Sweet Singing by the Fire [December 3009] {Gilwen}

“Arrest her!”

“N-no, please, Papa, I’m coming. The children need Meleth—”

“My lady, I…I am going to have to ask you to come with me—for assault upon the street, and declaration of charges, you’ll need come to the bailiff.”

Faeldor stood in the doorway, gripping Meleth now by the shoulders, uncertain of what to do, but keeping her from making the situation worse for herself. She had the wooden beam still clutched in her hands as she looked between Gilwen, Niniel, and Beregar. Her eyes no more held their blaze of fury; now just a sadness.

Tinuves stood back from the doorway, grasping Miriel by the arm, as the young woman had entered the hall just in time to see Meleth snap, and tried to rush forward in the same instant as Faeldor. Miriel's mind was taken back to the horrible place where she had stood on the doorstep in much the same manner just three month's past, and Gilwen herself had been on the receiving end of the blow.

“Mother, you have to-” Faeldor started.

“I know,” Meleth finished, her voice more a sob than anything else. She dropped the beam, and it bounced on the step before clattering to the ground. Then she moved willingly toward the guard. The metal clad man put a firm but gentle grip upon her arm; a contrast to the way Beregar had grasped her moments before, and Meleth's shoulders began to shake, tears streaming from her eyes as she looked back between Faeldor and Gilwen. “She's like one of my own. She will not survive the trip,” Meleth pleaded to the guard beside her.

“Beregar, please, we made the arrangements and you were so satisfied with them before,” Faeldor's face was a grimace, and he gripped the doorframe in his hand that he not make the same mistake as his Mother and lash out. It took every bit of strength within him to keep his anger at bay. He regretted already haven given the man the money he needed for preparations for the journey, for now he could not withhold it from him.

Faeldor now came down from the step onto the street as well, moving within arm's reach of Gilwen, as if Beregar would loose her and he might take her back into his arms. It tortured him to not reach out for her, she was so close. She had been under his care for most of the past four months, and it was unfathomable that the law would let Beregar take her from him and put her into a situation of peril. Had they not eyes to see her? Even in the golden light of dawn, her face was colorless.

“It is clear you are intent on taking her to your home.” He would not call it her home, for the place had been more a prison for her than anything else since her relatives had come from out of the city, and Beregar had sent her out from it. “But you need my horses to take her from the city, you may not have them. As there is no written agreement I do not need let you take them.”

The thought that Gilwen would be taken to that home upon the first tier, with her Father and her cruel relatives packed within made Faeldor to sicken. He knew not how he would get her out of his home again once she were in, yet, at least it was better than being worn by cold and exhaustion to her death in a mountain pass. He would find a way… Beregar would need leave the house at some point, and he knew Niniel would let him in.

“What is all this commotion?” Melanir asked inside as he slid his hand along the wall to reach the entry without stumbling. He had been in deep slumber still, for he often slept late, when the shouting had started.

“They are taking Gilwen,” Miriel sobbed. “And Mother.”

“What!” Melanir burned, his hand splayed in front of him as he increased his steps toward the bright light of the doorway, and gripped the frame, trying to understand the situation without having heard the conversation, and not knowing who was who among the blurry figures in front of him.

Above the street, in the peacefulness of the upper bedrooms, the commotion had not gone missed by the younger girls sitting in the window seat. Haliel shrieked whens he saw her mother's arm taken by the guard, and clattered for her cane to go to her, though Marileth held her back, and both the girls began to cry.

Faeldor stood aghast as the man stated he would be making his family to walk to Dol Amroth. Gilwen could not walk from one end of the house to the other without needing to rest. She would be faint from exhaustion before they even left the city walls! Did the guards not hear this? Did they have no concern for the people of their very city?

His fists were tight as Beregar took a step toward him, glaring straight back at the man. He knew very well that Gilwen's father was much stronger than him; he had near knocked him out on one occasion before. Beregar had broken Durion's nose soon thereafter though it had hardly done anything to mend the relationship, whatever relationship there was, between the two of them.

“We can’t take her like this.”

“No, you can't,” Faeldor answered, his voice softening as he looked to the side where Niniel and Gilwen were standing. He felt at a loss as to what to do. There was nothing. The guards here were ready to take his mother away for resisting, and would not let a thing he said be enough to keep Gilwen warm and safe in the house. He would have to let Beregar take the horses, and he needed to dress Gilwen against as much of the chill as he could.

“Sweetheart, your mother will help you dress, and I shall pack your belongings. You will take the horses and be there all the swifter.” His voice was grim. He did not know if the horses even would be swift enough for Gilwen's state of health. He gave a glance toward the guards, and then looked back to Gilwen. Without another moment of hesitation, and avoiding Beregar's glare, he reached again for her hand, and turned to lead her carefully back up the steps to the house. He cherished the feel of her hand in his, and despised every step he took.

“Miriel, gem,” Faeldor paused for a moment as his sister drew nearer to him, a panicked look upon your face. “Go now and fetch your winter things… coat, shawl, cloak, gloves… I'm not sure the boots would fit… but bring whatever warm you have to my room for Niniel.”

Tinuves set herself off to the kitchens to gather up a bag of food, to at least get them through the first days. The kitchens of Meleth were always overflowing with good foods, and there were many travel hardy things ready to pack. Fruits, breads, cheeses. The herbs and teas they had been giving Gilwen daily to help make her strong. And even as a last thought, a flask of brandy. A swig of it could keep the girl warm if her temperature began to fall.

The young woman nodded, holding back her sobs, and took off ahead of them up the stairs. When she entered her room, Marileth and Haliel followed at her heels as she began to search through her closet for anything that could be of use, the young girls holding each thing that was passed into their arms.

Faeldor was all but silent as he drew Gilwen into the house and back up the stairway. Niniel walked on the other side of her, holding on to Gilwen's arm, yet Faeldor had put his arm back about the frail woman and drawn her to lean against his side. His chest clenched at the feel of her there beside him, and he could hear Beregar's heavy bootfalls coming behind.

“We'll get you warm and comfortable,” Faeldor said, a lump stuck in his throat. “You'll get a ride upon Laerdin again. And you'll get to breath that sea air in that we talked about…” As he pulled her through the bedroom door, and sat Gilwen on the edge of the bed, he left Niniel with her and moved for the closet; fetching the warmest winter clothes that Meleth and Tinuves had made for her, and gathering them all up. Stockings and her boots aside, coat and gloves, and a thick red cloak, long and made of lush velveteen which Faeldor had gifted her just the morning previous on Yule, before taking Gilwen for a walk. She had looked so bright amid the grey of the winter plants, and the white stone walls. He hauled the armload from the closet, and piled it on the bed beside her. Faeldor's whole body was aching as he looked upon her pallid face.

He closed his eyes for a moment before turning. It was the only way he could force his gaze away, and he moved back to his closet to grasp the shirt nearest him and throw it over his head, and slip his feet into his leather shoes. His mind reeled all the while. What else could he do? It seemed their parting was eminent, and he knew not how to help her. "We'll wait on the landing," Faeldor told Gilwen calmly, looking to Beregar and stepping back outside the room.

Outside the home, Melanir's cane clicked along the steps as he lowered himself down to the street. There were a number of blurry figures that he approached, and he knew his daughter was the one clad in her white night dress and robe. “Papa,” Meleth sobbed, as the guard beside her allowed her to grasp him. “It's so needless… she was getting well here. Fael almost lost her once because that man sent her to the streets. She will not make the journey, and he'll lose her again.”

“There now, she's stronger than you think. I've known from the start,” Melanir answered, rubbing Meleth's back.

As soon as Faeldor had stepped from the room, the door shut behind him and he heard the click of the latch. He wheeled around in a fury. Beregar had stayed within. He knew not why, but the thought of the man in the room with Gilwen, even with Niniel present, caused his stomach to churn. He drew back near the door, and thought he could hear mutterings from inside but the stone walls of the house were thick, and the doors well built and heavy wood, which sound did not easily pass through. He frowned, clenching fists, and pacing back to the railing upon the landing, looking down into their sitting room as he waited. The greens were still hung from all the archways, and the fire blazing in the hearth. Instruments were still set upon the chairs. It hardly looked different than it had the night before when his spirits had been high, yet this day was only leaving him with dread unrivaled.

It seemed to take long for Gilwen to dress. Far longer than it should have for the hurry Beregar seemed to be in. Perhaps she had fainted in her exhaustion. If she collapsed… perhaps there would be more time. While he hated the thought of it, he would not throw her over the back of the horse while she was in a faint would he? Though after a time, the door finally swung open and the three began to depart.

Faeldor's eyes were trained on Gilwen as she came from the room, noting the hold that Beregar had on her. His breaths felt shaky in his chest and he was on the verge of breaking down himself. She was crying now too, and had not been when he had left her upon the bed. He would have to watch her leave. He took a step toward, her but Gilwen abruptly did more than that, and was wrenching her hand from her father's grasp. Faeldor's arms were open for her before she even reached him, and her warm lips were against his just a second later. “I love you, Fael.” She had pulled away to speak, and even as she did so his lips were against her cheek, leaving more kisses against her skin.

“And I love you, my Starlight,” Faeldor answered, his voice heavy with emotion. He ignored Beregar's command, and left his arms tightly about her until the man physically ripped her away from him. He felt himself shudder as she was pulled away, and his anger began to rise once more as she called back to him desperately. “I love you.”

Niniel grasped him as he grimaced and tried to look around her to watch while Beregar half carried, and half dragged Gilwen down the stairwell. He hardly felt the woman's arms about him. “He's hurting her,” Faeldor muttered, but Niniel's response seemed unrelated. “Look to the wharfs. He is going to change her name. Look to the wharfs.”

His look faltered as he turned his eyes down to Niniel, and he offered her a light embrace in return. What did she mean, change her name? Faeldor could not grasp the comments at all, and Beregar was already calling Niniel to him. She released him and started quickly down the stair herself. Perhaps he had plans to find a home near the wharfs; it seemed an obvious statement, for Linnon had been ready to secure him a job sailing. Yet change her name?

Faeldor stood for only a moment, rushing back into his room and going to the drawers in his table, he pulled out a coin purse, opening it and examining the contents. It was filled with silver and gold, a hefty sum of coppers. The man pulled the purse shut once more, and taking the stairs two at a time, made it out of the house. Beregar was standing in the street still with Gilwen's wrist in hand, as he ordered Niniel upon Laerdin.

Tinuves was in the street affixing the pack of food onto Balroch, while Miriel was handing a thick cloak up to Niniel, and attaching another bag to Laerdin's packs, stuffing in more warm garments and blankets from her own bed. “Fael, they're taking Gilwen,” Haliel was sitting on the steps crying. Both Marileth and Faelon were clinging to Meleth's side in the street watching. Meleth's face was tremulous and tear streaked.

“Beregar!” Faeldor exclaimed, rapidly descending the stone steps. He held the coin purse to the man. “Please, stop at all the inns and homes along the way with her. This should be enough to pay for a warm night and meal anywhere.” He put the heavy purse into the man's hands, and eyed Gilwen next to him. She looked so gaunt and pale in the light of day, so frail, yet the wide brown eyes she was casting upon him were doing him in more than anything. They were wet with tears, and the look alone she gave him was one he had seen before; hopelessness. He ached to wrap her in his arms and tell her he would care for her; but it seemed Beregar's stubborn pride to have her along with him was going to strip him of his opportunity. She was so ill. She needed warmth, and rest, and tender care, and she would heal, and Beregar did not even care. He was going to wear her down to her death.

A thought came to Faeldor's mind, and he took no more delay in acting on it. He had one last chance. The Houses of Healing. If they could get here in the doors, the Warden would take one look at her and keep her there. It would take much higher authority for the Warden to release her… giving him time. He could not take her himself… yet Niniel could do it. He could tell Niniel did not wish to take her daughter from the city. Beregar had released Gilwen from his grip to inspect the contents of the purse, and Faeldor glanced briefly to him before his eyes moved back to the woman's.

“Sweetheart, I'll get you up,” Faeldor moved quickly to Gilwen and had grasped her before he even finished speaking, beginning to hoist her up onto Laerdin with Niniel's help. He looked down the street. The Houses of Healing were only a short way round the curve in the road from their own home. He could see white stone rooftops from here. He made sure she was settled and had her balance, and quickly put the reins in Niniel's hands. “Niniel, take her to the Houses of Healing now. Get her within the doors to the Warden. Go, go Laerdin!” Fael slapped Laerdin upon the haunches and gave her a quick shove to get her moving.

Faeldor's last attempt at saving Gilwen the torment of the ride to Dol Amroth was grounded to a halt. Even Laerdin neighed in protest at the abrupt jerk upon her reins which pulled her neck to the side. The treatment of the horse alone would have aggravated Faeldor, but what happened next set every drop of blood in his body to flames. Beregar had not only accosted the horse but had laid hands on Gilwen and wrenched her down so hard he thought she would hit full force on the cobblestone street. The man had barely caught her, yet still discarded her, shoving her at the other horse in a way that made his stomach clench. Even if she had been in good health it would have been too much.

Miriel's hands had flown to her mouth, Haliel was yet sobbing, and Meleth was holding Faelon back. The littlest boy was near bristling in her grip!

"I've had it with your meddling!"

Faeldor's whole body recoiled at the shout, though it was not in fear of Beregar's raging voice, it was in livid rage. It seemed to the man that every shout and scream of his family, every door slamming, cart wheel turning, and foot trudging on the cobbled street had quieted. Even the wind was now silent and the grey sky faded away. He had only Beregar in his sights. All the force within him was gathered and he lunged.

Tinuves screamed from her place near the black horse, Balroch, and as she did so she grasped Gilwen and pulled her back from the brawl against Balroch, who sidestepped in the street to move as well. The two men had fought once before and last time it had not ended well for Faeldor; Gilwen need not be in the way of the blows.

“You hurt her! She's afraid of you! Your wife's afraid of you! You don't deserve them! You're going to kill her!” His words were rambling and stiff, though he shouted that the whole street could hear and many who were on their way to morning errands stopped to see what the fuss was. Heads looked out windows, and children's voices were stilled. Faeldor cared not though, for word he called out was the truth in his mind and his hands were pounding against the Beregar's face as he called them out. He cared not for what blows the man threw back at him.