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 20:24:13 GMT -5
A grey morning dawned upon the city of Minas Tirith, and the first beams of dim light began to break into the Stable Master's home.
Faeldor felt a tickle upon his nose awake him. A stray lock of hair from his bedmate had brushed against his face to wake him, and he would have smiled at it, had it not been for the ache that coursed over his head. Memories of the night prior flooded back. Primarily, the fight.
The woman moved against him, sighing, and Faeldor managed a smile, reaching to rub her back and gently wake her up with him.
“Faelon,” Meleth murmered, hugging her son's chest as she slowly started to awake. The older woman was dreaming of her late husband as she slept.
Faelon? Why on earth would Gilwen be saying his little brother's name... and why? Had. Her. Hair. Darkened?
“Mother,” Faeldor said in startlement.
“Faelon,” Meleth repeated as she opened her eyes from her slumber. “Wha... Why, Faeldor,” Meleth answered after her eyes had focused. “What... What in the name of Eru am I doing here?” she wondered. “I think... I must have... I think it was Miriel.” She eyed the bottle on the stand, her memory coming back of the night before. “I took too much to drink, and she told me she could not carry me back to my room and so... well...” she started, sitting up and moving aside a bit, straightening the dress that she had worn the night before.
“I suppose you fell asleep,” Faeldor answered, confused. Had Miriel been in his room? And where was Gilwen? She had been right in Meleth's place when he assumed he had fallen asleep.
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Miriel stretched in the next room, upon the bed she had shared the night before with her younger sister, Marileth. The younger girl was in her nightdress and sitting upon the window seat awake, reading a book that Miriel had left.
Miriel rolled over to watch her, and groaned aloud. She could only find comfort in sleeping upon her side these days, but in the morning when she awoke, her back ached terribly from laying in one position all night. This morning was no better than any.
“Is the baby kicking you again?” Marileth asked.
“She woke me up,” Miriel answered drowsily. “I think she should be an active girl. Gracious, Beleth isn't here anymore to wake me up at her ungodly hours of the morning, and now my child must fill in for her.”
“It's not too early,” Marileth commented. “It is just going to be a dark day. There are rainclouds over the Pellenor.”
“Well, I had not planned to go outside at any rate,” Miriel answered, then glanced across the room suddenly, remembering that Gilwen had been sleeping in the other bed the night before. Certainly she would have awakened at the voices.
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“Oh, Eru, I need to be to the stables,” Faeldor suddenly exclaimed, sitting up straight in bed. He clutched his head for a moment as it began again to throb, not as intensely as the night before, but he would certainly have a headache throughout the day. He mused to himself that he was lucky he had only gained a headache from the encounter the day before.
Well, he was already dressed. He had put on himself a new shirt before fetching Niniel the day before so he was clean enough. He just needed his boots and tunic. His boots were placed neatly beside the bed, and his tunic flung over a chair.
Meleth finally looked to her son's face, and almost startled. Faeldor's face was covered in ink! A dot upon his nose, and a squiggled line, and whiskers! A kitten's face! She almost burst into laughter at the sight, remembering how she had come inside the night previous and helped to draw those lines. As her hands flew to her mouth to stifle the laughter, she noted her finger... the tip was blacked.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, tucking her hand quickly into her apron so that the man would not notice.
“And I need to ready for the bakery,” she added. “I... well, at least we both got some sleep.”
“Fael... you...” Marileth started, looking startled at your brother.
“She was just wishing to know if you are feeling better,” Miriel cut in quickly, stifling a grin as her brother poked his head into the room. “You gave all of us quite a fright.” Marileth was silent, realizing that Miriel for some reason did not wish Faeldor's face to be mentioned.
“Gilwen stayed the night in here, in Beleth's poor empty bed,” the young woman added, emphasizing her sister's name, so that Faeldor might remember.
“I...” Faeldor was still confused, wondering why his mother had slept in his bed with him. Though, his head was a bit addled at any rate, and he was running terribly late. “Keep her in bed today,” was all he managed, rubbing the side of his head. At that, he nearly ran down the steps and out the front door toward the stables. Little knowing to himself what his appearance truly was.
As soon as his steps were out of earshot, Miriel burst into gleeful laughter. Perhaps the best laugh she had taken in months. She dropped back on her bed and pulled her coverlet back up, still giggling, as Marileth watched Faeldor move out the door to the stables.
Meleth poked her head into the room next, moving to Miriel's bed to sit down and laugh as well.
“I have a terrible headache. What did I drink? And did I do what I truly think I did?” she asked, holding up her blackened finger for the girls to see. “Did you see his face? He had hardly an idea!”
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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 21:10:05 GMT -5
Gilwen rolled over upon her side and clung tightly to the pillow beneath her before the voices she heard in the room with her finally pulled the lady from her peaceful slumber. She felt pretty well rested, and after a moment of gathering her bearings tried to work herself upright.
She blinked, freeing her bleary eyes from the haze of sleep that lingered still over her vision, and cast her eye toward the sky outside the window. This was not Faeldor’s room. For a moment, Gilwen frowned lightly. Marileth and Miriel were across from her, and Faeldor was nowhere to be seen. She had been in this room once before with Beleth—it was the one she shared with Miriel, and the place that she had been taken after…
She forcibly removed her thoughts from that vile man from the first tier and turned instead on the task of remembering how she had gotten there. Shortly, the lady let out a gasp, and lifted her hand to cover her smiling lips. She remembered everything. The ink, the whiskers, the feather and the laughter. Oh, gracious Eru! And, while perhaps the timid woman would have been embarrassed that she had acted so childishly, it did appear that she was at least somewhat still entertained by the idea of the drawings she and Miriel had left upon Faeldor’s face.
She cast her eyes to Miriel and choked back a giggle. “Has he—?” She began to whisper. But even as she started to ask, Faeldor himself poked his head through the door. Whiskers and all.
It was a good thing he so quickly left, because the woman could not hold her laughter for long. And, as Miriel succumbed to her laughter, so did she. Their laughter, perhaps, had drawn Meleth toward them. “Did you see his face? He had hardly an idea!”
Gilwen finally bit her lip, trying to rein in her giggles and quell the pinkish glow that took her cheeks. “Oh, he will be so upset when he sees!” But they had done it for Beleth. And so, the lady once more fell into laughter and lay back onto the bed.
--
The darkening morning was something that every member of the cavalry was eyeing with disdain. It was not likely their training would be canceled unless the storm proved to be torrential and lit with streaks of lightning. Still, one in particular was even more upset than the rest. Durion hated days like this; they left him feeling miserably dirty.
A few of the other members were filing into the stables before him, a couple others trailing behind. It was well time for them to be setting out, after all. But, not a single man walked beside him. Not that Durion minded; the foul leeches of Minas Tirith were of no consequence to him.
Inside, things seemed to be a bit in a rush. Stable boys were running to and fro, horses were being saddled and bridled, taken from their stalls to be taken by the cavalry to the fields below. It was something Durion would have normally dismissed altogether, but some of the conversation volleying between the stable lads ensnared his attention.
“Where is Master Faeldor?” One of them asked worriedly.
“He hasn’t come in yet,” one of the others responded with a bit of a frantic pitch beneath his answer.
Durion could not stop the slick smile that took his lips. Not in today? Well. I might have outdone myself last night. The look of fire and fury that had been in that wretched foot soldier’s eyes had been the sweetest thing the lord had seen in a long while, and it was made all the better knowing it was dear Faeldor who was truly going to bear the man’s wrath. He hoped that his face was broken—it would serve the stable master right for all the times he had turned his own power on Durion himself. Doubtless, Beregar’s power had been more than even mighty Faeldor could handle.
His heart had almost lifted completely by the time he reached his horse’s stall. The blasted beast was already thrashing about inside, snorting and pounding its hooves in dread of Durion’s hand and weight. Still, if Faeldor was indeed so injured he could not have come to work, the man mused that even that ridiculous horse would be easy to bear today.
No sooner had he thought the words, though, than did a little voice ring down the stable. “Master Faeldor’s coming!” The boys surged with more energy, making last minute adjustments to the tack, the tools or handling they were doing in efforts to please their Stable Master, but Durion immediately whipped about with a frown.
That foot soldier left him alive? He felt new hatred lick his cheeks with heat.
It did not last terribly long, though. The moment Faeldor passed into the stables, all of the boys gawked and stared, falling silent in their questions and assertions. Durion at first could not understand what had quieted the little brats, but the moment Faeldor began to make his way down the hall the man broke out into a smile and crooked laughter.
“Good morning, Master Faeldor,” he called before the man had reached him rightly. “My, you’ve had quite a rough night.” The man could hardly contain himself, his eyes were twistedly amused. “Are those whiskers? It does appear you forgot to wash your makeup clean after finishing with your games with your lady. What an example to set for your boys.” He paused and tilted his head, his smile darkening. “If you are the cat, then what is she? The dog?” He knew Faeldor held his position in the stable in high regard. It was what sobered him from fights years ago, and Durion knew it was the safest place to speak so openly against him or his harlot. After all, he could not lay a hand against him there. Such an act would be directly reported to the steward himself, and then Faeldor would lose his coveted job.
Though, Durion did not understand why anyone would want to work with horses and manure.
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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 22:14:36 GMT -5
“Master Faeldor’s coming!”
The man heard the announcement as he made his way to the stables. Certainly all had noticed his tardiness, and though he would owe them no apology, he hoped that nothing had gone amiss. As he entered, he threw off the hood of his cloak and made his way down the stalls, checking as he went, and ready for the questions which were sure to come flying from all directions.
Before the first request had met his ears though, the stable boys all stopped and simply looked at him. Gracious, had his head swelled? Was he bleeding again? His hand flew to the back of his head where the night before had dripped blood, though all he felt was a soreness and a dried scab. He was not bleeding. They were looking to his face.
Then there was laughing. None of the stable boys had dared to laugh, for they would show no disrespect to the Stable Master, despite his appearance.
“Good morning, Master Faeldor.”
That sickening voice. Faeldor knew in an instant, before he saw him, who he was. Why did he dare voice his good mornings today? Surely, he had expected the Stable Master dead this morning, after spewing lies to Gilwen's father the night before.
“My, you’ve had quite a rough night.”
“And what would you know of it?” the man stopped in front of Durion's stall, feigning interest. “Merely guessing, I suppose?” His fists were clenched at his side. He had a mind to rip the smile straight from the man's laughing face, yet... the stables was not the place. Not here.
“Are those whiskers? It does appear you forgot to wash your makeup clean after finishing with your games with your lady. What an example to set for your boys. If you are the cat, then what is she? The dog?”
Whiskers? Faeldor thought, entirely confused. That was not what the man had expected to hear, for he was certain Durion would mention the soldier that he had sent to assault him in his own home. Faeldor touched his bearded chin. What was he speaking of? Faeldor had grown a short beard upon his face for the past years. Perhaps nearly since he had worked here. Long before Durion had been in service anyway. Truly, he had not trimmed it this morning, but it could have not grown so much in just a day.
“What have you to say about my lady Gilwen?” Faeldor repeated. “Cat... dog...” Faeldor looked down and about him, thinking that perhaps someone had let an animal loose in the stable, and Durion was joking to him of it. He looked to the stable boys again, who were covering their laughter as best they could, but by this point they could barely keep it.
“Someone has drawn on your face, Master Faeldor,” one of the stable boys of the crowd that had gathered spoke quickly.
“Cat whiskers...” he heard another laughing.
Faeldor had a sudden flash back to a day some years ago, four years ago in the spring, in fact, when his sister had taken her writing ink and smeared it about his face as he slept. How had he not woken then... the drink. The drink! He recalled the drinks he had taken the night before. The man frowned, and fumed, his face turning red in both embarrassment and anger, and Durion's slick face beaming in front of him.
Faeldor balled his fist and took a hardened swing at the face of the man in front of him.
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Durion
Man
Gondorian Calvary
[Mo0:0]
Posts: 72
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Post by Durion on Jan 19, 2013 22:54:30 GMT -5
It was the fact the man’s face looked so confused that set Durion’s eye to twinkle all the more. He truly had no idea! “What have you to say about my lady Gilwen?” Durion’s lips curved into a smirk, eyes darkly shining even before the question was fully formed.
Faeldor looked about confusedly at the boys about him, and one finally explained to him precisely what the commotion was about. Durion had never seen the stable master’s cheeks flush so red. It was highly entertaining; well, it was until the stable master let fly his wrath. Still, as Durion was behind the manger, Faeldor’s fist did not land as hard upon him as he would have hoped it to. Durion felt the pain in his jaw immediately, though as he stumbled he knew also that it was not broken.
“Temper, temper,” he chided. “You would not want to lose your position here, too, would you? After all, what would your family do? And where would that sleeper get her payments?” He righted himself laughing, brushing his hand along what was sure to later turn to bruise. Durion tried to smile through the pang that shot through his cheek and jaw. “Did you let her do this to you?” He grinned. “Or did you suggest it yourself, Master Faeldor? I did not know you were so fond of cats.”
Durion leaned in closer, now, now verily certain that Faeldor would try and handle his temper a bit neater in the presence of the miserable boys around, for certainly he did not wish to compromise his workplace. A sly and sinister smirk curled at Durion’s perfect lips. “Was she pleased by your mask? I do not claim to know what games you and she play for entertainment…but I must say, if you play the part of a kitten, you are doing it wrong.”
Perhaps Durion’s day could have remained pleasant; Faeldor certainly was affronted now on three different accounts. One, he certainly looked a fool, and the man was prideful of his brawn and manly appeal—vanity and pride was something Durion knew well. Two, the implications that these ink marks were some sort of game in his lady’s bed would certainly harp at him and further darken his already ruined day. The third, though, would be the knowledge that he could not really do anything about it here.
However, the Valar was not about to abandon Faeldor to such a fate as that. Not fully.
A shadow fell over Faeldor’s shoulder, and Durion’s attention was drawn to the large, gruff silhouette of an aging man with a fierce expression. The lord’s facial expression immediately changed from confidence, and for a moment, it was replaced with fear.
“What is he saying about my daughter, Faeldor?” The voice was low, a growl that sounded like the thunder that was rolling from the Pelennor that very morning. The soldier’s neck was stiff, and Durion could not help but notice that the man’s hands were already balled into fists himself.
The cavalier shortly moved away from the manger, backing up toward his pacing and snorting mount.
“He has no right to be in here,” the man said curtly. “The steward’s stable should not be fouled with those deemed unfit.” Surely, Faeldor would not want Beregar there either. Surely, Durion thought, the stable master would want to save his own hide from the beating that was sure to ensue.
“Unfit?” Beregar repeated, the word flying sharp from his scowling lips. “Unfit?” He took a stride forward, though stopped and marked Faeldor with a sideways glance. The man’s fists certainly were clenched by his sides, the same as the stable master’s, but he did not wish to further mar his already feeble relationship with his daughter’s betrothed. They had spoken of breaking the man’s face, but certainly he had not meant in the stables. He did not wish to lose the man his job, but if he did not mind, all Faeldor would have to do was ask.
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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 23:51:07 GMT -5
“Temper, temper. You would not want to lose your position here, too, would you? After all, what would your family do? And where would that sleeper get her payments?”
“The likes of you could not lose me my position,” Faeldor answered, upset that the man was still easily talking. He had hoped to have broken his jaw. He tore open the door of Durion's stall, though the man had moved after his first attempt, and Faeldor was not about the rile the horse. The man already had done enough disservice to the poor creature with Durion as his rider. “You shall not speak of my fiance with such loose words, you maggot,” Faeldor muttered, restraining his word that the whole stable might not hear him. “It is due you that she is laid up so in my Mother's home... you...”
“Did you let her do this to you? Or did you suggest it yourself, Master Faeldor? I did not know you were so fond of cats.”
“I do not know who did it, yet I can say my siblings shall not easily get away with this...” Faeldor muttered. “And it is none of your concern, at any rate. You should be tending to your mount and readying for your day out out on the fields traiig in the mud.” That should have been enough, but Durion pressed his luck, continuing on.
“Was she pleased by your mask? I do not claim to know what games you and she play for entertainment…but I must say, if you play the part of a kitten, you are doing it wrong.”
“You shall still your mouth. My personal life is honorable, much less than I can say of yours... the father of two unborn children...” Faeldor reached over the manger and gripped at the man's tunic. If only his face looked more menacing. “You shall have it coming to you later, for both Gilwen and my sister... let alone that serving maid in your home who likely has nobody to defend her. Do not think I will easily forget what you have done to my sister, nor what you have done to Gilwen's family. Soon enough I am certain to find myself with more free time to seek you out among the city streets.” He released Durion again, unable to unleash his full fury while he was in the place of Stable Master. Not within his stables at any rate. Soon though, a shadow came over him, and a voice he very well recognized graced his ears.
“What is he saying about my daughter, Faeldor?”
“Slander, of course,” was all Faeldor managed to answer as he glared again at Durion.
“He has no right to be in here. The steward’s stable should not be fouled with those deemed unfit.”
“Visitors often enter the stables to admire the Steward's horses. I should not wish to restrict them from admiring the pride of the Gondorian Calvary.” Faeldor ignored Durion's plea, and Beregar began to rile.
“Unfit? Unfit?”
“I am already tardy, I cannot stand about all day listening to your useless prattle, Durion,” Faeldor snapped. He waved his hand to Durion as if dismissing him from his presence. He glanced, for the briefest of moments, to Beregar and caught his eye, then turned. If he did not acknowledge Beregar's presence, then he could not be held accountable for what the man did in his stables.
After all, Beregar had no job to lose, and unless he killed the man, the courts could lay nothing against his head. Unless the name of Gondor was used in vain, such matters were often left for the citizens to handle on their own. What Faeldor did not see, he would not prosecute, though... he longed to see the look on Durion's face. He might not glance.
The stableboys looked about him nervously, as Faeldor turned to give them their quick orders and move down the hall.
“And anyone else who comments upon my face shall lose their lunch break as they muck stalls,” the man barked at the youth, as they split off to their duties, glancing behind toward Durion's stall and the great man standing there.
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Durion
Man
Gondorian Calvary
[Mo0:0]
Posts: 72
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Post by Durion on Jan 20, 2013 0:29:10 GMT -5
Durion felt cold dread crawl beneath his skin as Faeldor turned and took off down the hall, because neither the cavalryman or the soldier had missed the stable master’s last pointed look that gave Beregar free reign, and as soon as his eyes fell upon Durion, the man nearly felt his knees buckle. For a moment, Beregar wondered about Faeldor’s face, but did not even waste his time in question. The man stepped forward, and cowardly worm began to tremble.
The lord did not know what to do, for indeed the horse behind him was still pacing and stomping—but now the manger was shadowed by the very murderous figure he had hoped to send to Faeldor. “I will ruin you,” Durion spat fervently. “I will make sure your wife and daughter—”
Beregar reached over the manger and grabbed the man roughly by his tunic and pulled him forward so he near lost his breath against the door. “No,” Beregar corrected with a growl. “I will ruin you.” Durion lost his color, and attempted to dig his heels into the ground. The soldier though, was not going to be deterred. “So you’re the pig that started those rumors against my fair Gilwen,” he continued, leaning in close enough that Durion could feel the man’s heavy breaths against his face. “You took my job, you ruined hers…”
Beregar gave a forceful heave, and even without opening the manger door, Durion was hauled up and over, wood biting into his sides as he went. “No,” Durion stammered. “No, it was Miriel—” Beregar shook him forcibly, and Durion gasped as the door cut into his back.
“You’ll pay for what you have done to my daughter,” Beregar’s eyes thundered. “You will regret the day you ever laid your eyes on her!” The man wheeled, hand clamped down upon the man’s clothing so hard that Durion had no chance to wriggle himself out of Beregar’s iron fist, and flung him headlong into the straw upon the floor.
Durion lost his breath the moment his body slammed against the ground. “I wasn’t the one who bedded—” The lord was cut off by a dangerous cry, and then all at once the bear of a man had thrown himself atop his chest and brought the full of his strength into the swinging of his fist.
Every fight Durion had ever been in with Faeldor had bled him awful, but this. With one blow delivered, Durion could hardly breath for the blood streaming from his nose and lips. “I will rip you apart, you filthy…” Beregar bared down on him all the harder, and Durion gasped and cried out for aide.
Desperate as he was, not a single cavalryman moved to come to help him. They were not blind to his heart. They, too, turned and moved away. Taking their mounts and heading out for their training, already having in mind to tell their captain Durion had finally gotten bested by his horse.
“Unhand me!” Durion wailed, trying to retain some sense of his lordship even through his utter terror. “I can make you homeless! I can make you pay!”
Beregar slammed his fist into Durion’s face once again, and this time it was accompanied by a sickening snap. The lord coughed and spluttered, blood splattering over the man’s handsome face. Beregar stood, hauling the man up with him and slamming him against the wall in the same fashion he had done to Faeldor just the night before. This time, though, Gilwen was not going to intercede. Nobody was. “You. You!” Beregar was roaring, unable to contain his fury, and unable to form words through the blood rushing through his ears. He threw himself into another swing, this time landing a blow on the lord’s stomach and sending what little breath Durion still remained flying from him in a streak of blood. This man was the one responsible for everything. The one who had lost them their jobs, that had lost them their home, that had put Beregar’s precious Gilwen in line to be taken by some drunk on the first tier. The one that was bleeding and gasping in his hands.
The soldier could hardly see Durion’s face beneath the rivers of blood that ran over his skin, and Beregar could already tell that if he continued much longer, the lord would surely not last long. Once more, Durion’s jaw was met with a powerful ram, and it too snapped beneath the force.
Durion had never let out such a howl before.
Beregar pressed him back against the stone one more time, seething. “Come near her again. Try anything again. Turn your games to Faeldor and his family—do it. I dare you.” Durion spluttered, and was now gasping and crying beneath all of the blood. “I promise, if Faeldor so much as breathes a word about you, I will find you.”
The soldier could feel Durion shaking and trembling, and could see also that the man was now withered away, and the proud sneer and smirk had been beaten from his face. Outside, a light rain began to fall. Beregar grabbed Durion’s bloody tunic and began to haul him, dragging him screaming and crying to the very entrance of the stable. “I’ve warned you,” Beregar snapped, giving the man a toss and sending him flying into the rain outside. “Next time it will be worse.” The man glowered down at Durion, and he did not move until the lord had forced his broken body to scramble to its feet and took off away from the stables, pale and bloody with terror.
Beregar stood and regained his breath, calming his pulse and stretching the fingers from the fists he had so tightly clenched. It was a pity, the man mused darkly, it had to end there. The man deserved so much worse.
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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 20, 2013 1:00:35 GMT -5
As the stable boys were given leave to their chores at the opposite end of the building, Faeldor heard the fight began to take place. Durion's protests, and Beregar's growls. Protests became agony, and even in his heart Faeldor almost felt a pity for Durion. The Stable Master hated to see anyone come to harm. Yet, it soon washed away as he recalled all that the man had done to his family. He thanked Eru for a moment though that the bloodshed was not coming from his own hands. He was not certain he could have done such a thing without retribution from the Steward himself, in his own stables.
The Stable Master grimaced as the commotion was dragged outside. Thankful that Beregar was cleaning up the mess of that man. Sending him away. It was apparent that everyone in the stables knew it was coming, and the other Calvary had made no attempt to stop it. Neither did the Stable Master. His back was turned as he retreated to his office. Pity he had no hand mirror upon him to study the damage to his own face as he waited, fists clenched.
When the Stable had quieted, and Faeldor once more heard the boys begin to talk in hushed whispers, he exited his quarters and took straight back to the stall of Durion's horse. The horse was skittish and fearful, but Faeldor had soon calmed it enough to lead it out from the stall. He took no time to unbridle or unsaddle the creature. Such things, he mused, would not be missed by Durion for some time.
“This horse has run off,” Faeldor noted to Beregar as he walked from the stables, leading the horse through the rain. He doubted that Durion would report Beregar for this, for he would not wish anyone to know who had bested him. Certainly when his Captain as well as his family inquired, he would blame the incident on his horse. His horses were always blamed for things that were no fault of their own. Well, this was a fine horse and Faeldor was not about to have it lose service or it's life on Durion's account. He would send it on to the lower stables, and have its name changed on it's papers, then, it would find it's service outside the city.
He motioned for Beregar to come with him as they walked toward the lower tiers, though made no move to speak to him until the sixth tier was passed, and they were unto the fifth. Nobody here would have witnessed the men leaving the stables, or the retreat of Durion.
“Was his face recognizable at the end of that?” Faeldor asked, looking to Beregar pointedly, kitty whiskers and all, though for the moment he had forgotten his own face.
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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 20, 2013 1:22:47 GMT -5
Beregar trailed after Faeldor as it seemed the man desired him to do. He tried not to mark the stable boys he passed, fearing that he once more had frightened those who did not deserve to be. Still, he doubted there was a person there that enjoyed Durion in any form. The soldier could still feel the heat in his cheeks from his anger, though the cold rain was certainly doing well to calm his temper.
In all of his years, the man had never sought conflict outside of battle. Now, twice in two days, he had nearly had the mind to murder. It was frightening to him, and it more than worried him that Faeldor would now forbid him to see Gilwen—it was true the man had now only seen how horrifyingly brutish Beregar’s strength led him to be.
They passed without speaking through the sixth tier, and when they passed Faeldor’s house, Beregar tossed a look up to the second floor as if he could will himself to see his daughter up in the window. She would never have wanted to see her father beat a man senseless. Though, he mused darkly, she would have made an exception for that lord. Even Gilwen had spoken ill of him the night before. “Was his face recognizable at the end of that?”
That drew Beregar’s attention back to his daughter’s betrothed. For a moment, he could not answer. He was taken aback and offset by the whiskers and dark nose that had been drawn upon Faeldor’s face. “I…” He sought to find his voice. “I doubt he will find himself as handsome. His jaw and nose are broken at least.”
The man stopped now, pressing his lips together and narrowing his eyes in study. “But if I may say…your face is hardly recognizable yourself. Did Gilwen do that?” He knew he had brought the man to his daughter the night before. And, in the state Beregar had left him in, he doubted Faeldor had moved. Still, it seemed quite unlike his daughter to do something so silly. Though, he supposed she had never had access to ink before.
Thinking on Gilwen again caused the bear of a man’s shoulders to droop and a heavy sigh to escape his lips, and for a moment he cradled his forehead in his palm. “Did…did she rest all right?” He paused and looked up to him, his light eyes brimming with a haze of tears. “Niniel told me…what happened. How she was sick. That man…” His sorrow once more morphed to steely fury. “I told him should you so much as breathe a word to me that he bothered either you or my daughter again, I would find him again.”
He fell silent then, anger run dry and a heaviness in his heart. Beregar hated the feeling of guilt that shaded him; he should never have found it easy to lift a hand and draw the blood of someone who was not an opposing soldier, or foul creature of shadow. Orcs were one thing, citizens of Gondor were another. But had not that man made it his day’s work to slander Gilwen? To destroy her and their family? Was he really a man at all?
He looked down to his fist and the flecks of blood that were still upon his knuckles and set his mouth into a grim line. A part of him thought perhaps he had gone too far. The other part thought perhaps he had not gone far enough.
“Did…did he ever try to…touch her?”
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Faeldor
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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 20, 2013 17:50:13 GMT -5
“I… I doubt he will find himself as handsome. His jaw and nose are broken at least.”
“He has deserved what he has gotten.” Faeldor was glad to hear of it. Durion took far too much pride in his appearance. Perhaps it was one of the main things that allowed him to sway those who he intended to hurt. He deserved as much... for Gilwen's sake. For Miriel's. For the other poor woman he had learned had conceived a child with him. For all the men and women that he accosted on a daily basis.
“But if I may say…your face is hardly recognizable yourself. Did Gilwen do that?”
“I rightly do not know who did that. I would have guessed my sister, but that sister is not here. It was surely a joke by one of them. Even... Mother may have done it. But perhaps...” The man was confused. Certainly it would have been Gilwen, for she had left the room sometime during the night. Why would she have left with Miriel, had they not all been in there together? Faeldor did not remember Miriel or his Mother coming in, but certainly Gilwen would not have instigated the matter. She likely did not even know where the ink was kept, nor would she have taken it without asking someone.
“I'm afraid we all had some drink last night after... Mother and I more than the rest. She was quite worked up...” He stopped after that. No need to delve into his Mother's grief. “Even Gilwen had some, I believe, though I do not remember.”
“Did…did she rest all right? Niniel told me…what happened. How she was sick. That man... I told him should you so much as breathe a word to me that he bothered either you or my daughter again, I would find him again.”
“She was warm in bed when I left this morning,” Faeldor stated. Not the bed in which she had started, but a bed nonetheless. Beregar mentioned the sickness that she had gone through. Of course Niniel would have told him all that he had told her yesterday. Faeldor did not wish to add to any of the details that he had told Niniel, for though she did not know the half of what Gilwen had gone through, it was enough for a mother to know, especially now that Gilwen was beginning to mend. “She will be well again soon. She is gaining strength daily, as long as she does not over extend herself. She will be glad to hear of Durion, for he will remember what you have told him. He was never a brave one and does not respond kindly to threats. The taunting I receive from him is when he knows that I am in a position to do him no harm, when my job might be questioned.”
“Did…did he ever try to…touch her?”
Faeldor's face pressed firm, the memory unmistakable in his mind. “Yes.” Though Durion had not harmed Gilwen... perhaps it had harmed him more than it harmed her. “Just once that I know of, to spite me because I had quarreled with her. She tried to slap him but did not manage... though, she was fine in the end I suppose.” He pictured the moment. That filthy man's lips upon Gilwen's hand, as he had just stood looking after her. Well... she had truthfully come to no harm by it. Had it been anyone but Durion who had kissed her hand, perhaps he could have taken it as honest and amiable gesture. He knew that Durion had simply done it to spite him. For a moment he fumed at even the though, though hit had been months previous... though soon... he calmed himself.
“He usually finds someone else to do the work for him. His family has wealth... he hires them. Or he convinces them that it is only for their well being that they do it. It is all a game to him. He did touch my sister though,” Faeldor added morosely.
“I am sure that it will not be long before he tires of his games with Gilwen, and he will certainly not continue if you are the threat. But I fear now for my sister and her child. He will attempt to do something and hurt her again. I know it.”
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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 20, 2013 19:08:24 GMT -5
“Even Gilwen had some, I believe, though I do not remember.”
Beregar’s face hinted in lightness, and a fond smile came to his lips. “Did she?” He chuckled. “You know, the first time Niniel and I gave her wine…I hardly recognized her. She…she spoke. She laughed…” His blue eyes sparkled a bit, warm laughter finally falling quiet again. “It was nice to see it,” he added slowly. Surely Faeldor already knew. Certainly Beregar was boring him with the recounted stories. So, Beregar fell silent.
Faeldor breezed forward in the conversation to assure him that Gilwen was on the mend, tucked warmly and safely in her bed. Beregar nodded, though spoke no more. Perhaps, he mused for a moment, he finally understood why his daughter was so slow with her voice. It is hard to think of things to say when you are worried that you are not fit to be conversing with the one in your company. He mused she felt that way because of her position in the palace. But Beregar. He felt that way now because the could see that Faeldor was indeed worthy of his position and stature in Gondor; a nobleman that had every right to deny the man his daughter.
Gilwen, perhaps, did not deserve to be mistreated and walked upon. However, the man knew he did.
“Yes. Just once that I know of, to spite me because I had quarreled with her. She tried to slap him but did not manage... though, she was fine in the end I suppose.”
Beregar’s eyes turned sour, and he dropped his eyes back to the cobbled street. Gilwen had, of course, never spoken to him of Durion herself. He had no idea of the day that Durion had waylaid her as she had stormed from the stables. And he certainly had never even heard a whisper of Durion offering her a position in his own home as a servant; it was definitely well that Faeldor made no mention of that.
“She tried to strike him?” He finally murmured. “That…that is a soldier’s daughter, I suppose.”
“I am sure that it will not be long before he tires of his games with Gilwen, and he will certainly not continue if you are the threat. But I fear now for my sister and her child. He will attempt to do something and hurt her again. I know it.”
Beregar lifted his eyes again in all seriousness, and made a point to catch Faeldor’s eye with his own and ignore the ink upon the man’s face. “He may tire of Gilwen,” he agreed for a moment. “But I think it isn’t really her he wants to hurt…I think it is you. When he spoke to me last night…I…” He paused. “He hated you, not Gilwen. I wouldn’t be surprised if that is why he has set his attention on your sister as well.” The soldier paused though and shifted his weight.
“If you worry for your sister, though, I will be glad to keep an eye on the house if you are not there.” His voice dropped low, and he hurried forward with little pause. “I wouldn’t have to be inside. I owe you at least that. My daughter—she has spoken of nothing but love for your family since she first met you.”
The man felt himself frown. “He even tried to blame you for everything this morning, probably to set me against you again. Why does he hate you so?”
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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 20, 2013 22:22:44 GMT -5
i]“Did she? You know, the first time Niniel and I gave her wine…I hardly recognized her. She…she spoke. She laughed…It was nice to see it.”[/i]
“It is nice to see, and favorite sound of mine to hear,” Faeldor agreed, thinking upon the times he had heard his Starlight's light laughter. Perhaps his dour mood lessened some, just to think of it. Perhaps he would go home later and she would laugh with him. Perhaps... he should offer her a small cup of wine each evening. Watered, of course. It certainly couldn't harm her, and perhaps laughter would do her well.
Then again...
She certainly would be laughing as he returned home. Laughing at him more like. For the look and ink upon his face. What was he to do of it! He would have to return home to wash up before taking back to the stables this day. Then... then he must find out. He could not be angry at Gilwen! No... he could not be angry at her. And what of Miriel? Had it been the oldest of his sisters, could he hold a grudge upon her, when she had been so morose these past months? Since Gilwen had been in their home, she had been kind most of the time, if not always. At least that he knew of.
And Mother? It could very well have been his Mother to draw upon his face. She had certainly taken enough drink, to not even make it into her own bed.
“She tried to strike him? That…that is a soldier’s daughter, I suppose.”
Faeldor only nodded. Indeed, at least she had the recourse to attempt to strike at him. She had that spirit about her, though she was mild in most ways.
“He may tire of Gilwen. But I think it isn’t really her he wants to hurt…I think it is you. When he spoke to me last night…I… He hated you, not Gilwen. I wouldn’t be surprised if that is why he has set his attention on your sister as well. If you worry for your sister, though, I will be glad to keep an eye on the house if you are not there. I wouldn’t have to be inside. I owe you at least that. My daughter—she has spoken of nothing but love for your family since she first met you.”
The Stable Master paused his steps for a brief moment in thought, but soon began again. Certainly what Beregar had said was true. It was not Gilwen... nor was it Miriel... Durion was doing these things to spite them. He had always spouted off about Gilwen, and had done everything he could to make her family miserable... but perhaps this was because he had no way to make Faeldor miserable. The same with Miriel. He was using those women, to get to Faeldor.
“He even tried to blame you for everything this morning, probably to set me against you again. Why does he hate you so?”
“He is holding onto childhood grudges,” was all Faeldor managed. “Oft the boys would fight in the street, and Durion was always the first down. He hated to fight, for he knew he would lose, but his tongue was always so sharp that he instigated nearly every fight he was in...”
He continued, “And there was a girl, when we were both still young. A sweet and kind girl, and very pretty. Long before I had met Gilwen, mind you. He had eyes for her, but she knew his temper and maliciousness. He invited her, but she came with me to our first ball, and outright refused to dance with him. He spouted off a few things about her, and I dragged him outside... told him we would fight. One shove, and he stumbled on the ground and lit off. And it happened right in front of the Stewards sons. It was rash of me to drag him out in front of them, but they heard what he said and didn't say a word against me for it.”
“Soon thereafter I was promoted to Stable Master,” Faeldor added, though gave no mention as to the reason; his Father's death. “And he simply could not stand to see me in the position. Not that he had ever lined up for it, for he has never handled a horse well. He's been through at least five different mounts in these last years, and he abuses and ruins them all. Like this poor horse.” He patted the horse beside him as he led it down the street.
“I suppose he has simply decided that his life condition is my fault. Though many of the other boys have come and gone, he sees me daily as he comes into the stables for his Mount. He either does not realize or does not care that his attitude is what is leading him through this path. He has come to live off the pain of others. I've seen him reap the rewards of grief and pain. He delights in torment. Gracious, I've seen him kick dogs upon the streets for no reason other than their existence. He likes to hear the whine and squeal of those who he torments.”
As they walked down and around the city, Faeldor mused on this new thought, that it was all simply his fault. The things that had happened to Gilwen and Miriel. Had he stayed with Maeniel for years and years, Durion likely would have been just the same to her. To any woman of the upper class living on the sixth tier even. Perhaps it was just him.
Well, at least with the man in disrepair, hopefully it would be some time again before he had to deal with him, though in the back of his mind, Faeldor knew that Durion would always be looking for ways and finding people to get in his way of a peaceful life.
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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 20, 2013 23:05:28 GMT -5
“It is nice to see, and favorite sound of mine to hear.”
Gilwen’s father could not help but smile. “It was always one of mine, too. I don’t care how tired I was when I came home from training, she would laugh and smile and my entire world would be well again,” the man murmured fondly. He blinked the visions of his young daughter from his mind, and gave Faeldor a sideways glance. “Though, working in that palace drove all of that out of her. I guess she was never excitable the way some girls are, but she was never so silent.”
Faeldor spoke, and Beregar listened. “All of this over a woman?” He could hardly believe it. The soldier had known many men’s grudges in his time serving in the infantry, being among men and their thick tempers and boiling blood. Sometimes it was money, sometimes it was a word too easily passed from one or another’s lips. But he doubted he had ever heard of something like that—well, at least not a grudge about a single woman that poisoned another man’s entire life.
He noticed Faeldor’s sudden pensive look and frowned over to him. There was more than a hint of regret or sadness in the stable master’s grey eyes, and the soldier averted his eyes back to the road. “You are not to blame for that man’s black heart,” he finally sighed. “Gilwen would be cross if she knew you blamed yourself for any of this.” It was the truth; Beregar knew this. However, a part of him was further coaxed to flame. It did not seem right that his precious Gilwen had come to suffer so horribly because Faeldor, at one point, had taken interest in a different woman. He mused Gilwen had no idea that a woman was truly at the root cause for all of this adversity between Faeldor and Durion, and thought perhaps maybe it was better she did not.
Beregar did faintly recall hearing Gilwen mention sometimes with a blush, the handsome cavalryman she had grown to know over her first years working in the palace. He never did understand what had happened to the lad—Herion, was it?—but he mused that she would never have brought up such a delicate matter with her betrothed. Whatever Faeldor had done had won her heart, and that cavalryman certainly no longer stood a chance of winning her.
Still, his daughter was timid, and learning of whoever this woman was might harp upon a wound she carried.
“Aside,” he finally added, dropping his voice lower and heaving a sigh into the very words he formed, “she has not left you yet over this trouble. And…and, well, you know that I wanted her to.” The man’s face flickered into a bit of a frown. “She chose you, even through the mess of the situation. My daughter must care for you more deeply than I ever realized, because at one point, I was her world. I was all she needed! But you were important enough for her to…to want to leave. To grow up.”
Those months ago when Niniel had been sewing baby clothes, hopeful of the grandchildren that she simply knew Faeldor and Gilwen would bring, she had told Beregar that being upset over the fact their child was an adult was no reason to act so poorly against Faeldor. At the time, the soldier had denied it having anything to do with that—of course he knew his daughter was an adult!
Still, now the man began to understand. Niniel had been right all along.
“When you have a daughter,” Beregar added in a low murmur, brow furrowing at the very thought of his baby bearing one of her own. “You will understand. Your wife and your girl will be your world—and then someone is going to step in and take her away. I might not have hated you as much if the rumors had not been spreading too, but mark me, lad,” the man heaved a sigh, “I would have hated you for a while anyway, just for that.”
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Faeldor
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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 21, 2013 14:25:38 GMT -5
“It was always one of mine, too. I don’t care how tired I was when I came home from training, she would laugh and smile and my entire world would be well again. Though, working in that palace drove all of that out of her. I guess she was never excitable the way some girls are, but she was never so silent.”
“I think that she will warm up a bit more again, in time,” Faeldor added. He had seen his lady warm, that was certain. When she had a home to call her own once more, and her health returned. He would assure she was happy. “I have seen her quite gleeful, and not just when she has taken wine.”
Gleeful and dancing. Faeldor thought upon the first days he had met Gilwen. The way she danced for him in the moonlight of Fela Isilme. Oh, the moment he had fallen in love with her.
“All of this over a woman?”
“I suppose so...” Faeldor answered, a bit morosely. “He had always hated me before then too, it is certain. But I think that was the catch all. Perhaps even now he has forgotten her... he seems to no longer seek friendship among anyone, but uses any women he can manipulate to his advantage.
Faeldor's heart burned for a moment and he added in admittance, “He tried to get Gilwen to serve in his home. After she had been demoted of her job at the palace. And she considered it, for thought to provide for her family. She was desperate. I did not allow it, of course. He would have used her in more ways than just a serving lady.”
“You are not to blame for that man’s black heart. Gilwen would be cross if she knew you blamed yourself for any of this.”
Faeldor nodded. It was not truly his fault for the way Durion had behaved. It was not even close to his fault... he had never bested the man in a fight when they were boys without being provoked. The girl whom he was once fond of... well, that was Durion's fault as well, that she had not wished for his company. He had been foul since a child. What gentle woman would wish to spend company with him?
“Aside, she has not left you yet over this trouble. And…and, well, you know that I wanted her to. She chose you, even through the mess of the situation. My daughter must care for you more deeply than I ever realized, because at one point, I was her world. I was all she needed! But you were important enough for her to…to want to leave. To grow up.”
“I think, it comes eventually to all little girls. Some sooner...” he mused upon his younger sister. She was naught but eighteen, and ready to make her own decisions. His mother had been only seventeen. Gilwen though, had been five and twenty when she had met Faeldor. It was true, many married younger than she. Perhaps Beregar had been further set in the fact that his daughter would simply not wish to wed, and would stay at home with he and his wife until they were old and needed care. “Some later...”
“I have a younger sister who I have quite inhibited,” though, even as he stated it, he was not completely remorseful for the fact. She had come to no harm through his inhibitions, and he truly thought she was too impulsive and young for her behavior.
“When you have a daughter. You will understand. Your wife and your girl will be your world—and then someone is going to step in and take her away. I might not have hated you as much if the rumors had not been spreading too, but mark me, lad. I would have hated you for a while anyway, just for that.”
Faeldor's spirits brightened the slightest for hearing Beregar refer to his wife. Of course he was referring to Gilwen, and their children together.
“Perhaps...” Faeldor started. “I shall keep my own daughters under lock and key until they are at least thirty.”
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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 21, 2013 19:42:08 GMT -5
“He tried to get Gilwen to serve in his home. After she had been demoted of her job at the palace. And she considered it, for thought to provide for her family. She was desperate. I did not allow it, of course. He would have used her in more ways than just a serving lady.”
“She considered that?” Beregar could hardly contain the well of emotions he felt. Anger, first, but then sadness and meekness. His daughter should never have had to even consider such a thing as working for that foul lord as a servant in his home. And Faeldor was right, the man was sure to try and use her for other things than cleaning.
“I…I am glad you would not allow that,” he near whispered. “My daughter has always put herself before Niniel and I. Had you…had you not dissuaded her, she probably would have thought the risk worth keeping us fed.” The thought of that man touching her, of his daughter too frightened and hungry to protest—it set the man’s blood to boil again.
“Perhaps...I shall keep my own daughters under lock and key until they are at least thirty.”
Beregar laughed, despite himself. Perhaps he should have had more mind of himself, but the bear of a man was smiling and shaking his head. “Well, I tried that myself. And I suppose I almost made it,” he added, lifting his brow and eyeing Faeldor pointedly. “And, if Gilwen is anything like Niniel, she certainly won’t allow you to do succeed, either.”
The soldier sighed, a smile still clinging to the corners of his lips. He could already imagine Gilwen with her hands upon her hips, trying her best to look firm and unyielding but instead falling somewhere in the realm of endearing, just like his Niniel. Beregar wondered for a moment if the stable master would even pause for a moment to consider her in anger, or if he too would find his wife to be too sweet to hold a temper with for long.
Beregar, of course, had never listened much to his wife’s insistence that Gilwen should be allowed to go see Faeldor whenever she wished, that the boy should be able to come to their door without fear of a sword being drawn against him. He had denied Faeldor his attempts despite all of his wife’s pleas and words. Perhaps, though, Faeldor had about him more sense than the soldier had. Beregar mused on it a moment, before dropping his eyes to the cobbles again, eyeing the puddles and rivers of rainwater as the washed through the street.
“I am stubborn,” he finally offered in a low tone that seemed laced with a sigh. “And while perhaps you are persistent, I doubt Gilwen will ever let you act like me.” He paused for a moment and grinned. “She may try to hide your sword when the time comes—Niniel near took mine. I think it is a funny thing about mothers; they hold tighter to their children than their husbands in many ways, but when it comes time for love and marriage, they accept it with grace.”
Niniel certainly had. Though, the man wondered if it was simply for the fact she wished once more for a baby to hold and care for. “If Gilwen ever passed words with a man, be it at the market or a man from work, Niniel began her planning!” He laughed lowly, shaking his head with a shade of amusement. “I dare say when Gilwen was naught but fifteen Niniel was certain that cavalry boy was the one. I nearly had to still her from ordering Gilwen a gown.”
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Faeldor
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Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
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Post by Faeldor on Jan 21, 2013 20:37:43 GMT -5
“I…I am glad you would not allow that. My daughter has always put herself before Niniel and I. Had you…had you not dissuaded her, she probably would have thought the risk worth keeping us fed.”
“I am simply grateful that she will not be hungry again, as far as I can help it. She did look a fright when I found her in...” Faeldor trailed off, realizing that he wished not to bring up the sickness again with Beregar. It was so difficult though, as it had been on his mind now for weeks! Gilwen's illness had taken up much of his life, for if he was not with her, attempting to cheer and comfort the poor woman, he was at work, thinking about her, and wishing that he might do more.
“Well, I tried that myself. And I suppose I almost made it. And, if Gilwen is anything like Niniel, she certainly won’t allow you to do succeed, either.”
“I will deny that she will change my opinion on the matter until the very day she does so,” Faeldor mused.
“I am stubborn. And while perhaps you are persistent, I doubt Gilwen will ever let you act like me. She may try to hide your sword when the time comes—Niniel near took mine.”[/i]
“And I should hope that by the time my daughters are old enough to wed, that I shall no longer need my sword for defense, but might take any man down with my mere fists,” he added, thinking to Beregar and the strength he had shown in handling both himself and Durion.
“If Gilwen ever passed words with a man, be it at the market or a man from work, Niniel began her planning! I dare say when Gilwen was naught but fifteen Niniel was certain that cavalry boy was the one. I nearly had to still her from ordering Gilwen a gown.”
Faeldor pressed his lips together. He knew of which man Beregar was speaking, of course, for Gilwen had let her lips loose the night that she had taken to much drink during their mountain picnic and brought his name up.
“She cared for him that much?” he wondered aloud. Gilwen had hardly given him many details on the matter. He sighed. Well, he had certainly had women in his past... though he had never been as close to them as he was to Gilwen. Perhaps they should talk over it more. With Herion in Faeldor's mind, he grew upset, and certainly Gilwen deserved to know of his other women... though... they had all been girls at the time. Maeniel had been the last of his interests before his Father's death, and until Gilwen he had not even looked upon another in pleasure.
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