Bustling about the Palace [Open]

[Gilwen]

It was about mid-morning, and already the servants of the palace were in full swing. Clad in their rich black and white servants garb, they were easy to spot: ghosting about the palace with lowered eyes, and open ears.

The kitchen staff was half-way done preparing the meal for the steward and his two sons for lunch, and the immediate area around the entryway smelt intoxicating, and was not something Gilwen particularly wanted to smell right now.

She had awoken later than normal, and had in fact, forgotten to eat. It was a rare occurrence for her, really, but she always cursed herself for it later. Like now, when the palace cooks were filling the palace with tantalizing scents.

She let her brown eyes raise long enough to take a look around the room she was in. It was white stone, with the darkest wood and black marble for accents. A fine feasting area., without a doubt. And large. So very large.

She would know, she had been cleaning it all morning. Finally, it seemed she was done, and with a heavy sigh she dropped her hand to her side once more. Quietly, and quickly, she turned to leave the room.

There were still many chores she would have to see to this morning. In the afternoon, she would get a new wave of duties.

[Faeldor]

Rays of sun and heat, my but it had become a warm day. One would never know from the chill of morning among the white stone wall would become heat among the stables, in the presence of horse and hurrying boys and men. He carefully knocked his shoes off at the door of the great Feast Hall in the palace, for it seemed as if the building shone in elegance today, and he would not wish to disrupt the cleaning of the servant ladies in preparation for the Steward and his son’s to have their lunch. Faeldor had been humming and whistling to himself as he was outside, though when he entered the great hall, he was in silence, for it always seemed a disturbance to make unheeded noise in the high ceilinged rooms. A voice would echo among the halls. It was such a great change! The stillness, and coolness that one encountered. He had always wondered why the Steward would dress in such thick robes and furs, even in a summer this far south, but he imagined that the man did not make it outside too often.

Though the cooks were in preparation for the Steward’s meal, he knew if he waited they would have something to feed him as well. Or mostly, his mother, Meleth, would serve him, for she was one of the head cooks. After the morning in the stables he was starving! And though he had taken a leftover bread roll for breakfast, it had been well before dawn when he left, and he had not yet told her ‘good morning’.

Faeldor made his way down the halls to the very back, the smell of morning baking lifting his spirits and leading his path. His eyes drifted to the walls, for though the rooms of the palace were oft empty, the halls where hung great paintings and tapestries would catch anyone’s eye. As he walked past the Stewards own feasting room, he managed to bump shoulders with a woman who was exiting quickly. He was quite startled, for he had not even heard the lady’s steps. Judging by her attire and her downcast eyes, she was one of the palace servants, probably attending to her cleaning at this time of day.

“Excuse me, milady, I was not watching where I was stepping.” His voice echoed in the still hall, yet he spoke quietly, and with a small smile. There was no frown upon his face. He often made friendly chatter with the palace servants, for though he was Master of the stables, he was simply no more than another servant himself. Perhaps one with a bit more responsibility, but nonetheless, his duty was to serve the Steward and the young Captains of Gondor. He simply looked after animals, after all.

[Gilwen]

It hadn't hurt at all really, but the young woman gasped as she was jarred from her contemplative state. Sometimes downcast eyes didn't keep you out of trouble. This was, clearly, one of those times. As a servant, Gilwen was supposed to work like a well-oiled machine. Moving quietly, working quickly, and never causing a disturbance. "I fear that it was my fault, milord," She raised her brown eyes, faltering slightly with the realization as to whom she had just run into.

When she finished her chores early, oftentimes she would retreat to the stables to see the horses which, in her opinion, were the most magnificent creatures in Middle-Earth. She always had the sinking feeling that if she had been caught there, she would have been kicked out, as if it were off limits. The man that was standing before her was the stable master.

"I am very sorry," She murmured softly, letting her hands drift to straighten her skirts nervously. She was sure that at least on some level the man before her would recognize her. While she tried to be stealthy about the stables, she was sure she hadn't been completely successful.

Inwardly she was pleased that someone had started a conversation, or at least spoken a word to her. Sometimes as she ghosted about the palace she seemed to think herself invisible: never acknowledged, never spoken too. It was a nice change of pace. Still, she was shocked as to who it was. She found herself returning his small smile, however nervous she felt.

[Faeldor]

When she looked up, Faeldor recognized her; he had seen her before of course. Both here, and in the stables. He was usually in a rush, attending to business in the stables, and had never considered to speak with her. There were others as well, who came to the stables to simply see the horses. Minas Tirith was a closed in city after all, and few had the liberty of owning a horse. Quite a shame, Faeldor thought, for they were both beautiful and loyal creatures. He would never send someone away for simply being there, though there were many times he had sent rowdy youth out, or perhaps a lazy stable lad who was not attending to his duties.

It was difficult to tell the servant women apart at times, for Faeldor anyhow. They all moved about quietly, and they kept their eyes down, as was the custom. Never look your Lords in the eye; for it was rude, or so he had heard. He often heard his mother lecturing his sister Miriel for her boldness after they returned from their work. Miriel was never one to keep her eyes trained. Faeldor wondered at women, for they were rather interesting. He watched as Gilwen straightened he skirts. They were always straightening their skirts and their hair, as if a misplaced fold of fabric could be offensive. Faeldor had not bothered to tidy himself before entering the Hall, and his hair was probably in disarray from the work and wind. At least he had not been shoveling manure this morning, he thought to himself.

“Either way, it is no trouble, as long as I have not injured you.” He nodded to her, then continued. “I am Faeldor, son of Faelon, and what is your name? Have I seen you among the stables before?” he asked her. He was glad that Gilwen smiled at least. Some of the women seemed so nervous to speak to any man who entered. They attempted to remain translucent among the stone pillars. He looked down the hall for a moment. Certainly this woman was at work, though it would not hurt to speak with her. Even if one of the Lords should enter, they would recognize Faeldor and it would be no trouble. The trouble would more lay on if one of her supervisors should happen around the corner and see her not at work. Oh, he heard the stories every night from his sister. She seemed to despise all manner of higher-ups in the palace for the sake that they told her what to do.

[Gilwen]

"Oh, no." Gilwen replied politely. "I am not hurt in the least!" At the very thought of being injured by such a small collision brought an extra sparkle to her brown eyes, though she did try her best to mask it so as not to be perceived as rude. Luckily she didn't have to struggle for long, Faeldor, as she soon learned his name was, spoke again.

She smiled wider, and a pink color came to her pale cheeks. So he had recognized her, even as she tried to sneak about the horses and draw no attention to herself. "Uhm, yes." She said, faltering slightly. "My name is Gilwen, daughter of Niniel." She paused here, flicking her eyes down the halls to make sure nobody was around to catch her hindering in her work.

The stone hallway was clear, so she offered more information. "I tend to find myself in the stables when I have some time to myself. I really do love it there." The pink color vanished from her cheeks, replaced with a glimmer in her eye that was slightly akin to a child's when they are given a great gift from their parents. She caught herself, though and closed her mouth.

He probably thinks I am mad. She thought almost laughingly, grasping her hands in front of her abdomen nervously, the slight pink color returning to her cheeks. Normally she was much better at introductions, and meeting people. Perhaps it was her lack of breakfasting, but today Gilwen felt she was running her mouth and saying all the wrong things.

Thinking of food again almost made her groan. The smell of the food from the kitchen was growing more tantalizing as they stood there in the hall. It was getting closer to serving time.

This realization was both a blessing and a curse to the servant. While it meant the time for her meal was close at hand, she would have to serve the Lords of Gondor before, and it would be almost torture to do so with the way her stomach was feeling.

She pressed the thought from her mind quickly, though. Best not to dwell. She thought lightly. It wouldn't make it any easier, and that was certain.

[Faeldor]

“It is a pleasure, Lady Gilwen.” So the mysterious maid’s name revealed. Star maiden. He wondered the significance of it. He knew he had heard it before. She had worked here some time, he supposed, though she did seem quite young. And with the name, he would surely often notice her face among the other servants. Funny how people could stand out that way.

He was surprised though at her comment about the stables. To one person they meant work, to another rest. His spare time was certainly not spent there. He did enjoy the horses though, and oft took his out on the Fields when he was spared some freedom. “Good good, well I am glad that the stables are to your liking, we do try to keep it a tidy place,” he joked.

He wondered to himself if the woman was well. Gilwen seemed cheerful enough, yet it seemed that she acted strangely. Well, each person to their own. He enjoyed her smile, and that was enough for him. And what expressions she held; he was not certain whyfor the color came to her cheeks, but it did give her a bright appearance among the white stone walls. Perhaps she was just a shy lady.

The smells of the kitchen were not ignored by Faeldor either. He smelled the bread and the roast beef stew, and perhaps the pastries as well. His stomach was not as patient as Gilwen’s though, and it took this moment to gurgle loudly. Faeldor laughed; it echoed in the hall. “As you take your rests in the stables, I take mine in the kitchen. Perhaps this is why I have never spoken to you before. Do forgive my stomach. It protests, as I was on my way to eat.”

Faeldor thought for a moment, then smiled. “Well, if you are going to be on a break right now anyhow, you best take a moment to join me for a pastry. The baker would not mind. She is my mother afterall.” And his mother would not, that was sure, for Faeldor often brought a guest or two. Usually a hungry stable lad. Ah, Gilwen probably had work to do, he knew it would be best for her if he let her to it, but her supervisors were obviously not about, and the hall already looked as if to glitter in cleanliness.

[Gilwen]

Another smile stretched across her face as the words "its a pleasure" rung out in the silent hallway. Gilwen loved meeting new people: or at least she had when she had been younger. It was a shame, really, but working as a servant beat a lot of yourself out. Something that she slightly missed about her younger years was her eagerness to make friends, and get to know people. It was a product of limited talking in the workplace, but the talkative child she was had been turned into a reserved maid in a castle. Sometimes, however, old bits of herself shown through. And they were always more than welcome to Gilwen.

"Well, then. You do a fine job." Gilwen said, to return the jest the stable-master had supplied. She felt as if he was examining her, now. A thin silence falling between them, ultimately being interrupted by the man's eager stomach. At first she wasn't sure whether the laugh that she felt rising in her core was rude, or misplaced but Faeldor merrily filled the hallway, and so she quietly joined.

An invitation, much to her delight, was extended to her to get a pastry from the kitchen. Fleetingly she thought of work, but soon she let that go. Gilwen had already tended to the dining hall, the rest would come after the serving of the Steward and his Son's, when she would once again take to the hall in a quiet whir of work. She tilted her head thoughtfully, taking the time to examine Faeldor's face. His mother is the baker? She thought off-handedly. She had interacted with the baker since she had been allowed to serve meals at the table and never once had figured that they were related.

It was no matter now, so she shooed it out of her mind and nodded gently. "I would love to join you." She would just have to steal away to the stables later.

[Faeldor]

Faeldor could not help but smile, for Gilwen had accepted his invitation. He had expected at first that she would decline and return to her work, though at the same, he did not know her well enough to judge her personality. As she had not taken her opportunity to escape, he knew that they should speak again. The best way to make acquaintance with each of the palace staff was for this man to spend simply a few minutes speaking with them, and finding a common ground between them.. He would not forget to notice her after this. “Wonderful,” he stated. “Let us go then so you should not be missed from work for long. I would not encourage idleness among the palace staff. But a well deserved break, yes. You look as if you have already scrubbed this place from top to bottom,” he commented nodding at the shine of the room.

He waited a moment for her to see that she was following, though she seemed ready, and his footsteps led the way down the stone hall. He would not have her be scolded for entering the kitchens aimlessly, so he intended to show her in with him, though she certainly knew the way herself. Either way, she would be as a guest to the bakery this time, and not simply slipping in for her trays of food to serve.

At the end of the long hall, a door led into the kitchen. The bakery was a smaller separate room at the very back, and though the smells of the kitchen filled the air, the light and sweet scent of breads and desserts came from that exact place. Faeldor entered cheerful into the kitchens as always, and greeted each of the cooks and preparers who crossed his path. His sister worked among the main kitchens, though he did not see her at this time, and with his scattered greetings he entered the bakery.

A warm glow came from the stove, and the smell of rising bread filled his nostrils. His mother was elbow deep in dough, and greeted him with a smile, pausing from the tune she had been humming. “I had expected you earlier than this!” she stated enthusiastically, for her son’s stomach often drew him to the kitchens sooner in the day. “And good day, Gilwen, I see that my son has accosted you in his rounds.” Of course Meleth knew Gilwen, though they were only on terms of acquaintance, but she could tell that the young servant entered the kitchen with her son, and not on terms of service, for the orders for the noon meal were not due for at least three quarters of an hour.

[Gilwen]

Courteous. The brunette thought kindly, giving Faeldor a short nod before they began to trek down the familiar hallway. No, encouraging idleness was hardly something that would occur among the palace staff. Those that shirked their duties or the qualities of their work were soon let go.

"The Steward deserves the best. Gondor deserves the best."

That is what she would hear every time a young girl or man was discharged of their service. It didn't happen as often anymore, or at least not as often to the people she would learn about. Gilwen had secured her spot, or so she liked to fancy, in the castle. It wasn't a guarantee that she would never lose her position, but at this point she had spent ten full years of her life serving Lord Denethor, and his two sons. It would seem to her that it would be hard to justify replacing someone who knew the laws of the service in the palace for a trainee.

No sooner had she finished her thought than did she find herself at the kitchen entrance. The delightful smells that wafted from the rooms behind this door took no time in making Gilwen's mouth water. Faeldor and herself moved through the busy little kitchen, Faeldor greeting a few kitchen staff as they worked their way back to the bakery. It smelt more heavenly here than anywhere Gilwen could imagine. It always did.

She smiled brightly at Meleth, a familiar face that always seemed to have a smile the glowed as bright as the stove that she worked upon. "And to you," she responded gently. Now that she knew Faeldor was her son, Gilwen could see the resemblance in their smile.

She had seen the woman, and truly many of the kitchen staff, everyday since she had been appointed a server. Still, it was merely in the passing of the days that their schedules met, and there was never enough time to really strike up conversations with any of the cooks or Meleth. Their introductions to each other had really never ventured any deeper than names and simple greetings and questions.

Gilwen felt a little pang of guilt in her heart when she realized that she knew nothing about this woman other than her occupation and was now here to take something from her. It seemed wrong, though surely Faeldor wouldn't have bade her come if it would have been a problem. Still, it seemed to go against everything she had been taught from her mother about manners.

[Faeldor]

"Good day, mother," Faeldor said with just as much enthusiasm. This man was always cheered greatly by his family, and he stepped close to his Meleth to kiss her cheek, even while her hands were immersed in her baking. He was pleased to know that Gilwen and his mother were already in acquaintance. Of course they would be. He looked between the two of them as they had their greetings, and smiled at Gilwen. "I was coming up to visit and happened upon this lovely maid coming from her cleaning. I am glad that you are already acquainted. I have offered her some of your cooking."

Faeldor did also suppose then that Gilwen knew his sister Miriel, who also worked in the kitchens. Best not to bring her up now though, he thought. For his sister was not often in the most wonderful of moods while she worked, and might well have even offended Gilwen before. He would of course search her out and greet her as well before he left the kitchens, but he would save that for the end. He would find out in time if they knew each other, but for now, he would let this lady that had willingly followed him to have a good break.

"The leftovers from breakfast are sitting aside on the shelf," Meleth told her son. She knew he would be hungry and had set them aside, for he and whoever else happened to venture into her quarters. She was always glad for nothing made by her hands to go to waste. The young man would have been hard at work all morning in the stables. Though he must have washed up before entering the hall, his hair was mussed and from up close she could see the smudges among his tunic, and smell the faint scent of horse on him. He looked and seemed more like his father every day, she thought, and smiled to herself. And Gilwen she had already seen moving in and out and about several times today. The young woman worked with great speed and precision. She would be glad for her to spend some time in her bakery.

"Lady Gilwen, our feast is before us. What would you enjoy?" Faeldor asked, as he brought the tray from the shelf to show her. It was made up of lovely pastries, and rolls with cinnamon. He held it before her to let her choose first among the food.

"And now, milady, since we are out of the hall and have some moments, you must tell me what it is that you enjoy so about the stables and the horses, for I am eager to know. Do you ride often?" he asked her.

[Gilwen]

Gilwen's cheeks adopted a pink color as she was referred to as "beautiful", thankfully the heat of the small room masked it---he cheeks were already healthily pink. Her brown eyes eagerly followed Meleth's instructions, seeing Faeldor move toward the shelf himself, she followed behind. It seemed sad that the beautiful pastries and breads that were left over were considered "leftovers".

Something Gilwen learned early on is that leftovers in the palace surpassed a normal meal at her home. They all looked so appetizing. How could she possibly choose? She smiled over to Faeldor and and replied merrily, "How could I possibly choose? Which do you recommend?"

The stable master presented the tray, and as he did, she was given a question that seemed to take her aback. "Well, milord, may I ask you what there isn't to enjoy about the stables?" She smiled, tucking a brown strand behind her ears. "Perhaps it is the unconditional love and devotion horses give their masters. A horse will listen to your commands, and bear you bravely to battle, if it is necessary."

There was also a strong tie to her father. A soldier for Gondor, her father was a very gentle horseman himself. She loved and missed her father and her mother greatly. They lived in the city, though there was sparsely enough time for Gilwen to spend with them. It was hardly like it used to be. "I hardly ride anymore. As I get older, the workload I carry here increases. But more than that, I have no access to a horse."

"How about you. Why do you adore the stables? Surely your love for them is greater than mine, you have made it your life's work to keep them and to tend to them."

[Faeldor]

“The cinnamon rolls are my favorite,” Faeldor answered, when Gilwen hesitated at making a decision. The smells wafted up and were delightful. “But anything mother bakes is fit for a Captain of Gondor. I have never tasted a sour dish.”

“And if you did you would not say so.” Meleth laughed lightly.

“Let us hope I would not even think it,” Faeldor responded. Even among his childhood, Faeldor had eaten anything and everything set before him, for he was always hungry. He never complained about his food, though he was grateful that it was of such good quality. His mother’s baking was of the finest, or else she would not have been let to work among the palace kitchens and cook for the Steward himself, and her cooking was none the worse.

It seemed to Faeldor that Gilwen faltered for a moment as his question about the stables, and he waited patiently for her answer. It simply interested him, for many ladies would not care to enter the stables, with the rowdy men and the smell of manure. Though, some ladies liked the place. Of his four sisters, two enjoyed visiting him at work, and two cared more for quiet and ladylike activities. To each her own, he supposed, but either way, it was pleasing to him that Gilwen cared for horses.

He listened to her answer, and nodded. “That is true, the horse is one of the most devoted creatures I have encountered. And they have served me faithfully under gentle care. Though I should hope they never need bear you bravely into battle, milady.” He nodded. “Though I understand, it seems I have ever more responsibility as well. One day a simple stable lad, the next a full time position, and the next the stable master.” He glanced to his mother, but she had not made a motion. He worried to say too much in front of her, to remind her, that the day he became the stable master, was the day his father had died. She seemed well though he did not say more on that. “At least I think that now I can climb no higher, and my duties should not shrink or gain. I do love them. They have been a part of my life since I remember, and perhaps that is the reason for it. I have never tried to do another duty, though. I enjoy the peace that comes from knowing that I have served Gondor well, and with something that I know well.”

“If you ever are off duty here in the palace, and are happening about the stables in the evening, that is often my time to take my own horses out, if you do wish to meet them, or join me, it would be my pleasure to have you.”

Meleth smiled. Her son had fine manners and was always kind, no matter if he had just met the person.

[Gilwen]

She reached for a cinnamon roll, while Faeldor responded. I pray I never have to be born to war either, but for those that will have to go, I am thankful for their loyalty. She thought, fondly thinking of her father as she brought the pastry to her mouth. It smelt divine: a perfect mix of bread and cinnamon tickled her nose as she bit into the roll.

It was absolutely the most wonderful thing Gilwen had ever tasted. Though, in the back of her mind, Gilwen was very sure she was being a bit dramatic simply because of the hunger she was at that time experiencing. This ranked amongst the highest still, though, and was probably only topped by something else Meleth had made and she had tasted in the past for breakfast.

She listened quite interested to Faeldor's words, as she continued to nibble at her roll. He spoke of peace. A great honor it was to serve the Steward. Sometimes she had to remind herself of this, especially when she felt she was passing away into the stone-work of the building and never really thanked. Honor was something her father spoke much about. The soldiers she had met seemed to revel in it.

She merely accepted it, and worked away quietly, as she was supposed to.

Her eyes lit up, and Gilwen completely forgot about the pastry in her hand. "It would be an honor, milord." She exclaimed happily. It had been so long since she had had time to feel the wind in her hair, and thrill herself with the thundering of a set of hooves as they raced through Pelennor Feilds. "And a great pleasure." She added, smiling widely. Horses. Open air. A new friend. It seemed to beg her to steal away now, as impossible as that was. Now she just had to find time to steal away and take Faeldor up on his offer.

[Faeldor]

Faeldor was glad at Gilwen’s gleeful exclamation. Anything to bring joy to someone who probably spent the majority of their days scrubbing stone floors and carrying trays of food. Gilwen was yet young, and the world offered much more than that for a lady such as herself. Indeed though, it was in the service of the Steward which Gilwen served, and someone must do the work that she did. Each little person behind the scenes of the majestic city played their own part, and each task was necessary.

“See to it that you find me there then, for I should much enjoy your presence on my outings.” Though from the looks that had passed over the lady’s face, he would not have to remind her. Perhaps she would join him often. “Most anyone in the stables could point you in my direction if I am there.”

Faeldor had resisted the complaints of his own stomach for this long, and picked his own roll off the tray of delights, devouring it much more quickly than his new acquaintance had. He always looked into a person and questioned the things he might do to bring them joy, and he studied Gilwen’s face, for the changes that had overcome it in the last few minutes. From a reserved servant, to this woman who was smiling so widely now, and perhaps almost glowing, though it could have been the heat of the room, and the light that was shed in through the bakery window.

The man glanced to his mother now, who had sectioned off her dough and was kneading it and placing it gently into pans to rise. She worked quickly, and when she had partitioned it all, she went to a metal basin to wash her hands, and then lay a clean cloth over her pans.

[Gilwen]

"I most certainly will," Gilwen replied sweetly, taking the last bite of her pastry. It was absolutely worth every second she had stolen away from her work and chores. She turned her brown eyes to Meleth. "It was positively wonderful, Meleth." Soon, it seemed to her, she and Faeldor would be leaving the bakery and getting back to their duties. As much as that secretly saddened her---she knew it was crucial. She didn't want to be let go because she was lax in her work. Still, the prospects of serving lunch, and then scrubbing more floors was not at all pleasing.

She looked back to Faeldor, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear once more. "Thank you both so much," She murmured with a smile, "it was a great pleasure to dine with you." She was definitely glowing now, and it wasn't completely from the heat of the room. Even Gilwen would have to admit that now.

The bustle had picked up in the front part of the kitchens, and Gilwen turned to see what it was that was happening. It seemed that a few of the other servers had wandered into the kitchen as well: equally as early as Gilwen was going to be. The increased bodies in the kitchen had caused a pile of pots and pans to topple over onto the ground.

The brunette cringed and looked away for a moment. Tempers were definitely going to flare: work was going to be miserable. It was comfort to her that she had something to look forward to at the end of the day. Yes. It was something that would bring her comfort the remainder of her hours here.