from this room. “She needs quiet, and kindness, and love..., nothing that you have to offer... storming into my house... frightening my little sister....” he glowered, his head still spinning. He backed against the wall, clutching Gilwen to him. “Do you not see that your wife is fearful of you?” he motioned to Niniel. “Is that honorable?”
Melanir stood in the doorway, his dull eyes inquisitive, and his lips pressed firm. Marileth stood closely behind her grandfather, holding onto his shirt sleeve. Haliel and Diore both had eyes of tears, and Eoric stared on in confusion.
“She is perfect now,” Melanir stated stepping into the room. “As are each of my grandchildren. I knew that from the moment I first saw them... and from the moment I first met your daughter.” Though he was nearly blind, and had weak legs, Melanir was near the same height as Beregar, and stood even now, with a noble stature.
“If you cannot see that, then I would ask that you leave my home.” His voice had the tremor of an old man, but he stood firm.
The room was silent for a moment. Faeldor held Gilwen in his arms, though for him the room was spinning slightly. He leaned back against the wall heavily, gathering her to him, pressing her face to his chest and entangling his fingers in her hair.
“Mama,” Eoric muttered, as Meleth and Tinuves entered their home through the open doorway, Miriel, who had slipped from the house while the supper preparations were being made, between the two of them. Miriel's lips were parted slightly in horror as she saw the scene before her, and she tried to go back down the steps, but her Grandmother stopped her.
Meleth stated, her eyes large, and her face angry. She looked questioningly to Niniel and Beregar. Though she had not seen the yelling, she had heard it from down the street and rushed to her home. She looked to her little daughters, who were crying, and Marileth who was cowering.
“Faelon!” she said suddenly. The young boy had, in the commotion, retreated from the room and come back with his brother's sword, unsheathed.
“Don't you hurt my brother again,” the boy growled at Beregar, attempting to wield his brother's sword.
“Faelon,” Meleth said again.
Faelon's eyes were fire, and he held his grip firm on the sword, but it only took a moment before his face tore, and his eyes were near tears. “He hurt Faeldor, Mama,” was all he managed before dropping the sword and running to his mother, gripping her about the waist. Marileth had picked up Eoric, and Haliel and Diore moved to Meleth's side as well. Meleth turned to look at Beregar, who had a face now that seemed less dangerous, but nonetheless she pointed at him, and her voice dropped to a level that her children had never before heard.
“If you are here for your daughter, I will tell you, you cannot take her from my home. I have heard the things that she voiced in her fever induced nightmares of you... nobody who... who abandons their child... sends her to the street... with no food or shelter from the rain... she is my child here and she is safe here with my other children. I tell you, she would have died had Faeldor found her a day... nay, simply hours later. You would have no daughter... you leave her be, and you leave my son be... if you have anything to say, you will say it now in a calm manner, or you will leave my house immediately. I regret that my husband is not here to deal with you right now, but I will call for the neighbors if I need to do so.”
She looked to Faeldor and Gilwen for a moment. “Faeldor, take her to her bed,” she instructed.
“I can't, mother, I... my head. I will drop 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 Jan 17, 2013 11:28:31 GMT -5
“Gilwen,” Beregar nearly whispered. “I—” His daughter did nothing but sob in reply.
Faeldor came forward, unsteady on his feet. Beregar noted it. He had been so furious before, he had hated that man, he had wished to kill him with his own hands. Faeldor, he had been so sure, had mistreated Gilwen. He had robbed her of her innocence, struck her and left a bruise, he had taken his daughter and ruined her life. But there, for a moment, Beregar saw something different.
His daughter had come to that man’s aide. His gentle Gilwen had assailed him to save that man. But perhaps what was more, even though Beregar had bested Faeldor and clearly shown he was not as weak as he was aged, Faeldor came for Gilwen anyway and removed Beregar’s hands from her.
It was no secret to the soldier he was frightening when he needed to be. That Faeldor, that man he was so ready to beat into a stupor, he had been willing to face him again if it meant Gilwen was safe.
Suddenly, the man was in a daze.
Faeldor declared that Gilwen needed rest. Her father’s eyes dropped to her a moment in study. The girl was unbearably thin, skin now pale save for her heavily flushed cheeks, her breathing was labored beneath her tears and even a casual eye could tell that she was shaking. Beregar frowned, and did not even try to protest when Faeldor took her from him.
Perhaps now was the first time Beregar had noticed the way Faeldor pulled her against his chest. “I—”
Faeldor, though, spoke again. The man’s grey eyes were like swords. Beregar held them, though. Still, his anger had begun to recede. “She needs quiet, and kindness, and love..., nothing that you have to offer... storming into my house... frightening my little sister....”
Beregar felt some heat come to his cheeks. Not love her? Gilwen was his daughter. Of course he loved her. Kindness? That one, Beregar realized with great disdain, that one he had not shown in quite some time. Not to anyone. Not his daughter, not his daughter’s love. He paused and flicked his gaze to Niniel, who was now near cowering in the corner near the child he had frightened upon his entry. Not even to his wife.
“Fael,” Gilwen whispered between gasps. “Fael, please. You’re not hurt? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” She gripped him tightly, eyes concerned and flowing with tears.
Beregar could no longer deny the light in Gilwen’s eye when she looked upon that stable master. Maybe, he thought for a moment. Maybe it was love.
An elderly man stepped forward, and Beregar managed to turn and refocus his attention long enough to hear the man call his Gilwen perfect. “Perfect,” he repeated in a voice no louder than a breath. He turned back to look at her, there in the arms of the stable master.
But it was not the shaking, cowering, sickly Gilwen he saw. He saw the little baby that had been handed to him that day six and twenty years ago, wrapped in a blanket and sleeping contentedly in his arms. He saw the sprightly little girl he used to chase about their living room, the one who would squeal and laugh and he would hardly be able to leave for work. The girl who had begged to go to the market with him. The one who had hugged him, kissed him, held his hand. The one who had taken a job in the palace the moment she was able, all to provide for him and her mother. His Niniel. He turned his eyes to her a moment. They had a daughter, and she was perfect.
“If you cannot see that, then I would ask that you leave my home.”
Still stunned to silence, Beregar turned back to Gilwen and Faeldor, and watched as the man unsteadily leaned against the stone wall and drew his daughter into his chest. Gilwen seemed to know something was not right with his balance, and she gripped at him all the more, perhaps sensing he could fall. But his fingers intertwined into her hair, and she pressed herself closer.
“Gilwen, I…” He took a step forward though stopped. What on earth was he supposed to say now?
It was then the little boy appeared with a sword. Beregar, perhaps, took a step back in surprise, though his skilled soldier’s eye could tell the child would not have been much of a threat with his blade. It was entirely too large and heavy for him, and it looked the lad was struggling with keeping it poised. Still, Beregar was wounded by the bitterness in the child’s eyes. And his words were accusing.
He had hurt Faeldor. But perhaps what sickened him more was that he had hurt his little Gilwen.
“If you are here for your daughter, I will tell you, you cannot take her from my home. I have heard the things that she voiced in her fever induced nightmares of you... nobody who... who abandons their child... sends her to the street... with no food or shelter from the rain... she is my child here and she is safe here with my other children. I tell you, she would have died had Faeldor found her a day... nay, simply hours later. You would have no daughter... you leave her be, and you leave my son be... if you have anything to say, you will say it now in a calm manner, or you will leave my house immediately. I regret that my husband is not here to deal with you right now, but I will call for the neighbors if I need to do so.”
For a moment Beregar was silent. Fever? Voiced nightmares? About him? The man’s large hands began to tremble as the woman continued. His Gilwen. She could have died?
He was silent for some time, though slowly moved to words. “No,” he murmured. “There will be no need for that. I…” He looked about the room. There were so many hateful eyes. “I will go.”
Still, the man could not bring himself to move just yet.
“Faeldor, take her to her bed.” “I can't, mother, I... my head. I will drop her."
Gilwen’s brow furrowed all the more, and she gingerly lifted a hand to stroke his cheek. “Oh, Fael,” she whimpered. “It’s okay, I’ll manage. I can take myself. You sit, you rest.”
“No,” Beregar blurted, taking a step forward and catching himself. “You…you have been through enough.” He paused, eyes suddenly soft and watering. “Don’t strain yourself any more. I will carry you, if you will let me.”
Gilwen looked to him and frowned, though perhaps there was not fear, but rather trepidation.
Her hesitation caused Beregar to take another step forward. “Please, little one. I will take you, and then I will leave, and you should never have to see me again. I was the first to hold you, let…let me hold you one more time?” The man could feel his eyes beginning to water, but there was no use hiding his tears now. He had never felt so ashamed.
Gilwen caught her breath. She had never seen her father cry before. Not when he was wounded, not when he was being whisked to some station for a battle, not ever. She looked back to Faeldor a moment, then to her father once more.
“I…Gilwen, I…I love you.”
Gilwen openly gasped now. “Papa,” she started.
Beregar, though, was not finished. “I will understand if you hate me. I promise, I will never, ever harm you. Not again. That man said Faeldor was aggressive, I…” He looked out the window for a moment picturing the man’s face and the way he had seemed so truthfully fearful of the house. “I will leave you alone if that is what you wish. But I will not let you think I do not love you.”
Gilwen was weeping again, and this time flung herself toward her father and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Papa,” she murmured. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone again,” she whimpered. It was like a breath of cool air. All of her hate had vanished.
Beregar caught his breath, and for a time just held his daughter close. “Shh,” he cooed. “Here, let’s get you in bed. Then…then I will see about getting him there beside you. Don’t worry, little one. Shhh.” Immediately his hold shifted, and his daughter was cradled in his arms. He looked to Faeldor for a moment and nodded subtly. This man had cared for his daughter when he had not, and as soon as Gilwen was lying under the covers, he was going to make sure that she was well comforted—even if that meant helping Faeldor to walk to her side. Surely, they would both like to sit together.
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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 Jan 17, 2013 13:34:20 GMT -5
“Fael, please. You’re not hurt? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No, I'm fine,” he answered quickly, trying to stand erect and hugging Gilwen against him. He leaned against the wall for balance. It was certain the he would not be able to step away from it, at least with the weight of Gilwen in his arms, and remain standing. He felt dazed.
Faeldor heard Meleth muttering on, and it seemed that Beregar had given up. “No. There will be no need for that. I…I will go.”
And you should not have come, Faeldor thought to himself, but now Gilwen was speaking to him again, he forced his focus to her.
“Oh, Fael, It’s okay, I’ll manage. I can take myself. You sit, you rest.”
“You may not take yourself,” he muttered, though in defeat he could not force her to do anything at the moment, he looked about the room for help, and his eyes fell on Beregar. The man was looking at him. He began to speak, but through the ringing in his ears, Faeldor only made out certain words, though his voice had turned kind. Gilwen left him and went to her father, and for a moment Faeldor panicked, standing straight again and ready to retrieve her back to his safety. Though, she needed it not. Beregars demeanor had changed completely.
“What man said my brother was aggressive?” Miriel mouthed, almost under her breath but audible. “If it was him I should...” But her sentence stilled there, for she did not know what she would do. She would not risk a confrontation with Durion now in her condition. She did not trust him, and could not trust him. If he were to shove her aside, he could hurt her... and the precious little life... She clutched her rounded abdomen for a moment, but found herself going toward her brother instead.
Meleth had calmed slightly, though she was as determined as ever still to get Gilwen back to rest, “Come, this way,” she looked to Beregar and was ready to lead the way to the room. “Niniel,” she said, summoning the woman to follow, for as she was, Meleth was still a slight nervous with the man in her household. He looked as timid as a mouse by this point, but one could never be certain, and she had many children about who had just witnessed something terrible. Best that Niniel was with her. Her unsettlement over the whole issue had become amplified, and her heart grieved for her husband to be here and handle the situation. He would have handled it easily from the beginning, and none of this would have occurred, she mused.
“Faeldor,” Meleth started, looking at her oldest son, as he stood leaning against the wall. He looked to be in a great deal of pain, though was attempting to hide it as well as he could. She knew him though, and a mother could tell. She briefly had a flashback as well, to the image of her small son's grey eyes looking up at her from his cradle, and holding his sleeping self against her. The little toddler with a scraped cheek that he had acquired in trying to climb the garden wall. She could pick him up, brush him off, and he would be well again. It was a pity that once children grew, a mother could no longer offer the same comforts. “Faeldor, sit down,” she instructed, looking back to Beregar. “This way.”
“Fael, you are bleeding,” Miriel motioned. “Come sit and let me tend you,” she begged, feeling that the whole disaster that had ensued in the household was her fault. Her brother was injured, and she had never wanted that. From the beginning, all she had wanted was to protect him and keep him safe, that he might never need leave their family the way her father had. The young woman wrapped her arms around her brother, the best she could in her state, and tried to take comfort from him and steady him, and in return, Faeldor reached around Miriel as well. “Don't work yourself up,” he muttered to her, attempting to protect her, even though he was the one who was quite unwell.
“Faeldor,” Miriel almost smiled for his kindness. He was always kind, at least when unprovoked. “Come sit,” she said, as she helped her brother toward the sitting room. Marileth came shortly to look around the corner and find her brother sitting in the chair, leaning against Miriel. Miriel was crying, but Faeldor was oddly quiet.
“I brought a cloth and gauze,” Marileth said softly. Miriel finally turned to look at her little sister and take what she offered, gingerly tending to Faeldor's head. It was not a terrible gash, but enough that it needed pressure to stop the bleeding.
“I have a headache,” was all Faeldor manage to say.
Tinuves and Melanir did what they could to settle the young children. Haliel was horrified, for as Faeldor moved from his place upon the wall, she saw the blood where his head had been gashed. The little girl was almost immeasurably upset, and no manner of supper was going to calm her. Tinuves sat upon a kitchen stool attempting to feed the others as she held the crying girl. “They will be well,” she attempted to calm her. “He just had a scrape, and things will be better. Gwendolyn is hungry, oughtn't you feed her?” she asked the little girl.
“I have already fed her,” Diore answered. Though the littlest girl had been terrified during the fight, she remained almost unaffected afterward, the complete opposite of Haliel. Diore, though, had not lived the same sheltered life that Haliel had, and had perhaps been witness to many things that Meleth nor her family did not know.
“Grandfather, I need to learn to use a sword. I could have stopped him,” Faelon said, angrily. The boy was eating his supper, but he was very bitter.
“Now, don't fret, young one. Gilwen stopped him, did she not? And she did not need to use a sword.”
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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 Jan 17, 2013 14:11:42 GMT -5
“What man said my brother was aggressive?”
The soldier looked to the girl and shook his head with a defeated shrug, though wore a faint scowl. “Some well-dressed lord, I guess he was. He said he lived down the way and knew you well,” he shifted his look to Faeldor, now addressing him. “He…he said he would show me your home and warned me that you…you were fond of physical confrontations.” Now, he supposed, it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, and his voice trailed away.
Gilwen’s head snapped up, brown eyes narrowing. “Was he tall?” She asked.
Beregar nodded slowly. “Longer hair, brown. Greenish eyes, I think.” He paused. “I guess he was handsome—well groomed.”
Gilwen’s face immediately hardened. She knew with certainty it could have been no other than that Durion. He hated her Faeldor so. She was too tired to hold her expression much longer, though and instead fell back into Beregar’s chest. “He lied, Papa,” she murmured. “Faeldor is perfect,” she added even softer.
Beregar trailed after Meleth and Niniel, cradling his daughter with all care as he climbed up the steps after them. This. It should never have come to this. Faintly, he could hear the exclamation that Faeldor was bleeding, and the man cringed. So did his Gilwen.
She would have tried to wriggle free of his arms to go to her beloved, he was sure. Or, perhaps she did try and just did not have the energy to succeed. Beregar kept a firm grasp on her, careful not to hurt her, and certainly careful not to speak. Niniel stepped into the room before him and crossed to the bed. Beregar noted immediately it was a man’s room. Probably Faeldor’s.
The covers were pulled back, and he gingerly placed Gilwen down and tucked her in. Beregar had not ever done it so gently before; his heart was broken and his eyes brimming. “Little one, I…” He could not say anything else. There was nothing he could do to take back the things he had said and done to her, to this family. He was ashamed. “He will take good care of you,” he finally hummed, taking a hand to brush against her cheek delicately. “…Better than I have,” he added sorrowfully.
For a moment, his touch lingered, and his daughter looked up at him. “I will go get him—I will bring him to you. He will be all right, I—” He stopped himself from saying he had not hurt him horribly. “He just needs some rest. You will feel better with him here,” he finally finished.
Gilwen nodded; she would feel better if he was right beside her. She needed to apologize—she should have walked in sooner, she should have protected him better. Beregar waited, perhaps, to hear his daughter speak. But she did not, instead he stood and turned to Meleth. “I will help your son to come up here,” he started, voice low and slow. “And…and then I shall leave. I have caused enough grief today.” He began to leave, though turned. “Still, I…I would like to see her sometimes. If…if that is all right, and should she be all right with it.” Then, he passed out of the door and back downstairs.
Faeldor was quite surrounded now by his sisters, and for a moment the man hung back and let them tend to him. Finally he stepped forward, grave of face. “My daughter wishes for you,” he said quietly. “Come—I will get you to her.” He waited for a moment before crossing toward the man and securing his arm to come about the old soldier’s shoulder. He set off slowly, quiet for a time. Though, as they climbed the stairs and Beregar found himself much alone with the stable master, he spoke again. “I misjudged you,” he finally stated. “Maybe you are the one for my little girl.” He paused, though, and turned his head to him.
“You did not lay a hand upon her, then?” Perhaps Gilwen had been truthful all along. But how! How was he supposed to have trusted so readily when men had come to his very door seeking her with payments? Why had those men lied? Who would have wanted to slander his daughter to begin with? Beregar was at a loss for words, and bathed in defeat and sadness. Still, he carefully kept his hold upon the man and continued to help him up the stairs.
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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 Jan 17, 2013 17:27:46 GMT -5
Miriel's frown turned further downward and the scowl upon her pretty face grew as Beregar spoke. He was most certainly describing describing Durion. That foul wretch could not leave things be... Miriel had played his game with him for at time, for want of attention and love, but she had soon found that she was, in fact, just another pawn in his game. She could find less true affection from Durion than she might find from a rock. It was no longer worth it to remain his pawn... to let her child be part of his game. The little child knew not what terrible parents it was coming into a world, but at least Miriel would make sure that it never need know it's father, only what a wicked man he was. She cried as she cared for her brother and cleaned his injury. The sight of the blood nauseated her, as she blamed herself for what had happened.
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“You are welcome to visit your daughter here, as long as you do not tire her so,” Meleth consented. She knew that Beregar and Niniel were her parents, yet... Meleth had grown a strong attachment to Gilwen, and found the girl under her care at the moment. There was certainly no way she would be sending Gilwen back to stay at her parent's home. It was safer here, and she knew Gilwen's parents were proud people and not willing to take her assistance, were she to try to give them the necessities for caring for Gilwen. Here she might have a quiet room to rest in, alone. A warm bath, and nourishing food... and it did her well to be near Faeldor. Here she had herself, and her mother, Tinuves, as well as her oldest daughters to look after her. Miriel had been helpful in Gilwen's recovery, as much as Meleth could expect of her anyway, and even if Miriel felt more pity for her than empathy for her situation, at least everyone else in the household adored her.
“But...” she added to Beregar. “You will arrange your visits with Faeldor before you come. I cannot have you simply drop in as would be expected. I am afraid you have severely frightened my children and I will need to make accommodations for that.” Meleth stood her ground on the issue. She needed to do so. She was, in fact, head of the household, despite being a woman, and she must put her children first.
Soon after Beregar had left Faeldor's room, Meleth looked between Niniel and Gilwen. “Is he... safe for you to go with?” she asked meekly, looking at Niniel. If he had handled her son so harshly, Meleth was uncertain if he was any better with Niniel, and for a moment she pitied the woman. She had been slightly envious of Niniel before, when they had spoken in her bakery, simply for the fact that she still had a living husband, but now... perhaps not so much.
Meleth looked to Gilwen then, and then sat down on the edge of the bed near her, smiling. “I knew you would look after my son, as well as he looks after you. I told you that, because I knew it was true. He is so very happy with you... if only things could be easier for the both of you... perhaps...”
“Won't she look lovely in a white gown,” Meleth said to Niniel, ushering the other woman sit down on the bed as well. And a white cloak. Would not a winter wedding suit them? Perhaps after Yule, on the turn of the year. Rumors, sickness, or not, we know they would both be happier together, and perhaps some of the difficulty that the falsities are laying upon your family...” The convictions of harlotry and dishonor. Meleth did not want to say them, but she knew the other two women know of what she was speaking. “Perhaps some of it would be dispelled, should they simply marry soon.” She looked back at Gilwen. “A small, family wedding. And then in the summer, when you are completely improved, we shall host a dance for our friends and other relatives. Does that sound nice?”
Meleth's suggestions were optimistic... hoping to turn around some of the displeasure that had occurred with pleasant planning. It should improve Niniel's spirits at least, for she knew that Niniel enjoyed to think of her daughter's future with Faeldor. It was difficult to say whether Gilwen would ever truly be completely improved. Time would tell... she may always tire easily after this, and she may never feel well again... but speaking things of the sort could very well worsen her condition, so she best not.
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“My daughter wishes for you. Come—I will get you to her... I misjudged you. Maybe you are the one for my little girl.”
Faeldor followed reluctantly, and allowed the man to help him. He was hesitant to allow the man who had so wronged them help him, but he thought to himself that the women would have had a more difficult time to help him upstairs, and he wished to check that Gilwen was well, and let her know that he was perfectly fine. Just a scratch.
“You are right, that you have misjudged me, and I would not have you question any longer whether I am suited for your daughter. I have no intention of leaving her now, and neither did I before. I wish to marry her, and I have wished that since the very day I met her. I have asked her to marry me, against your will, and I am saddened that it had to come to that... but I could not wait longer to give her the proof that I would not reject her.” Faeldor did not look at the man as he spoke. He could hardly bare to speak through the pain as he walked, and even then he did not truly wish to speak to Beregar at this time... though... he had wished over and over again that Beregar would actually speak with him... rather than yell and slam the door in his face.
“I will take her as my wife and protect her always, for I love her. I already love her as my own. I cannot give her up, neither to you, nor to sickness. She must be well again.”
“You did not lay a hand upon her, then?”
Faeldor grimaced at even the question as he took the assistance up the stairs. “Of course I did not lay a hand upon her,” he stated quite harshly, still furious and unable to forgive the man at this moment. Perhaps in time, if he continued to act as he was acting now, and he gave Gilwen no more grief. The pain of seeing Gilwen at her worst, in her sickness and fever, was still too near, and he could not readily forgive the man for casting her out to that state.
“Except in tenderness. In honorable tenderness, I have not touched her.” He frowned. The pain in his head made it almost unbearable to walk and speak at the same time. He stopped walking for a moment and held onto the rail of the stairway “She is my treasure. Dear to me as my own blood family. I would never harm her. My sister struck her, and that was the start of it... A mere woman's fight. Not for a decent reason, but it started from nothing. Those rumors were started among the palace walls by the servants, and exemplified by another man who has it in his mind to bring misery to anyone. And I believe you spoke to that very man right outside my home. I owe him a favor in the shape of a fist... Both for Gilwen, and another for what he has done to my sister... and probably another for the trauma he has caused his well trained horses, ” Faeldor grumbled, though he almost managed to smile at that. “Though perhaps... you would be better suited to give him that blow,” the Stable Master added. He did not look to Beregar's eyes at the moment, but his suggestion was almost mirthful. Faeldor was truly and miserable beat by Beregar's strength. To think what he could have done to a simpering, weak Durion.
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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 Jan 17, 2013 20:44:50 GMT -5
“Is he... safe for you to go with?”
Niniel turned her attention from her daughter to Meleth, and took a deep breath and pressed her lips together. “I know he has made a bad impression,” she said. “But my husband has never been physical before. He is safe, however much you may not think so.” She paused. “He is unbearably stubborn, and he has a strong temper—but he is not a bad man. Not really, it’s just this year—” She let the matter drop before she finished. Likely, Meleth did not care one way or the other whether Beregar was indeed the love of Niniel’s life, whether she approved of him those past weeks or not. She loved him, though, and she knew that inside, the man she had married was still there. He was just struggling with crises he had not been able to bear.
“I knew you would look after my son, as well as he looks after you. I told you that, because I knew it was true. He is so very happy with you... if only things could be easier for the both of you... perhaps...”
Gilwen lifted her tired eyes to watch as Meleth came to sit at the edge of her bed, though hardly had control of herself to offer the woman a smile. She had leaped to Faeldor’s aide, and perhaps while some would have thought that brave, Gilwen was quite certain it was nothing more than anyone would have done for their beloved. Aside from that, somewhere inside, Gilwen knew Beregar would never strike her. “I was not going to let anything happen to him,” she finally whispered. He was her life’s breath. He was her Faeldor.
“Would not a winter wedding suit them? Perhaps after Yule, on the turn of the year.”
Niniel let herself glide to sit at the foot of the bed, immediately her tension releasing. “Oh, that would be lovely! So crisp, the air—the outdoor garden would surely be absolutely perfect. The summer would be to warm, I’d imagine.” She sighed pleasantly, imagining her daughter in a white gown, carrying her flowers and warmed with a luxurious cloak so that the winter’s chill could not stop her love—it was romantic.
Gilwen though, was quiet. She wanted to marry Faeldor as soon as possible. She wanted him to show her the house he said he had found, she wanted to be able to move in with him and lie with him every night and love him. She wanted to have his children, and she wanted to be called his wife. Still, she did not look entirely elated. “I would…I would like Beleth there,” she whispered. Beleth was the sister of Faeldor’s she was closest to, after all. And while a Yule wedding would have been soon enough for Gilwen’s liking, Faeldor had adamantly said that until spring had come, his sister could not return for the danger of the roads. She did not say anything more, though, and fell silent.
More than that, though, her mind was troubled by her frail health. Faeldor kissed her and told her daily how well she looked, that she was soon going to be his Starlight once more, but she heard them when they left her room. The whispers they passed when they thought her asleep. Gilwen was no fool; she had survived a great illness, and it was possible she would be feeble the rest of her life, never regaining her strength enough to bear children, or be a good wife. Maybe Faeldor and she should wait a time before marriage—if only to see if she could enter it in health.
While a red blush took her cheeks at the thought, the woman did muse that their wedding night would not be too exciting for him if she had not recovered fully.
Niniel, though, tried to ignore her daughter’s turned expression. “Oh, I am certain Faeldor will call her back now! Do not worry, Gilwen. He wants to wed you as much as you wish to be his. He will want his sister there too.”
Gilwen tried to smile, but it did not quite reach her eyes.
--
“Of course I did not lay a hand upon her.”
Beregar nodded slowly and sighed. “I…I suppose I thought I was supposed to hate you,” he admitted. “You took my only daughter—I was her world until….” He trailed off and pressed his lips in a tight line. Perhaps it was more common than Faeldor thought. And, while Beregar had no knowledge of Beleth or Calon, Faeldor had proved that such tension was within himself, too.
“And then the rumors,” he whispered next. “There were so many voices, I just…I just thought that…” He said nothing more, but his eyes were pained.
Faeldor continued, explaining the rumors with a bit of sharp tone that Beregar could understand. They had ruined everything. The stable master, though, spoke on a man who had spurred them on. This perked Beregar’s ears back up and whipped his attention back to Faeldor. “Then he is the one responsible for my daughter’s pain? Of her reputation?” He paused and his voice dropped low in the hall. “Of the loss of our jobs that moved us to the first tier?” His lips scowled. “That place is filthy and dangerous—I almost lost Gilwen, you know. I almost lost her to some drunk on the street.”
Faeldor, of course, knew of the man who had almost taken his Starlight. He had been the one to rescue her, though when Niniel had explained the situation she had never mentioned to her husband Faeldor’s name. She had simply said someone had saved her.
He paused a moment and eyed Faeldor a moment longer. “You know,” he near muttered. “I knew you walked her to her work every morning. I knew you brought her home each night. I…I should have thanked you.”
“Though perhaps... you would be better suited to give him that blow.”
Beregar’s face tightened, though perhaps the man did let out a hollow chuckle. “You aren’t going to believe this, lad,” he chimed evenly. “But until now, I have never been in a fight outside of combat. And I have not even done that in a while; not since one of the campaigns to Osgiliath some years ago.”
He paused though, and reconsidered the man. “But this man,” he pressed. “If he has done such things as you say—and I believe you—perhaps we both have a quarrel with him that needs to be resolved. Nobody harms my family.” Beregar had fully given Faeldor permission to point him in the right direction, and to accompany him when he went.
They were at the top of the stairs now, and coming to Faeldor’s door now. “Almost there,” Beregar assured him, and then they passed through the door.
“Fael!” Gilwen called immediately, and Niniel stood to move away from the bed, and the woman’s daughter shifted over, clearing some space for Faeldor to be. Both of them noted, though, that Beregar and he seemed to share some sort of lighter gleam to their eye. Little did they know of Durion’s fate!
“Easy, now,” Beregar hummed as he brought Faeldor to the bedside and helped him to sit. For a moment, the soldier stepped back. He had said he would leave after he had brought the stable master upstairs, but the man wished to stall a moment.
“Maybe…maybe I shall see you soon, Gilwen,” he offered. Gilwen looked up toward him and nodded slowly.
Her face was reserved, and while perhaps she did not look elated, she did not look angry. “I would like that, Papa.”
That brought Beregar to almost smile, though because of the rest of the happenings of this particular evening, he did not do it. He marked Niniel for a moment, and they caught eyes. “I will see you at home,” he whispered. Then, the man did something he had not done in a long while—he bent down and kissed the woman hesitantly on her forehead. Niniel did not shy away, and she did not glower at him. They would speak, then, when she came back. Before he moved away completely though, he turned to Meleth and to Faeldor. “I will never be able to repay this insult, but I will do my best to try.”
He nodded, as if that were all he was going to say, then he turned and made once more for the bedroom door, though paused in the entry way. “Perhaps, Faeldor, you and I shall see each other again soon that we may work things out correctly.” He of course, was talking about Durion—though, now that he knew his daughter was to marry the man for certain, Beregar also desired to get to know him in general.
And with that the man left.
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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 Jan 17, 2013 22:56:43 GMT -5
"You will find me in the stables most days," Faeldor answered Beregar before he left the room. While he was not in the precise right mind to completely forgive the man, perhaps they did have something they might work out. The beating in of Durion's face perhaps. As Beregar left the room, Faeldor was lost in his thoughts and chuckled slightly.
"Oh dear, I think he was hit right hard," Meleth muttered, feeling over her son's head for a goose egg. She felt a bump forming upon the back.
"It's just a scratch, Mother." The man must always protest fussing. "A bit of wine would do my headache well, though, he commented.
"A scratch... far too hard a scratch for my liking," Meleth complained, "But perhaps wine would do all of our nerves a favor tonight."
"I should say so," Faeldor agreed. He looked down at Gilwen, laying upon her pillow on the bed next to him. He was about to speak when Meleth cut him off.
"You need to send for your sister," she said sternly.
"Ah, my sister is fine where she is. I am sure she is enjoying herself," Faeldor protested. Though the look on Meleth's face led him to believe otherwise. Of the family, Mother was the only one who she had written to since she had been away. She had made a poi t to send greetings to each of the family through Meleth's letters... with the exception of one. Himself. However, she did send greetings to Faeldor through Calon's letters... the sly little wretch. Calon had always seemed so proud to make those announcements to Faeldor.
Well, there was not much he could do about silly letters anyhow. It was not as if Calon could ruin her through simple pen and ink. He looked to Gilwen for affirmation, though Meleth simply shook her head and left the room to find a bottle of wine.
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Gilwen
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servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Jan 17, 2013 23:26:27 GMT -5
Niniel looked between the two, studying Faeldor’s expression and then watching as her daughter sat up. She felt a bit intrusive, so after a moment she smiled easily. “You both need some rest,” she announced as she stood from the bed. Aside, she mused, Meleth would surely bring Faeldor his wine and then head downstairs herself. Then, maybe, they could further discuss some plans about the wedding. Gilwen’s dress, for instance. What kind of food, and other such things. And, Niniel smiled mischievously, if Meleth had acquired a stash of baby clothes as well. “I will leave you be,” she hummed pleasantly, now fully lightened in spirits, and left the room and descended the stairs.
Gilwen did not even seem to notice that her mother had taken her leave, and instead fought tired limbs to set herself up. A gentle hand lifted to touch her beloved’s cheek, brow furrowed in concern and sadness. “Oh, Fael,” she whispered. He looked entirely unwell. His tan cheeks looked a bit pale, his eyes bleary as if he were tired. She shed her blankets and shifted upon the bed, finding herself upon her knees and eyes studying his features.
Slowly, she traced her fingers along his jaw, and lifted her other hand to grip at his upper arm. She knew he disliked her worry and doting nature, especially when his pride was at stake. And, while Gilwen had more than a faint idea he secretly enjoyed her mothering and soft touches, she decided he had had quite enough of a rough evening—she would not press him on his pain. Though, she could see it in his eyes.
“I love you,” she breathed. She never wanted to see him hurt again. She mused aside that he probably felt somewhat ashamed he could not best her own father’s strength, or the fact it was Gilwen who had come to his rescue. Carefully the woman leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and then to his cheek. His head had to throb terribly, and she wished that her attention could quell his ache.
“Meleth asked you to bring her back because of me,” she admitted quietly, letting her brown eyes flit upward to stare into his own. She let a gentle hand rise to brush one of his curls from his face. “Mama and she think we should wed right after Yule, but…” she trailed off. “I want Beleth there for it.” She moved a bit closer, now thinking of that very day, the day she would become his in the eyes of Gondor itself. “And…” she stopped herself, though her face did flicker into a stronger frown for a fleeting moment. She worried for her strength and energy. But that, she mused, he would not like to hear. So, she changed her words. “I don’t wish to wait anymore.” Once more she moved herself closer, lips ever so lightly falling at the corner of his lips, nuzzling her nose against his bearded jaw.
She pulled away and once more studied him. He looked so ill. She needed to distract him, so Gilwen forced herself to find more words, though they came quietly and softly. “They are planning away, you know.” She smiled, though it was very faint. “We may not have a say in it at all.”
Suddenly, her exhaustion once more caught up with her, and Gilwen felt the weight in her limbs, and a new frost of tears in her eyes. “Fael,” she almost whimpered, once more lowering herself to the bed, and curling toward his warmth. “I want to be better now,” she whispered, a hand reaching to grab hold of the hem of his tunic in a meek fist. “I want us to start our family and be happy.” That was it—little Gilwen could say nothing else. She was too tired, too quiet natured.
And, while she never would have said anything to Faeldor at that precise moment, she did not want him to leave her that night. She wanted to hold him and be held. Though, now that she was at least somewhat on the mend, he had been moved down the hall to Faelon’s room and it was certain that the boy would notice if his brother did not come to bed.
A single tear trickled down her cheek and fell onto the sheets. She did not have energy for anything else.
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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 Jan 18, 2013 13:32:41 GMT -5
“I love you.”
“I know. And I love you,” Faeldor replied, sitting still, as was most comfortable, and letting Gilwen lean to him. He would have wrapped his arms about her, though he was using one for good support to stay seated, and it was simply easier on his head to sit without moving. The man had beat him hard! Confound the stone walls!
“Meleth asked you to bring her back because of me. Mama and she think we should wed right after Yule, but… I want Beleth there for it. And…I don’t wish to wait anymore.”
Faeldor's face hardened slightly. “You know I miss my sister as well, and I would not wish her to miss our wedding either... but... it is only for her safety. You know I care for her safety. I did not protect Miriel as I should have...” Faeldor mused on Beregar's promise to him... at least he would be able to get some retribution for Miriel... though it didn't change the fact that is little sister had been defiled. “I must protect Beleth. I love my sister so very much, and she needs to be safe. She has always been my little Firelight,” he thought kindly on her younger days. “So very kind and happy. Much different than Miriel, but also... all the more impulsive. She is not yet mature enough to look after herself.”
“I know you do not wish to wait, though,” he added, “And neither do I. But surely Beleth would not be offended. She would celebrate with us any time of the year. In the spring time, just as well as she would in the winter.”
“Fael,I want to be better now, I want us to start our family and be happy.”
“Of course you do, and so do I. That is why you need rest. You quite strained yourself tonight... you should not have done so... I am sorry that you stepped in like that. I should have...” he stopped speaking. It was not easy to be bested by a man who was so much older. It seemed that Faeldor was in his prime now, but Beregar had not yet left his.
Meleth returned shortly, a wine bottle and a flask under her arms, and four glasses in her hands. She sat these things upon the nightstand and quickly opened the tops of the bottle's smiling. Faeldor was sitting on the bed exactly where he had been when she left, though Gilwen had moved about and was now resting nearer him.
The woman smiled meekly, poured the glasses half full of wine, and then... two of them she topped with water from the pitcher which sat near the window. The other two were
“Are the children well?” Faeldor asked his Mother, thinking mostly of Haliel, who was truly the only one he had noticed during his confrontation. Haliel, he was perhaps, most protective over... for her weakness, and the fact that her birth had come at the same time as the great loss of his Father.
Meleth sipped on her drink for a moment, and stated, “Faelon has insisted to sleep near the doorway with your sword, Faeldor. I know you do not wish him to touch it, but he has taken to shining it since he finished his supper and will not move... I think he is not in the mood for playing, so it should be safe enough. But your Grandfather has pulled a cot for him in the entry, and will sit with him awhile.” Faelon had indeed settled some by the time she had come up the stairs, for Grandfather had also brought out his whittling, and was letting the young boy use his sharp tools to work on Yule gifts for his siblings and the new baby.
“Diore has done enough to cheer Haliel. I tell you, those two little blonde ones seem completely unaffected. I suppose it is good. They are all in the library with Grandmother, reading.
Marileth had opted to sleep with Miriel this evening, for it seemed Haliel would want to stay with her little sister, who was much braver than her, so the older girls had retired to the room down the hall from Faeldor. “I will have you know, both those girls are crying in Miriel's room now, for their sister to come home, Faeldor. I know you cannot take the time to fetch her now, but you need to send for her before the mountains are snowed over. If you do not send for her soon, I will send for her, and I know you are more equipped to find a suitable candidate to collect her.”
“I cannot collect her, Mother. You know I cannot take the time from work right now, with all the time I have taken recently... and Gilwen...” he refused to look at the woman beside him as he spoke, for he knew she would protest it. “I do not wish to leave her for so long. Can you not be content that Beleth is safe with Uncle Linnon? She is safer in Belfalas than here in the city.”
“But is she happier there?” Meleth asked the man. Her daughter had written to her multiple times, pleas to be brought home. She missed her family, and another.
“She is probably frolicking about the sea and the woods,” he sighed. “I am certain she is happy.”
“Perhaps you might send Algladir?” Meleth suggested. He was a good man, who was strong and safe, and had always been a friend of Meleth's family, and a childhood friend of Faeldor. Though they did not visit often anymore, Faeldor had always trusted him. His sister, Rosiel, was absurd, but Algladir had always been a good man.
“He would be first on my list to collect her, Mother,” Faeldor replied quickly. Indeed, he had thought of the man. “But he is in the Calvary, and I do not control the schedules of the soldiers. This is not the time of year when they have leave.”
“Ah, but as Stable Master you have an advantage there. You do control Calon's work schedule. You know he would not let Beleth come to harm,” Meleth looked pointedly at Faeldor.
Faeldor's look was just as stern, “I not worry that she would be in danger from orcs or the wilds when with him, but in danger from the man himself,” he almost spat as he said it. He would not admit that in watching his work, he had come to notice Calon to be one of the best of his workers. It was why he had taken such an easy promotion after recently moving to the city. Yet... how could Faeldor trust the two of them together. “Aside, Mother,” he realized he had sounded harsh. “Calon is already gone from the city, I believe. I granted him leave a week ago, for he had an urgency in seeing his brother.”
Faeldor was truthfully trying to sound kind now. He had indeed giving the man emergency leave. What more would Meleth ask of him? “He is not due back until early next week. And I cannot simply send him off on another leave for a personal issue. I have more than one groom and stablehand who are looking for a time of leave now, and I cannot show favoritism to simply one. It would be unfair to them.”
He is seeing his brother? Meleth thought to herself. She wondered, did he only have one brother? For her daughter Narbeleth had mentioned in one of her letters that she had become acquainted with some of Calon's family, and upon further , and perhaps prying, motherly inquiries to her late husband's brother, Meleth had come to the conclusion that Calon's family lived not more than a stones throw from Linnon's own home. She did not directly know the family, but Linnon did, and gave her very good word of them. She almost smirked girlishly at the idea, but she blocked her smile as she took a long drink of her concoction, and sighed.
“Inquire among the stables tomorrow,” Meleth instructed, “And see if you might find someone else suitable. I have never been away from a child of mine this long, and I would like to see my daughter again. Goodnight, Gilwen,” Meleth added sweetly. “Your mother and I are going to celebrate for a time tonight, but I will see too it that she makes plans to come again soon. Perhaps, the day after tomorrow. I would like you to rest here in your room tomorrow for the entire day. Do not get out of that bed, save for necessity.”
“I will make sure she stays in bed tonight, Mother,” Faeldor added slyly.
“See to it,” Meleth laughed, sipping her heavy drink merrily, and fetching up the drink she had poured for Niniel. Half watered, she mused, bemusedly. The same as she had learned to pour for Gilwen when the family partook in wine. Certainly the flavor was still nice.
Faeldor looked at the drink on the table nearby him and lifted it. “Would you like yours?” he asked Gilwen, looking down at her. “Mother knows you well now and...” he had raised his glass to smell, “Apparently she very much wants me to rid of my headache and sleep.” The scent of the brandy was unmistakable, and strong. He glanced to Gilwen for a moment, knowing that in the past she had been uncomfortable when he would drink... but certainly she wouldn't mind now. It was not long before he had sipped down half the glass, and he waited for the throb in his head to subside.
“Mother is likely showing the baby clothes she has been making to your Mother,” he added, amusedly, looking to Gilwen for her reaction. “You know, she has been making them for ages. She makes a few things a week to send to an orphanage on the third tier, and they distribute them. But I walked in on her sorting things the other night, and she had a basket to deliver, and then three little sets of the same baby gown. One for Miriel, obviously, and another she said for you, and another for Beleth! Now, I can see making a baby outfit for us, because I doubt it should be too long... we are at least now betrothed...” His tongue had become slightly loosened by the drink, and so it was not difficult for him to mention the babies that he wished to have with Gilwen. Aside, she had brought up the subject already.
“But for Beleth! It will be years before she is old enough to have a child. Mother best not know something that I do not... or Calon will find himself...” he wasn't sure how he would finish his sentence. Beaten? On the street? What would he do to the man? Why, he would keep Narbeleth in Belfalas until she was thirty. He sunk back against the wall, finishing his drink. There was no way on earth he was going to seek a stablehand to bring her home.
Meleth, however, would see to it that by morning she had written and sent off a note to Linnon. If it only reached his home in time, perhaps he would be able to send Narbeleth back to her by way of Calon. Both her eager heart for her child, and her daughter's heart for the stable hand would be soothed. Oh, those sly children... And what a risk for Calon to ask Faeldor for time off! But she did not doubt it! Beleth was ever too much like she had been as a girl to give up so easily.
And perhaps now, with a cup of wine, she and Niniel might go to the kitchen and plan a menu.
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Gilwen
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There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
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Post by Gilwen on Jan 18, 2013 14:31:24 GMT -5
Faeldor spoke of protecting Beleth, leaving her in Belfalas so that the woman would be safe from harm. Gilwen had heard such things often enough in the past months; it had become his personal mantra, what he told himself to alleviate his guilt. She said nothing, though. Partly because she could not bring herself to speak for lack of energy, and partly because she had told him how she felt on the matter many times before, and it had made no difference to him. His mind was made.
“Of course you do, and so do I. That is why you need rest. You quite strained yourself tonight... you should not have done so... I am sorry that you stepped in like that. I should have...”
Gilwen immediately could sense her beloved’s silence was from shame; her Faeldor prided himself on being strong, and his pride was definitely something that drove him to do lots of things for Gilwen that put strain on him in unneeded ways. The little woman had always thought it strange, she knew he was strong. Still, since it mattered so much to her love, she had made a point of allowing him to do the things he wished most of the time. This, though, caused her brow to furrow in thought, and she forced herself to sit upright again, fighting the heavy feeling in her body.
She was going to tell him that he should not speak as if he should have done more. But she stopped herself and decided to change tactics. “Fael, you are one of the strongest men that I know. You work so hard with those horses, lifting those heavy things…” she said as sweetly as she could. And, as if to make a point, she trailed her fingers up his muscled arms. He was solid, and thinking back on when she had seen him shirtless those few times, she knew that his chest was just as crafted.
“Do you know how much a foot soldier’s armor weighs?” She mused aloud. “They march in that metal, and they carry their possessions with them upon their back. I have never understood how they can move underneath all that weight. Papa was always a great soldier.”
She let her hand trail then over his chest, and up to his cheek once more, offering him a gentle, but shaky, caress. “Fael, if you were a soldier too, trained like that, I have no doubt you would have been able to handle everything. I only…” She stopped. “I only managed because I knew he would not lay a hand against me.”
She dropped her hand once more, and turned toward him again in exhaustion. “But I like that you’re not a soldier.”
Then Meleth came in, toting with her wine and glasses. Immediately, Gilwen noted that there were four and she grew hesitant. Faeldor needed it, but she did not—they could not drink together.
“Your mother and I are going to celebrate for a time tonight, but I will see too it that she makes plans to come again soon. Perhaps, the day after tomorrow. I would like you to rest here in your room tomorrow for the entire day. Do not get out of that bed, save for necessity.”
“I will make sure she stays in bed tonight, Mother.”
Gilwen felt herself start to smile. He was going to stay with her, and it eased her heart. Faeldor offered Gilwen her glass, but the lady did not move to ask for it. Faeldor did take his own, though, and she let herself fall against the pillow and scoot herself all the closer to his warmth. She wanted his headache gone, too.
“You know, she has been making them for ages. She makes a few things a week to send to an orphanage on the third tier, and they distribute them. But I walked in on her sorting things the other night, and she had a basket to deliver, and then three little sets of the same baby gown. One for Miriel, obviously, and another she said for you, and another for Beleth! Now, I can see making a baby outfit for us, because I doubt it should be too long... we are at least now betrothed...”
The little woman felt her cheeks flush slightly, though bit her lip in a smile. No, it would not be long now for them. The thought of them starting their own family, it was joyful. It could verily be the next year! Her cheeks darkened, though, as she thought so forwardly of their wedding night. She knew Faeldor looked forward to it—he had not been too hesitant to let her know.
Still, as he continued, Faeldor turned away from the pleasant thought of their children and turned to Beleth. His mood immediately darkened, and his Starlight lost her smile. “Fael, your mother just wants to be prepared. Calon is a good man,” she paused. “You promoted him, I know. You trust him with your horses, and he has done nothing to your sister save make her smile.”
She looked up to him from the pillow, brown eyes soft. “I know you do not want her taken from you,” she added quietly, and knowingly. “But she is happy with him. Like I am with you.” Her hand lifted to fall upon his knee.
She needed him to stop thinking of Beleth, of Calon. Gilwen knew he needed to because he needed to relax. What, though, could she say that would please him enough to make him forget them for a time? “Y-y-you know,” she stammered, her blush returned in full. “If we marry after Yule, we…we…might be able to use the clothes next year,” she could hardly speak above a whisper. There. Faeldor had always smiled whenever he thought of their future time together. Of their children, of their wedding. Of the night to follow. Maybe, Gilwen prayed, he could find it in him to smile again.
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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 Jan 19, 2013 0:12:21 GMT -5
“Of course, Gilwen, if you are feeling well, I am certain, should we wed this year, that we should have a baby by next. I know you wish to care for a baby. You will be a good mother,” he smiled. “The best of mothers. As good as my mother, at any rate.” It was obvious that Faeldor cared a great deal for his mother. She had done well in raising up her children, and caring for them... and it was a difficult task, he knew, to have adult children living in her home who did not necessarily always mind her orders any more. He knew that things would have been easier for Meleth had
“I think, if my Father had been about, he would have given me enough sense to talk to your Father in the beginning, that he should know me first before seeing you about. Father would have wanted to meet yours right away. Miriel would not have been so obstinate if Father were around. She would have been happy still as she once was.”
Faeldor reached for the flask, and refilled his cup, though this time with no wine to water it. What did it matter? He was going nowhere, and it would help him sleep. The throbbing of his head was beginning to cease, and Gilwen was warm beside him. He may as well not move an inch, for she seemed in too delicate an emotional state to be left alone.
“We will make lovely babies,” Faeldor continued, his voice quite warm now, for the liquor had reached him, it was certain. “And if we should not have a baby this year, we shall da-dopt one.” He laughed to himself, realizing he needed to explain such a statement. “Diore told your Mother that she was da-dopted. Da-dopted...” The man repeated the phrase, laughing slightly. “But I can't look at her now, and imagine her to not be my sister. She and Eoric, they are so good to have here. They have a home now. Even if you do not bear children...” Faeldor's eyes had turned serious. They both knew that it was a possibility. Not as much for Gilwen's age, but more for the fact that she was so ill now. “You know we will have children in our home. Why, what a surprise that will be... you should never know if your husband will walk into the house one day with a child in his arm. That little girl... the first moment I saw her. She could have been my own. If a similar situation were to arise... and I should happen to have a wife by that time,” he gleamed, knowing that soon it would indeed be 'that time'. “I would take on someone else's child in a heartbeat. Whether we have our own or not. Perhaps we will simply be a home to take children in.
Faeldor laughed now, more heartily than he had before, covering his face, “But I think you must learn better how to bake cookies!” he almost exclaimed, then sighed, leaning back against the wall again as he sat on the bed, finishing the second cup of liquor. He looked over to Gilwen, and lightly touched her cheek, letting his hand stray down her neck. “Ah, soon enough, soon enough. We shall sleep in the same bed every night, and I shall keep you warm. We'll try our hand at getting those babies that you want. You won't ever fret for loneliness again. We'll make you a dozen babies. A hundred,” he laughed. “And we have fun doing it.”
And at that, Faeldor closed his eyes, and moments later, was asleep.
--
“Is he asleep?” Miriel murmured from the doorway, considering if she should enter to help lay the man down. It was not a late hour at all. The sun had just recently dropped from the sky, but the family had been tired, and most of them had already retired for bed. Marileth had fallen asleep in Miriel's bed, and the young woman had tucked her into her covers in a kindly manner, feeling all the more motherly as the day came nearer and nearer for her to have her own child. Now here she was in the doorway with a candle lit, and she entered the room as gracefully as ever.
“Your Mother just left,” Miriel stated. “I saw from the window your Father waited for her outside. He was on the front step the whole time.” Perhaps it would be relieving for Gilwen to know. It was often a dangerous walk these days through the city streets after dark. Perhaps, not on the upper tiers... but those of the first and second had become full of questionable folk.” Miriel spoke as she came to sit for a moment in the chair near the bed. She was lonely, and aside from Meleth, Gilwen was the only still awake in the housee.
“I think Mother has had a bit too much to drink,” Miriel said hesitantly. “She is dancing in the gardens now. She used to do that all the time, without the influence of drink... she would take the three of us out in the evenings before bedtime to look at the stars every night, and then tuck us in. After we were in bed, Father would join her outside, and they danced. Near every night. We would climb out of bed and watch Mother and Father from the windows, and we would dance in our slippers in our own room. Fael was always Father, and Beleth and I took turns to play Mother. When they'd come inside we would rush back into bed. Mother would open the door to check us, and Beleth always gave us away that we were still awake for her giggling. She was a little sprite.” Miriel was silent for a moment, and stood to look out the window once more. Her mother was still spinning in the yard, and she couldn't help but smile. Perhaps Meleth had for gotten, for a moment, the difficulties of her widowed life. Though, as Miriel looked on, she saw Meleth stop, and hug herself in grief. Perhaps... she had not forgotten. Miriel gulped, and tried to change the topic, still standing near the window and looking out.
“Mother asked that I keep you still tomorrow while she is in the bakery at the Hall. Do you wish to come to my room after Faeldor goes to work? Grandmother will take the little children out, and I am working on some gifts for Yule... we always make each other little gifts. I can show you some things if you wish to try. I doubt needlework would be too strenuous. I have been able to sit in bed and do some on my worst days. I have made some things for Melien already...” she said fondly, touching her stomach and calling the baby by name. She still had not thought what she would name the child should it be a boy. She did not wish to think on it, that Durion might have a son. A son would surely want to know his father, and Miriel had no intention of letting Durion near her child. A daughter would be better... though a father was important, and daughter would get along better than a son would without one. She willed the the Valar that it would be born a girl.
“We should decorate soon as well. Fael and Beleth always ride to the wood to fetch the greens. I think I should have liked to go this year as well, but riding would not be good idea. I... did he agree to send for her?” Miriel asked, worriedly. She ever much more wished for her sister to be back before it was time for her baby to come into the world. She needed her sister to be with her. “I heard Mama talking to yours when I went for supper.” She looked to Faeldor, and the man did not flinch. He was out cold. She continued, “Mama said that she thinks Calon has gone to visit Beleth. Uncle Linnon has written to her that Calon's family are basically his neighbors... and if Calon has gone to visit his family...” she smiled slightly.
“I'm sure this very moment the two of them are swimming or running, or some other active thing. I worry for her, but I think he is a very kind man... and she loves him. Though I suppose I am not in the least a great judge of character,” Miriel sighed. “I wish her back selfishly though, for... she is always happy and pleasant. We could use some more happiness bounding throughout the house. But perhaps she misses us too.”
“Well... I guess we best get him down,” she looked to Faeldor again, and lifted the flask that was near him: the smell almost made her faint! “Is this what Mama was drinking? No wonder!” she exclaimed lightly, plugging the open bottle with the cork. Then studying Faeldor. “I suppose...” she moved to take the man's boots from his feet. He groaned as she tugged at them, but didn't flinch, and they finally budged.
“Mind his head,” Miriel instructed as she finally pulled the boots free. She had to nearly straddle herself over the man to move him by his hips and lay him down on the bed, and it was with great effor that she moved his legs one at a time also upon the bed.“I suppose he won't fall off... he appears to be sleeping as a brick.”
“The first time he went to the tavern... and came home drunk like this... Mother got him to bed, but Beleth snuck into his room and drew him a nose and kitten whiskers upon his face with her bottle of ink.” Miriel covered her mouth to refrain from laughing aloud. “He went to work without notice and of course it was pointed out to him. On his lunch he stormed into the house,” Miriel was speaking quickly to get the words out before bursting into laughter at just the thought. “He stormed about the house with his kitten face, in a bitter, red rage... Narbeleth lit to the roof and outran him, climbing along the ledge, and he had to give up chase so that he might have time to scrub the whiskers off before going back to work. He put ink in her tea the next day.”
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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 Jan 19, 2013 1:40:10 GMT -5
What she said had done the trick. Immediately, Faeldor was smiling. Gilwen could hardly stand her humming heart or burning cheeks. “Of course, Gilwen, if you are feeling well, I am certain, should we wed this year, that we should have a baby by next.” Now he, too, was worried. Still, if she remained as fragile as she was, Faeldor would never wish for her to risk herself with bearing children. Perhaps, she thought darkly, they would conceive, but certainly she would never last through the birth. Not like this. She wondered, for a moment, about his fears. She had learned, through certain glimpses from Faeldor himself or from the rest of the family, how horrified and depressed he had been when she had been so near death.
Faeldor had asked for her hand the moment she had recovered, perhaps unable to bear the thought of not doing so before something else happened. If her body stayed weak, though, would he fear touching her so intimately? Would he truly be happy if she was meek and mild the rest of their lives together, unable to go with him on rides with Lumiel and Laerdin? Would he want children in his house if she never fully recovered? Certainly the strain would be too much upon him! She wanted to know, but she feared asking.
He spoke on how she would make the finest of mothers, though. And that pleased her through her dour thoughts and even chased the fouler ones away completely. The drink Meleth gave him must have worked its way into him mightily, for even as her love spoke upon his father, not even a hint of moroseness took his lovely eyes.
“We will make lovely babies.”
Gilwen blushed, though held upon her lips a smile. One with grey eyes, she thought. Though, he wanted them with brown. Perhaps they would be blessed with one of each. Faeldor certainly wanted more than one baby anyway.
“And if we should not have a baby this year, we shall da-dopt one.”
“Da-dopt?” Gilwen repeated with a furrowed brow. Ale made her Faeldor lusty, but it appeared whatever Meleth had given him tonight had reduced him to a prattling child with a strange vocabulary.
“Diore told your Mother that she was da-dopted. Da-dopted...”
Gilwen smiled. Faeldor’s laughter was bright and hardy, and his grey eyes were dancing. He was certainly in fine spirits now, and while Gilwen would never have told him directly, he was also positively adorable and sweet. He, though, would never wish to hear such things spoken of him!
“Even if you do not bear children... You know we will have children in our home. Why, what a surprise that will be... you should never know if your husband will walk into the house one day with a child in his arm.”
Suddenly, he was serious again. Gilwen felt her own smile fade, and she pressed a hand to her stomach, wondering fleetingly whether her strength would ever allow her this desire. She did not find the thought of adoption detestable, but it would certainly not be the same.
“But I think you must learn better how to bake cookies!”
This one statement, accompanied by Faeldor’s uproarious laughter, embarrassed Gilwen so well that she gasped openly. “I…I never tried before,” she explained hurriedly. “I never could.” Not that Faeldor was listening. And, Gilwen mused, he would never recall saying such a thing aloud to her in the morning. At least he was laughing, she mused inwardly. But this one had not made her feel good.
Just as quickly as the laughter had come to him, it stopped. Faeldor finished off his drink and then turned his eyes to her. They were soft, and bright—he looked content. He traced his callused hand over her cheek and down her neck, and the woman smiled up at him through an ebbing blush.
“Ah, soon enough, soon enough. We shall sleep in the same bed every night, and I shall keep you warm. We'll try our hand at getting those babies that you want. You won't ever fret for loneliness again. We'll make you a dozen babies. A hundred.”
“We’ll make a hundred babies?” Gilwen laughed, raising her brow. “Faeldor, that seems—”
“And we’ll have fun doing it.”
The lady caught her breath and blushed heartily. Faeldor was never one to be shy about the ways he wished to love her. Gilwen had no doubt that if the stable master had the opportunity to give her a hundred babies, he would do it for the simple fact that he would find it pleasant.
Faeldor leaned back, closed his eyes, and was taken into slumber. Gilwen smiled, sitting up a moment to pry his glass from his hand and place it back upon the nightstand. The woman eyed the glass of watered wine Meleth had left for her, and upon further study of her beloved she mused that no harm could come of the drink now. She picked it up into her hand and moved to lean against the stone herself, pausing long enough to brush her lips against his forehead. “A hundred babies,” she mused aloud to herself in a quiet hum. She took a sip of wine. “Well, Fael!” Her eyes were shining, and cheeks still flushed. Still, his sleep and her own amusement gave her a boldness to speak aloud a thought she would have otherwise kept secret. “I look forward to letting you try.”
--
Gilwen had finished her wine and set the empty glass back upon the table, and even though the wine was watered, she felt a little tipsy anyway. She sat alone in the room, listening to the heavy sound of Faeldor breathing beside her with a little pout upon her lips. She knew he needed to rest, but she wanted to kiss him. It seemed quite the dilemma.
“Is he asleep?”
Gilwen’s eyes flew to the doorway, and her little lips curled upward in a smile as she nodded. “Yes,” she chimed in reply, looking over to him and his drooping head and dreaming eyes. “Though, I think he may wake up with more of a headache than he went to bed with.”
Miriel spoke to her, and Gilwen could not contain the joy she felt in such a fact. Not but a few months ago would it have been anything but foul words and pain that flit between the two of them. But now, since she had taken ill, Gilwen had been able to finally to sit and smile with Faeldor’s eldest sister, and it made her heart glad. She spoke of Niniel returning home at Beregar’s escort, of the fact Meleth was quite taken by her drink as well and had resorted to dancing in the gardens. The woman also recounted fondly the times Faeldor, she and Beleth would dance just like their parents would, and for a moment, Gilwen’s heart was torn. Part of her felt joy that Faeldor and his sisters had been so close and fond of each other, the rest felt sadness—at the loss of their father, and now the absence of Beleth.
“Do you wish to come to my room after Faeldor goes to work? Grandmother will take the little children out, and I am working on some gifts for Yule... we always make each other little gifts. I can show you some things if you wish to try.”
Her brown eyes were shining. “Oh, that…that would be lovely!” She smiled in excitement. “I should like to learn,” she added. And, because she had taken even that small amount of wine, her words continued a while more. “Fael says I also need to learn to make cookies. I suppose I am more of a servant than a housewife.” Meleth had been trying to get her a lesson for quite some time. Now, though, Gilwen was perhaps only months from being wed, and could no sooner navigate a kitchen than she could find herself in Rohan away to the west.
“We should decorate soon as well. Fael and Beleth always ride to the wood to fetch the greens. I think I should have liked to go this year as well, but riding would not be good idea. I... did he agree to send for her?”
“Your family decorates?” Gilwen questioned a bit impulsively, though with more than a hint of wonderment. “I have never known anyone who decorates before!” Perhaps the Steward. She had helped adorn his palace with some nice things before. But never on the third tier, and certainly not in her own home! That required funds her family never did have.
She could not hide the frown when Miriel inquired about Beleth. If she had not had a bit to drink, likely the woman would not have answered with anything but a shake of the head, but now she used her words. “No, Fael still thinks he cannot trust her. Sometimes, I think he does not remember how alike he and Beleth are—he skipped more proper courting rights than Calon has!” Her frown thickened. She wanted Beleth back home. Gilwen missed her.
Miriel spoke of Calon, and as she continued, Gilwen grinned and giggled, glancing down to Faeldor amusedly. “Fael shall be unhappy,” she observed rather laughingly. “But, I do think it shall serve him right!” How romantic! Surely Beleth and Calon had the same love that she and her stable master had. How could he not see?
It was time to settle Faeldor in, and Miriel and Gilwen both moved to help him to lay down. “Mind his head.” Gilwen’s gentle hands cradled him as best as she could, lowering him to the pillow and throwing the blankets over him. Faeldor was so deep in his sleep he did not even stir the slightest. She smiled.
“He stormed about the house with his kitten face, in a bitter, red rage...”
Gilwen’s giggles were uncontrollable, and the woman nearly doubled over upon herself reeling with delight. “How old was he then?” She asked through light laughter and frantic breaths. “He must have been so embarrassed—he is so careful to look strong at work!” The thought of Beleth once more quieted the servant, though, and for a moment she looked thoughtful.
“He refuses to bring her home,” she began. “Maybe we should,” the girl giggled already, eyes rippling with bright mischief, “find some ink. Just for Beleth!” Oh, would her Faeldor regret giving her the wine in the morning!
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