Starlight Waif [Gilwen]

[Faeldor]

Faeldor should not have spoken so much, for the reason he often avoided the subject was that it upset him greatly. Even if it had been some years ago, the event was still fresh in his mind for it had shaken their family terribly, and through the thick of it, the Steward had needed someone to charge the stables, so he took on this responsibility at the same time he took on the responsibility for his family.

“It is well enough, you were not expected to know,” he said shortly to her whispered response. All of the noblemen, and those of the house of the Steward knew of what had happened. Gilwen’s father was a soldier, and he did not wish to trouble her with such thoughts. But he had already started, so he may as well finish now. His eyes closed as Gilwen’s cold hands touched his cheek, but it was a welcome comfort. He took a breath before he continued.

“He was leading a troops worth of horses along the Pelennor, with some other men, to an encampment in Ithilien. A band of orcs came upon them unnoticed in the night. We don’t know exactly how it happened. The news was that they found the bodies some days later. It was seven years ago, soon before my youngest sister was born. Mother fainted and fell, the child was born early. Haliel is crippled and has never seen her father. Miriel turned wild. Lovely story. I’m sorry that I have said so much, dear Gilwen.” He finished quickly, eyes focusing on the blanket around Gilwen’s shoulders.

Oh, no, was she to cry now? It seemed that her eyes were heavy, and that water might drip from the pretty brown pools at any moment. Faeldor was not sure what to do. He fussed with the blanket, wrapping it more tightly about her. Despite his own trouble, he wished to comfort her still. Focus on the others. Caring for others made his mind forget his own needs and troubles.

[Gilwen]

She listened intently, her eyes not leaving his face. It horrified her to no end that Faeldor had experienced the very thing that she feared most. And such a way for war to change lives. She could certainly no longer be cross with Miriel now. The discoloration of her cheek meant nothing. In fact, she felt guilty for being so upset over it, now that she knew. "It is only to much if you think it so," Gilwen replied, trying to soften her voice so that it was calming, or soothing. She wanted so desperately to ease his pain.

He began fussing with her blanket, trying to wrap her tighter in it---though Gilwen was sure it was not to keep her warm, but more to clear his mind. "You should sit," She stated softly, taking one of his hands in her own in the same way he had comforted her this morning. She tugged at him slightly, trying to urge him to take a seat, though she knew in her core he would not.

What else could she possibly do? As she plowed her mind to search for the right thing to say or do, but could find nothing. She felt utterly useless, and it pained her that she was so. She caressed the back of his hand with her fingers. "I am sorry my skin is so cold," she murmured finally prying her eyes away from his, and looking at his hand as she held it.

Her mind was whirring. His father had died the death of a soldier. With that, came great honor. Somewhat akin to the death she feared her father would face with the darkening of the days. More than this, Miriel. Gilwen could no longer be at odds with her, not knowing this. She had the right mind to find her and apologize. Though, she feared that would do her no good, in the end.

She looked back to the stable master, her hands falling still. "I-is there anything I can do?" She stumbled over the first part, still unable to register if she wished it to be spoken or not. By no means did Gilwen wish to offend him with her offer, but her conscious would not have let her alone if she had stayed silent.

[Faeldor]

Indeed, Faeldor refused to sit, for he was not troubled so that he would fall over. And he did not want to appear weak in front of Gilwen. Truly, he was under control. It was just a trouble to him, and she was best to know about it now. The topic would have come up either way. If he had invited her to his home, she would surely inquire as to his father, and he would not wish to mention it in front of his mother or the children. It was something the family said little of; though they did reminisce on the good days.

Faeldor let her a small smile, “It is fine. I would not have you worry over the matter. I have managed just fine the past years. Nothing is different now that should trouble me over it.” Well, nothing was different except for the fact that his sister was an utter tyrant towards the lovely lady that he had taken profound interest in. He sighed, grasping Gilwen’s hands.

“Your skin is cold because I have not been warming it as I should,” was all he responded, looking back to her eyes, and bringing his fingers to her lips. He kissed the tip of each one in turn, and then enveloped them in his own hands.

“Lovely Gilwen, you have made me happy,” he told her slowly. “I hope that I can do the same for you.” His voice was quiet, and he was glad for her to be close to him.

[Gilwen]

The smile that Faeldor offered was an improvement upon his frown, though Gilwen feared it was not what it had been last night, or even when they were running about the rain earlier this morning. She would no more press the matter though, for in a very soft and gentle way Faeldor had ended the conversation. It was not her place to pry, nor did she wish to. It contented her to know that he now knew she would listen if it were needed.

Her hands, before she even realized it, were no longer holding his, his were grasping hers in the now familiar manner of the stable master. “Your skin is cold because I have not been warming it as I should." The servant held her breath as he brought her fingers to his lips, in a vain attempt to counter her quickened pulse. She prayed it was not to obvious, for Gilwen would be simply mortified with herself. Though, realistically, she had no control over it at all.

“Lovely Gilwen, you have made me happy,” he told her slowly. “I hope that I can do the same for you.” His voice was quiet, and he was glad for her to be close to him. She felt much more relieved as he finished the first part of the statement. Perhaps her floundering for the right words moments before hadn't been a complete waste of time. The second part of the statement came, and it was quite hushed, almost lost amongst the new wave of thunder. It surprised Gilwen that he would say such a thing. "My dear Faeldor," she began equally as slow and soft. "You already have."

Or had he forgotten his kind words, sweet kisses of comfort, and their excursion to the cave upon Mount Mindolluin? Bringing her here, to shelter her from this morning. All were glorious examples of how he had made her happy already. And now, standing here with him she felt it, though with the seriousness of the conversation, she did not smile but gazed gently up at his face. Her features were not bright and shining, but they were far from appearing cross. It was, perhaps, the same softness that she saw in his eye that she emitted in return.

[Faeldor]

"My dear Faeldor… You already have." “Then that I hope that I would continue to do so.” Perhaps her features were not bright and shining in appearance, to herself anyway, or even to others; but Faeldor’s eyes they had become such, and he marveled over it. What a lovely gift he had been given.

He stood for some moments, unspeaking, and then he decided that his attitude was far too somber. That he might be bright, and make the lovely woman smile. He suddenly began to sing softly to her, quiet enough that his voice might not be heard on the other side of the manger, and only a hum would carry out to the hall. Thissel’s ears prickled at the sound, for Faeldor always sung when comforting the skittish thing. Now he sung to another. Faeldor gently released Gilwen’s hands, placing them at her sides, and placed his own hands now behind her shoulders, and then pulled her much closer to them. Still appropriate, for his tunic did not but touch her dress, but his arms were at her sides now, with his hands lightly around her wrists, his fingertips at her waist, and his eyes unwavering.

”Now by what whim of wanton chance
Do radiant eyes know sombre days?
And feet that shod in light should dance
Walk weary and in laborious ways?
But rays from Heaven, white and whole,
May penetrate the gloom of earth;
And tears but nourish, in your soul,
The glory of celestial mirth.
The darts of toil and sorrow, sent
Against your peaceful beauty, are
As foolish and as impotent
As winds that blow against a star.”*

Comforting others allowed Faeldor to comfort himself, and at the end of his song, his eyes had not left her.

A clambour and commotion caused Faeldor to look away, and lean backwards to glance out of Lumiel’s stall. Many men were entering, with their horses on leads. The soldiers who were training on horseback had returned, for the storm was too much for them now. They would have stayed out in rain and thunder, but the lightning was too much. Faeldor sighed shortly. He needed to be working, not standing her stricken with this lovely woman. As much as he could stand here all the day with her.

“I am sorry, sweet Gilwen, but I must return to work now. The men will need my help,” he finally said softly, the sounds of horses hooves entering, and men shouting and laughing with one another. It was no use to train on the Pelennor when the horses and men were at risk of lightning strike, so they had returned. Some of the horses were skittish and misbehaving as the men pulled their leads in. Any horse could take fright at such storm, but it made Faeldor to wonder if it was even worth the while for training such horses. How would they act in the face of battle? If they could not handle themselves in lightning.

“Do stay until you are fully warmed,” he told her, pressing her hands. “And the cloak hanging on the wall is for you to take when you must return to your work,” he nodded to the back of the stall where Lumiel’s tack was hanging; a dark blue cloak with the seal of Gondor was draped over a peg on the wall. Faeldor rarely needed it in the summer. Gilwen would need it now, for if she were to take ill he could not forgive himself for having her out.


_{*"As Winds That Blow Against A Star" by Joyce Kilmer}

[Gilwen]

It seemed that her words had not been to strong. In all truth, though she had only known the man for a mere two days time, if one could consider it that long, she felt as if she had known him longer. Fleetingly she wondered if she was sending the wrong message to him about her upbringing: a few hours of acquaintance, and she had let her him kiss her hands and cheeks, and even stood with him staring into his eyes utterly lost. The thoughts did not last long. Gilwen did not feel that she had abandoned her morals in the least, and as such concluded the actions were well within proper etiquette.

Gilwen watched as Faeldor maneuvered her, something akin to a doll she supposed, bringing them closer in proximity. Her heart was surely beating quick now! There was no breach of decency still, however. For aside his hands and arms they did not touch. Faeldor was to much of a gentleman to throw decency away. The silence was broken with Faeldor's soft voice, singing to the servant a song that was indeed intended for her ears. Her smile was small at first, though as she caught his eye it did indeed grow. It seemed that nerves aided her smile in breaking free once more.

"The darts of toil and sorrow, sent
Against your peaceful beauty, are
As foolish and as impotent
As winds that blow against a star.”

The last few lines of the song she was being serenaded with caused her to blush slightly. What with the last word of the last line, it was certain this song had been specifically chosen for her. She opened her mouth to compliment him, but was interrupted by hooves, peals of laughter and a swarm of voices entering the barn. Faeldor was going to be needed, and his next few words assured her of this. "It is fine, my lord. The end of my break is nigh, and I must head to the kitchens." The Steward would be served soon. While she figured she would be banned from table duty because of her unkempt appearance, she still must away.

With his motion to the cloak, she turned. It was lovely, and would be large enough to swallow her whole. Still the girl smiled thankfully. "Thank you," she said sweetly. She looked into his eyes for a moment longer, and then turned, reluctantly leaving his warmth and steady hands to shrug off her blanket. It was now nearly as wet as she on the inside, and what a shame! Blankets did not their proper work when drenched. She folded it loosely, so as not to trap the moisture and set it upon Faeldor's stool, which hadn't been used by either of them.

The rain had not lessened, and she was certain that was what had brought in the wave of people and their mounts to the stables to begin with. Walking back to the palace was sure to soak her once more. Well then, Gilwen. Best not to delay. She thought sullenly, taking her hand along Lumiel's neck once more. The poor thing had been utterly ignored for a while. And she and her master had been standing there the entire time.

[Faeldor]

During his song, Faeldor saw the blushing on his lady’s face, and the rhythm of her pulse, which he felt in her wrists, had surely increased. But her body held no tenseness, and her eyes were soft towards him, so he did not fear her disapproval. He smiled, knowing he need not apologize for his actions, and in the back of his mind, secretly aware that it was he who had caused such a change in her. He was not upset about such, but only further encouraged.

"It is fine, my lord. The end of my break is nigh, and I must head to the kitchens." The kitchens. Surely Miriel would be there at work and continue her harassments. Hopefully the other cooks would step in on Gilwen’s behalf. Then again, most of the cooks stayed far away from his sister when she was in one of her moods. Faeldor mused for a moment on the issue. Well, there was nothing else that he might do now for her. Miriel would not lay a hand on her if others were present. Although, this morning had those other servant ladies not been around? Either way, they were probably keeping away from Miriel as well.

With his song now over, and his leave announced, Faeldor gave the woman a slight bow. He need not further any motion that he had made toward her, for now she was surely comforted of the morning troubles. Surely and indeed. Her face was blazing with a smile. “Farewell, Starlight,” he said gently, watching her fold the blanket that had warmly enfolded her.

With the sound of a horse starting, and backing it’s hind quarters into the side of the hall, Faeldor lept out the stall door without another troubled thought. The situation only took a moment to assess. The poor chestnut horse had gotten loose, and was cornered now as two men frantically tried to catch his reins.

The horse master was down the hall in less than a moment, sending his men back, and doing what he did best. He approached the horse slowly. It’s eyes were mad and wild with fear, but the horse master was gentle, and his approach was easily gained.

“He threw his master, just outside the stables,” one of the men informed Faeldor.

“Is the man well?” the horse master asked sharply, attending to the horse.

“Yes, yes, it was me. I’ll just have a nasty bruise I’m sure,” another man answered, walking toward the commotion and rubbing the back of his thigh sorely.

Faeldor sighed in relief. The man could have hit the stone in any number of ways that may have injured or even killed him. Such was the danger with horses. And after such a stunt he knew that this horse could no longer be trusted in service to the Steward’s men. He would shortly remove it from his own stables, and send it to the lower stables. Still in service to the Steward, it would become a work horse.

[Gilwen]

She turned to him and smiled as he softly said his goodbye, moving away from Lumiel and heading for the cloak on the back. She assumed it rude to leave it behind, though she felt it was not entirely necessary. "And fare you well," it was said in response. Gilwen grasped the large and heavy cloak firmly in her hand and turned, giving Lumiel a final pat as she passed.

Some sort of ruckus had begun down the hall with one of the horses that was being brought in, and she took the opportunity to slip out of the stall, quietly shut it, throw the cloak over her shoulders and head back out into the rain, stolen glances watching the stable-master as he worked.

It was quite an amazing display of talent on his part. By now she was back in the rain. And she had no intention of taking the long way, like this morning, or keeping the same slow and steady pace. She flipped over the hood of the cloak and began to move toward the seventh tier once more.

It did not take her long to find herself back in the palace. Still she still looked quite in the state of disarray. Gilwen shrugged off the cloak, she did not wish to be caught out of uniform, and delicately folded it over her arm. She would need to find a place to set it until she could return it to its proper owner.

Gilwen moved through the palace, attracting a few wayward glances from other maids who seemed utterly offended by the way she looked. She was surely going to see her supervisor as soon as she walked through the kitchen doors. It would require a fair amount of explanation.

She turned down a hallway, and made a quickened pace for the kitchen doors. She did not wish to delay---her nerves might give out and she would simply turn around and be scolded. Luckily, her garments were not as wet as they had been. Mainly, they were no longer dripping puddles onto the floor. She opened the door quietly.

A few of the women she had been doing laundry with earlier found her eyes, sadly shaking their heads at what the servant girl guessed was the awful bruise that was on her cheek. She still had not seen it for herself, though if it warranted such reactions it was probably for the better.

"Good heavens, child!"

It was the sound of her superior, and Gilwen knew immediately that her eyes and found her at the doorway. "My lady," she curtsied slightly.

"What on earth happened to you?" The supervisor's voice was shrill, and carried through the small kitchen, and undoubtedly the eyes of the entire kitchen were on her now.

This was the question she had never thought of a response to. Miriel worked somewhere about here, and she wished not to offend her in her own work environment.

"If I may, my lady," one of the other laundresses came forward and curtsied. "Whilst we were doing laundry this morning, I bumped her, and Gilwen toppled into the lye water. It burned her, so we threw her out into the rain to rinse clean." It was a lie, but clearly the other young woman understood Gilwen's dilemma.

Scrutinizing eyes seemed to fly up and down Gilwen's form, and then she stepped closer and moved her hair, exposing the bruise all the more for those around. "And I suppose you hit your cheek, Gilwen?"

"Yes, milady." Gilwen murmured softly. She could see it in her eyes that the supervisor did not buy the story in the least. Though in the silence, she was certain that she would not correct her here. She knew Gilwen was a hard worker after all.

"Well, we cannot have you serving looking like this. Go put yourself out of the way." She motioned to the wall, but mainly the corner. It was the one spot in the kitchens that would keep her out of everybody's way, predominantly anyway. Gilwen turned to take her place there when she was stopped, "But Gilwen. Your wages will have to be cut for the day."

"Of course, milady." A small curtsy, and then Gilwen secluded herself in the corner, still grasping the cloak, as the other servants got ready to carry out the food.

[Faeldor]

Miriel stood in the doorway of the bakery. She had just had lovely conversation with her mother, Meleth knowing none of what had happened this day. Miriel wiped the flour on her apron, and rubbed her hands together, smiling cheerily to see the very Gilwen who had insulted her being talked down by her supervisor and made to sit to the side during the serving of the noon meal. She watched her go to sit on the little stool in the corner.

“A pity she is so clumsy with her laundry,” Miriel remarked to one of her friends, after she had shut the door of the bakery. “And the poor thing will probably have to go without supper, for cut wages. Pity that. She won’t be able to feed her poor parents.” Her tone was both mocking, yet full of a gleeful remorse. She saw the bruise that she had left on the lady’s cheek. But Gilwen had not answered for herself, and Miriel’s name was not brought up. She stopped the wringing of her hands, and when her supervisor had left her, she slyly approached the woman. She was already cornered afterall.

At this point, Miriel recognized her brother’s cloak folded in Gilwen’s arms. She not only was an utter disgrace, but she smelled of horse, along with just the faint trace of lye. Faeldor would take her to the stables, wouldn’t he. “I hope you did enjoy your little frolic with my brother, you little wench.” She looked at the woman with contempt. “You best mind my words, and keep your bawdy hands to yourself. There are plenty of men on the lower levels for you to harlot yourself after.” With this, Miriel shook a finger pointedly at Gilwen, jabbing her in the arm roughy, right where she had held her earlier grip.

“Miriel…” A low tone came from the bakery entrance. The Baker had exited her room in a rush to find whichever girl was supposed to collect the pies that she had made to be set out before the Steward. Meleth did not hear the words that ensued from her daughter’s filthy mouth, but she did see the glare coming off the young woman’s face, and she did see the young servant girl, entirely of disarray, cornered by Miriel who hovered over her.

“Miriel, I asked you to fetch one of the servants to take the desserts…” Meleth said. She looked down at Gilwen for a moment, her face blank, and then back to Miriel. “I expect that you are displaying a proper work ethic. There is no time to run your tongue right now, please.”

The woman was startled by her mother’s sudden appearance, for if she did respect any person, it was her mother. Perhaps not all of her ideas or opinions, but at least her person. She nodded quickly, and then made her steps quick to do as she was requesting, giving Gilwen no further looks.

Meleth looked down to Gilwen, frowning, but with eyes of pity and a pained look. The bruise was prominent and noticeable to Meleth’s eyes, and she knew that it was not something the cheery girl had held the day previous. And it was obvious as to the fact that somebody did strike her. Meleth saw the cloak, of which she had stitched herself for her own son. So, she had seen Faeldor today, even after all of Miriel’s fussing the night before. She knew her son well though, and Faeldor was too gentle to have done such a thing.

“She will come to eat her own words,” was all that Meleth could say for the moment, disgraced by her daughter’s behavior. It was as if she could read the servant’s own eyes and know all that had transpired between Gilwen and her children. She was a mother after all, and had learned well over six children. She stooped and touched the woman’s shoulder. She should talk to her, but she had not the time at this moment. “Forgive me, but I must take my leave. It is near meal time. Know that you are welcome to my bakery should you ever wish.”

At that, she stood up again, wrung her hands on her apron, and bustled back to work.

[Gilwen]

She had simply curtsied and gracefully accepted the dock in pay. Gilwen was realistic, and one could not expect pay for work you could not complete. Still, it would be sad to return home to her parents, who could very well be counting on it, and have it not. She focused her eyes on the stone floor, unable to bring herself to make eye contact with the others in the kitchen. Gilwen could not stand looks of pity.

“I hope you did enjoy your little frolic with my brother, you little wench.” Sharp words drew her eyes upward, and she was faced with Miriel once more, who had found her way to Gilwen's corner. There was no escaping her. The hunter had certainly trapped her prey. Gilwen looked about the kitchen, though now eyes had left her for the busy nature of the serving. In front of other people? Surely she will not continue. Gilwen thought, not gifting the young woman with a response. She did not want to invoke hostility, or more words, though the latter seemed inevitable.

“You best mind my words, and keep your bawdy hands to yourself. There are plenty of men on the lower levels for you to harlot yourself after.” Gilwen glared silently at the woman. If she really thirsted for beauty, perhaps the inner should be made to match the outer. She could not imagine something more insulting! Just because she was poor, did not mean that she was one to sell herself for the sake of other's pleasure. "Say what you will about my appearance. I care not for that. Do not dirty my family's image with slander." Her voice was firm, with a hint of temper. Still, she dared not speak up in full.

Meleth emerged from the bakery, much to Gilwen's relief, and she dropped her gaze once more to the stone floor. She could feel Miriel move off, yet a kind hand had been placed upon her shoulder. “She will come to eat her own words.” It was Meleth, she found as she raised her eyes once more. The woman excused herself to finish work, though extended an invitation for Gilwen to find her in her bakery if ever she needed to. "Thank you, my lady." She murmured.

As Meleth returned to work, Gilwen slowly crouched down in the corner and buried her head in Faeldor's cloak. She could not wait to be home and in her bed this eve.