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 Mar 26, 2009 13:08:33 GMT -5
Lye. The one thing about palace work was that if you were one of the laundresses, your world would be filled with it at least once a week. Every young girl who began to work in the palace on laundry duty, much like Gilwen were the ones who marked the stinging most. And even they, after a few months ignored it completely. Though it never got better, ones way of coping with the discomfort did. One would tend to their hands more often. Keeping them spotless, lest soap linger on them too long.
No amount of conditioning to it, however, made head to hem dowsing ignorable. It was all Gilwen could do to keep her face natural. And what would be worse was if she ran into the head of palace staff on her way down the halls. She would certainly be scolded for "not washing the clothes but herself". Gilwen sighed lightly. Nobody was ridiculous enough to throw themselves into a washbasin of water and lye soap on purpose, or so she imagined.
Faeldor stood, which drew her eyes upward, to see him offer her a hand. His hands had to be in some sort of discomfort, from reaching into the basin to retrieve her hands to begin with. And still he played the gentleman. She took his hand and stood, though with what seemed like twice the weight, and a small pain in her arm. I am sure that will be a lovely bruise. She thought to herself, remembering the trap-like grip upon her upper arm from Miriel. The cooks and bakers of the palace had exceedingly strong hands.
“The horses will be glad as I am to see you.” Gilwen looked up at him, and then down at her dress, covered with laundry water and laughed. Yes, laughed. It was all she could do to keep herself from crying. This was not at all how she wished to present herself to Faeldor today. What had Miriel said? Starlight waif? Surely she now looked the part. "I assure you, my lord Faeldor, when they smell the lye they will want to be far away from me!" Still, it was enough to bring back her smile, if only slightly. She knew that lye was hardly any sort of perfume to make one smell sweet. If she had had the option, she would have wished to be away from her as well. "In fact, I am quite surprised you can take it yourself," She murmured.
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Faeldor
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Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
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Post by Faeldor on Mar 26, 2009 15:26:57 GMT -5
“Well, gentle Gilwen, we shall surprise the horses with something they have never known before then. I cannot say what will be their reaction,” he said this in an amused manner. The horse master was a fine judge of the behaviors that the creatures he looked after displayed. But the smell of strong lye was something he had never thought to expose them to for their training. “I would not let you into Thissel’s stall in the least like this, for you are right, she is sure to react in some way. Lumiel I cannot say. And as for myself…” He laughed aloud for a moment. Then he hoped that his laughter would not be taken wrongly, for he was not happy with her predicament, nor amused with what his sister had done. But what else was there to do now? Other than laugh. He was not about to abandon her because of her smell though. That would be simply rude. And besides, he had come here in search of her in the first place.
“It does make my eyes sting,” he admitted. “Does not your whole body burn with the throb of it?” He asked this in an incredulous manner. Even the small cuts along his own hand were stinging, but he could not imagine being completely immersed. If men were considered strong, women must be considered even moreso, and resilient, for who would find a man with his hands in that brine for hours weekly, and without complaint? Faeldor wished he could do something for the lady, but the only thing he could think of would be to draw her a warm bath, which was not one of his options at the moment.
A gust of wind carried across the Pelennor Field, it was cool, and seemed to pull some of the humidity along with it as the first few large droplets plummeted from the sky, and the light became darker. The storms of Gondor seemed to have increased their intensity over the last years, and Faeldor wondered if any of it ever had to do with the deepening darkness of the sky in the East.
“Well we shall both be bathed I believe, by the time we reach the stables,” he told her, a slight smile on his face. “Perhaps it will wash some of the sting away,” he hoped. He debated whether it would be best to rush and avoid chilling Gilwen too much. Or perhaps it would be better to let the clean rain soak her through, and rinse the burning from her skin. Otherwise her skin would dry with it, and she would be forced to feel the pain of it all afternoon.
The droplets fell harder and faster now. A glance around told him that the women had finished taking in the cloths and had all but disappeared. Only the washbasin remained to the side of them. Gilwen stood, in complete disarray, in front of him. It was hardly a thing to trouble him. She was quite pretty, even when having been through the wash. He paused for a moment longer, reaching to gently move her loose and tangled hair behind her ears, and seeing the droplets alight on her eyelashes. He watched the beads fall across her skin, slowly washing away the stains of dirt and her earlier encounter.
Then he recalled where they were. “Goodness, you must be cold now, let us go.” And he offered the woman his arm.
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Gilwen
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There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
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Post by Gilwen on Mar 26, 2009 16:03:17 GMT -5
"I imagine that lye is not something that a horse should have to deal with," Gilwen agreed with a nod. How often were they running about the fields and coming across laundry? Certainly sounds were more important than smells when training. And soap seemed hardly useful. Unless they were to do laundry themselves, and this of course was ridiculous.
As Faeldor laughed, Gilwen shook her head with a smile. She disliked the smell as much as he. Though it seemed every laundry day she would go home with the scent still on her. Though never as bad as this. She stopped laughing then and looked to him, her smile fading slowly. She would have to choose her words carefully so as to not cause him to worry or pity her. "It is not unbearable." She murmured. It was not a lie. That was something that she held in high regard: truth. Though, Gilwen was not one who felt above bending it to not harm someone else.
The large gust of wind danced about her, now. Bringing with it the first fall of rain, and an even more dangerous looking sky. The clothes were all gone, though. Which was a blessing "I can only hope," She murmured quietly, using her free hand to stroke the side of her skirt, as if trying to brush the lye off. They lingered there, in the courtyard for only a moment---and the rain picked up in fury. It felt cleansing: as if the rain had been sent by the Valar to help Gilwen finish her day.
Faeldor's hands moved toward her, tucking her hair delicately behind her ears, his grey eyes focused intently on her face. She wanted to turn her eyes away in embarrassment, though didn't move at all. She seemed frozen---if merely by the pure grey of his eyes. The moment didn't last long---they both soon came to their senses. Perhaps it was the cold rain that made the warm gentleman speak again.
The servant took his arm politely, and smiled up at him. She really didn't want to admit she was as cold as she felt, though he was certain to feel it now that she was on his arm.
Thank goodness we washed the Steward's and Captain's garments first. Gilwen thought as they began to walk.
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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 Mar 26, 2009 17:24:24 GMT -5
Such pretty eyes, he thought to himself, highly pleased that Gilwen had not looked away from him. It was a pity that none did see them each day as the lady went about her work, evading eye contact of any sort with those she served. Eyes down and silent steps, he wondered of the other servants of whom he had never spoken. They must each have their own loveliness, as Gilwen did. The man wondered over who had created such a tradition of avoiding contact, for surely it would brighten the day of both Steward and Captain to look upon those lovely brown eyes, though at this moment, he felt favored and privileged to have such a glimpse of her through her eyes.
"It is not unbearable." Granted, the woman was not writhing and screaming in pain, then again, Faeldor had heard that women held a much higher tolerance to hurt than men did. Perhaps it was not unbearable, but it was likely not without pain, and Faeldor could not help but pity the woman, though he did not say so. He simply gave her a slight smile, and hoped that the rain would fall heavily enough on her to ease it. He was glad for the rain. It soothed the heated city as it soothed him.
Faeldor thought on his sister. Perhaps the rain would sooth her as well. Her hot flame of a temper needed to be put out in some way. But the way he had last seen her, in her own laughter and heading off towards the kitchen made him think that there was nothing to make her feel guilty over the matter. It was not as if his own disapproval would send her reeling. She thought and acted as she pleased, with no regard to the lesser party who came off wounded by her words. The man crossed his free arm over, and placed it over Gilwen’s hand, which rested comfortably in the crook of his arm. She felt so cold, but Faeldor was warm from the heat of the day, and drew her close to his side.
He led her from the courtyard, taking a back route. Despite her cold, he would not have her in pain from the lye, and he stepped slowly with her. Perhaps even the pace that they had walked the night before, with soft footsteps in the dark. Now though, the dark was in the middle of day, and the sky was pouring tumultuous rain. There was thunder, but Faeldor did not fear danger for no lightning had struck yet. After only some minutes the man was as soaked through as Gilwen had been, his hair dripping in his face.
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Gilwen
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There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
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Post by Gilwen on Mar 26, 2009 18:06:50 GMT -5
Faeldor seemed to be, once more caught up in his own thoughts. Still, it did not bother Gilwen in the least. As they moved through the outdoors taking what was indeed the long way to the stables, she felt the burning of her skin begin to soothe. The cold rain was washing away her discomfort, though adding to the chill.
She was pulled in closer to the tall stable master, and she smiled slightly. This was more how she envisioned meeting him today. Something more relaxed, and no more than a few sour reminders of her foul run-in with Miriel earlier. Her cheek still throbbed, and absently, she raised her other hand to feel the spot. Simply touching the spot hurt faintly. Two bruises that would undoubtedly be with her for a while from one short encounter.
And to think, come lunch: mainly shortly after this break would be over, she would have to venture to the kitchens to report for serving duty. No matter the state of her clothes. They would be free to replace upon seeing her state of disrepair, but as a servant she was bound to show up to her duties. Unfortunately, that also meant seeing Miriel again.
The thunder rolled again, and she just dismissed her thoughts. It was nothing worth dwelling on now. She would deal with that when the time came for it to be dealt with. Right now, she was going to enjoy her break with Faeldor. "My lord, you are drenched," she laughed slightly, using the hand that had felt her cheek to grab some of the fabric of her companion's sleeve.
"Now in the same condition as I, I am afraid." She released the fabric and let her hand fall back to her side. "Without the strong scent of lye, of course." She added with a small laugh. There was a moment of silence, as she listened to the rain. "I am thankful for your kindness today," she whispered.
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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 Mar 26, 2009 18:55:17 GMT -5
The staccato of raindrops marked the stone walk, and Faeldor merely laughed at her comment on his own state. “I might call you observant.” As her hand took his sleeve, it wrung out a nice stream of water, trickling down to his boots. He was glad for her brilliant laughter again. Gentle and mild woman, he saw that she would not let thoughts of Miriel trouble her for long. There was much joy in his heart.
The man lightly kissed the forehead of the young woman after she had thanked him, stopping where they stood, his lips damp and warm on her cool skin. “Least, you do not taste of lye now,” he said slyly grinning, and then bending to kiss her lower on the cheek, as if to affirm his statement. He could not help himself, but he lingered there for just a moment, water dripping down the bridge of his nose onto her skin, and nestling into the hairs of his moustache. “And I must say that the smell has worn off quite some bit. The horses should surely tolerate you now.”
He led her then down stone steps, to the front courtyard of the seventh level. The white tree seemed grey in the lighting; sad and drooping. The guards stood still in uniform, even in the rain, and he walked past them, wondering if they watched the pair, soaked to the skin, and both likely a scene; or did their eyes ever gaze forward as their helmets looked, to the east, west, north, and south. The guard watching east must have the most terrible of positions, the man thought. Ever looking at that dark pillar and the orange lighting of Mount Doom. What terrors must go through his mind, day by day?
Faeldor looked down to Gilwen again, eager to draw his thoughts from such darkness, and they began to descend to the sixth tier, where lay the stables nearby, and glad Faeldor was for this. Lightning struck somewhere outside the city and the flash surrounded them, leading way to a great long rumble afterwards. Faeldor quickly released Gilwen’s arm and grasped her around the waist, pulling her forward in a sudden burst of quick steps. “Come come, I shan’t have you be struck now. No more dampers on your day,” he laughed, making the rest of the way to the stables short.
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Gilwen
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servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
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Post by Gilwen on Mar 26, 2009 19:55:57 GMT -5
As Faeldor laughed at her comment Gilwen shrugged playfully. "I might let you speak of me in such a way," she stated jokingly. It was nice to just wander through the rain and laugh. Nobody was around, save for up ahead the four Guards would surely be holding their position. No matter the weather, it was there they stood.
Their walking came to a halt, and there in the rain she felt a tender warmth on her forehead. It was something that she was growing accustomed too, in the very short time she had known Faeldor. He was one to make any woman feel as if she were a queen, whether she be close in line to the blood or not. Having never had many courters, if any, it surprised her that a man of Faeldor's standing would give her such time and attention. “Least, you do not taste of lye now." She smiled softly, and raised her eyes to his. "That is quite good news," She responded happily, though curiously tilting her head at his furtive smile.
To her surprise he moved toward her once more, and she could feel his bristled face gift her once more with a kiss. He did not simply pull away, though, and Gilwen could feel water droplets dripping from his features, as well as feel the warmth of his breath.
“And I must say that the smell has worn off quite some bit. The horses should surely tolerate you now.” "Why thank you," Gilwen responded as she and Faeldor took to moving once more, down the rainy and desolate steps toward the sixth tier of the city. Sure enough there stood the four guards, and the white tree.
Once it had been strong, though Gilwen could not really recall when. It had been some time. As if the dark times stole its will to grow. The storm immediately worsened, what with the blinding light that lingered for a moment, and the rolling thunderous sound that followed.
It prompted Faeldor to hurry their pace. Now that they were within sight of the stables, they were sprinting. She was certain that Faeldor was monitoring his strides, otherwise she never would have been able to keep up. Sopping wet, her dress impeded her already short pace.
They arrived to the stables quickly. Gilwen laughing with the small bit of exhilaration that had risen as they had run. Her hair plastered against her face did well to hide the discolored cheek, and she looked as if she was simply a woman who had gotten caught in the storm. Nothing visible to even hint that she had had such a rough start to her day. It was all the better now: horses and the stablehands had kept the stables full of warmth, even with the rain. It was more than welcomed. Gilwen was chilled, for certain. Though she had paid it no mind on the trek here.
Once again, everything was fine when she was at the stables.
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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 Mar 26, 2009 20:55:16 GMT -5
“You look a sight,” Faeldor laughed as he saw the servant in the low light of the stables. Her dress and hair were plastered to her. The grooms had gone along and lit the lanterns along the great hall, in the middle of the day, for the darkness did not allow them to do their own work. “A lovely sight, anyway,” he grinned. Faeldor must look a sight himself, he was sure, and he moved his distressed hair out of his eyes. It was all worth it though, for Gilwen’s joy had returned, and perhaps he might make her laugh. “Now you have been both washed and rinsed today, I do hope you feel rather clean. Does your skin feel quite better?” he wondered now. If not, he would send for water and a cloth to get the rest of the lye off. They had been fully drenched though, and she was certain to feel rinsed of the ash.
“Come now, let us take away your chill, Starlight,” he then announced, scooping her around the waist and beginning to lead her to the center of the stables where his horses waited. He stopped for a moment to speak to one of the stable lads who was coiling a rope near the entryway.
“Bregor, please go to my quarters and pull some towels and a blanket. Clean ones now, they’re for the Lady. Bring them to my Lumiel’s stall.” He instructed, “And my stool as well,” he added at second thought.
“Yes, my Lord,” the boy answered quickly, giving second glance to both the stable master and Gilwen, and smiling. Bregor was a young boy, the Son of a soldier on the very first tier, and he was well talented with the horses. Faeldor did enjoy having him work here, and he had certainly earned his position. Then he took into the stable master’s quarters; really, it sounded more fancy than it was. A window and shelves with a desk, and all the records of the royal horses and riders. Also, there was a small bed, for there were times when a stable master must stay the night.
Despite the sensibility of having Gilwen warm by the stove; he knew she loved the horses and expected that she would much rather visit them instead, at least for now. There was nothing exciting about the stable masters quarters, save the warm stove. But there was much exciting about seeing Gilwen’s joy of the horses again. This was certainly the better choice.
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Gilwen
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There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
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Post by Gilwen on Mar 26, 2009 21:19:02 GMT -5
"I have no doubt I do," Gilwen agreed glancing down at her clothes. Lovely perhaps only in your eyes. She thought mildly, turning to take in the full sight of the stables. She laughed and shook her head. "I most certainly feel clean," she responded, taking a hand through her dripping hair, as if to feel the wetness. "The stinging has gone as well." She added more seriously to answer the young man's impending question.
“Come now, let us take away your chill, Starlight.” Gilwen felt his hand on her waist, though she looked at him curiously from under her lashes. He was the only one to give her such nicknames--in all her life not even her father and mother had spoken to her in such a way. Still, when her morning had gone sour, Miriel had approached her calling her by the same few nicknames Faeldor himself had given her.
Curious, or so she thought. That he would pick such nicknames for her and repeat them aloud to others. He flagged down a young boy to fetch some towels as they moved down the barn to the stalls that she remembered Lumiel and Thissel were kept in.
Gilwen's gaze followed the child however. He seemed like a cheery sort, with a sweet smile and a hard worker. He was off to the stable master's quarters. A room which Gilwen, in all her time spent in the stables, had never truly seen. She knew what was inside, simply by asking one of the other stablehands. She brought her eyes back to Faeldor curiously and asked, "How often must you spend your night here?"
To not be able to escape work---that was a burden. At times, though, Gilwen could be trapped in the same place. In preparations for large feasts, a majority of the palace maids would stay all night to ready the dining hall, or the throne room for the occasion, atop a full days work previous.
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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 Mar 26, 2009 22:14:24 GMT -5
“Good that you are not hurting. Let it wash away,” he said firmly, then glanced to her cheek, softly moving her hair from her face again. There was indeed a bruise upon her, and neither was it small or hidden, for it stood out well and was turning from red to a purplish shade. Faeldor’s eyes saddened at the sight, but he said nothing, leaving his fingers to stroke damp tresses for a moment, and letting the hair fall back over her face.
Miriel, it turned, had not been informed of anything of the sort, of the names he had adoringly called Gilwen. Faeldor did not know that his sister had mocked his own words of Gilwen’s loveliness, but then, she had gone to bed after their argument, while his mother asked him the finer details of the evening in hopes to bring her son’s spirits right back up where they had been when he entered the house. Before Miriel had reprimanded him. He had spoken more on taking the woman to the beautiful cave, and the loveliness that he had seen come over her when the moonlight came through. Meleth of course, was at good at listening as she was at advice giving, for she had much practice with her six children.
And Miriel, of course, was as good at eaves dropping as her mother was at listening. Mother deserved to hear, for Faeldor’s father had often taken her to the very same place when they were younger, and she had fond memories. And Meleth was so glad to hear of her son’s joy in his new friend. Meleth herself was born a girl of lower class. The daughter of a farmer for goodness sake, in Belfalas near Dol Amroth. But the wealthy son of a Shipwright had still found her. Miriel though, had never been fond of the story.
“As often as there is an ill horse or one of the grooms cannot make it in for his evening shift,” Faeldor answered aside, unlatching the door to Lumiel’s stall as they made it there. “Perhaps once a week, sometimes twice. But sometimes a week or two will pass without my stay here. I love working in the stables, but to stay overnight is not to my pleasure.”
At this, Bregor came quickly down the hall, balancing everything that Faeldor had requested of him atop the stool. “Where would you like these things, my Lord?” he asked, and Faeldor pointed him to the inside wall of the manger, in the corner, and stepped back with Gilwen still wrapped in his arm, to permit the boy his passage.
“Thank you, Bregor.” Faeldor stated, smiling. “And please do me a favor, to see that the colts are watered,” he told the boy.
“Thank you, my Lord!” the boy said brightly, bowing slightly to both of them, and not hesitating to take off out the hall to the next stable. To care for the colts was a privilege for the younger boys, for the colts were looked over well by the older grooms. If a boy were too immature, he could easily spoil a colt, by teaching it wrongly, or giving it habits that should not be permitted. But Bregor was a good boy, and Faeldor trusted him to do his job well. He chuckled slightly, watching the boy leave, and turned to enter the stall.
“And here we find your stable throne, my Lady,” he winked to her, motioning to the stool, but first scratching the eager Lumiel who had wandered forth for attention. The horse though, surprised Faeldor, and walked right past him to Gilwen, nuzzling the front of her dress and then lipping at the water dripping from her sleeve.
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Gilwen
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There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
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Post by Gilwen on Mar 26, 2009 22:43:32 GMT -5
Her hair was moved back, and Gilwen kept her eyes focused on Faeldor's as he looked. There was no looking glass about, so she would have to judge the damage done by his own face. His eyes saddened, and Gilwen sighed---it must look ghastly. Miriel sure had a strong arm. Much to her relief, he had said nothing to her about it. It was best if she imagined that it wasn't going to be there when she arrived home and her parents both saw her face like this.
The hair fell back into place, and once more the evidence of her awful morning vanished. Faeldor's voice began to be heard as he answered her question, with a number that surprised her. She had never really thought that it would have been so often that the stable master would have to stay here. She could imagine that it was far from his liking to stay for so many hours. Home was something that couldn't be replaced by a cot.
"Then I hope you will have plenty of time in between your next stay," she murmured softly. She would have thought to say something more, but a bustling Bregor returned with the requested items in tow. Faeldor pointed, and the boy obeyed. She was lightly tugged out of the way as he passed to go in, and smiled brightly when the boy turned excitedly to tend to the colts.
Gilwen giggled slightly as Faeldor winked at her, but turned her attention to the stall anyway, and laughed all the harder as the front of her dress received Lumiel's attention. She ran a hand down the side of her neck with a contented sigh, "So you remember me?" She asked softly. She gave a sideways glance to Faeldor who seemed to be surprised. Or at least it was the expression she saw in his eyes.
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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 Mar 26, 2009 23:17:54 GMT -5
“It is merely a duty of mine,” Faeldor answered. The work of the head stable master was always a bit more to manage than his earlier jobs had been.”I must know the horses better than any other, and be trained to deal mainly with their illnesses, along with keeping track of the groomsmen and lads running about. And I care chiefly for the horses of Lord Denethor, and the Captains Boromir and Faramir. And my own loyal companions,” he smiled.
“She always has liked the ladies better,” Faeldor said as the horse continued to nuzzle at Gilwen’s wet dress. “Or perhaps she is enjoying the scent of the lye. But I do think she remembers you from last night. You two did have a good ride together. And many more to come I hope.
Faeldor pulled the blankets and towels from the stool, and sitting the towels on the ledge, he unfolded the blanket, and came behind Gilwen to wrap it around her shoulders snugly, to start rekindling her warmth. “What will you be telling your parents… about that bruise?” he asked her quietly, having it still on his mind. His hand returned to her back. “Though I did not place it there, I do feel responsibility for my sister’s actions. But mind you, I would never touch you in such a way as to hurt you.”
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Gilwen
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There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
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Post by Gilwen on Mar 26, 2009 23:36:04 GMT -5
Gilwen smiled as she ran her hand through the mare's mane once more. "I highly doubt there is a thing in all of the land that likes the smell of lye," Gilwen mused aloud, shaking her head. It was nice to know, though, that Faeldor thought she remembered her. For who would know Lumiel as much as he? And it pleased her greatly that he had mentioned hopes of many more. She tossed him a graceful smile in quiet thanks, so that he knew she had appreciated the words.
She felt Faeldor move away, and then return, wrapping something warm about her shoulders. She looked down at the blanket and pulled it tight. Warmth. She was quite thankful for his gestures of kindness. Today, more than any other day they meant everything to her. She was about to ask if he was cold himself, for it seemed unfair for her to be the only one being cared for. They were both dripping wet, after all.
“What will you be telling your parents… about that bruise?” A question that caused the smile on her face to fade slowly. "Is it that bad?" She asked nervously, looking back to Lumiel. "I had imagined it did not look that gruesome when I saw your face," she added quietly, reaching through the blanket with one of her hands to stroke the mare's neck. "I haven't the faintest idea as to what I should tell them, though," she turned to him and stated firmly, "I will tell you that it is in no way your fault."
It was a good question. Her mother and father were sure to have a fit upon her arrival home. An explanation would be warranted, and she detested lying. Though, attributing it to Miriel seemed like she would be begging for more punishment. Not at all what she was wanting, for sure.
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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 Mar 27, 2009 0:02:24 GMT -5
The rumbling continued outside, and Faeldor could see that Thissel was anxious in her stall, both for her master to be nearby, and also at the loud noises and flashes. It would not be safe to go inside the horses stall now though, for fear she would kick. Or at least, it would not be safe for Faeldor to take Gilwen in. And he was not about to walk away from her side yet. His break was long past over, but nothing was calling his attention at the moment and he was eager to stay with her.
“Is it that bad?" She asked after her own bruises, unable to see them herself. Perhaps for the better. “It has simply become quite noticeable.” “If you wish, I will come speak with them,” he told her. He would not want her dear parents to think ill of him. And though it could be a difficult conversation, perhaps it would be easier than Gilwen alone. Then again, it could be worse. He did not know here parents, and did not know of what their reactions would be.
"I will tell you that it is in no way your fault." “My sister had no right to touch you,” Faeldor said. He did his best to hide the upset tone from his voice, but perhaps it had hurt him more than even the bruise on sweet Gilwen’s cheek hurt her, and it was not easy. “And I have answered for her wrongs ever since my father was slain.” His last words were said bitterly, though Faeldor took a breath and bit his tongue to have spoken in such a manner.
“She is young, and unwed. Therefore her actions must be answered for by her father. Which has in turn fallen to me.” He finished a bit more calmly. The whole while his hand lightly rubbed Gilwen’s back, his fingers tracing lines over the folds of fabric. He had become unaware of his own actions though, and did not notice that his own face held such a frown.
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Gilwen
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There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
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Post by Gilwen on Mar 27, 2009 0:25:29 GMT -5
For a moment, the girl had forgotten the thunder, and the lightning. Even the rhythmic fall of the rain seemed somewhat muted in the vast building. The recent crash of thunder though did startle her slightly. It was clearly upsetting Thissel, though Faeldor made no move to go comfort her. He is to busy comforting another poor creature, she thought absently, with a small sigh.
“It has simply become quite noticeable.” It was such a nice way of saying it looked awful. Gilwen took a deep breath and shook her head, dropping her eyes to the straw upon the floor of the stall. It was in such a noticeable spot! Her supervisor would be asking after it too. Still, it was hers to wear until it healed. Which, if it was as bad as it seemed to be from Faeldor's words, could take weeks.
She flicked him a gaze as he spoke of speaking to her parents. They were certainly even-tempered people, and logical. She highly doubted that her mother would look at the mark on her cheek and assume Faeldor was the one who had put it there. It would have been larger, certainly, if it had been his hand that struck her. More than that, a look into his eyes would have conveyed the truth. Still, they were sure to be a bit sour toward Miriel. "If you wish to speak with them, you may. I will not ask you to."
She retracted her hand as he spoke once more, the tone that she heard from his voice was far from his level nature. It pained her to hear it. “And I have answered for her wrongs ever since my father was slain.” The words were spoken at a normal level, though to Gilwen they seemed to be infinitely louder than the rest.
Her eyes were wide, her brow furrowed, and her mouth slightly open when she wheeled around to face him. “She is young, and unwed. Therefore her actions must be answered for by her father. Which has in turn fallen to me.” She couldn't find words, though it troubled her greatly that his handsome face was adorned with such a frown. Her eyes began to sting. She had no idea that Faeldor's father had been killed. She merely assumed he had been at home, retired. She brought a hand up and laid it gently against his cheek.
"Faeldor, I..." Still no words. There was nothing she could possibly say to ease the pain he must be feeling. But she felt compelled to try. "I had no idea," she whispered. She traced her hand down his jaw, and to his shoulder. For the second time today she felt as if she were to cry in front of him. There was no way she would wish him to be so troubled over this.
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