Sweet Singing by the Fire [December 3009] {Gilwen}
Nov 19, 2017 13:06:15 GMT -5
Post by Faeldor on Nov 19, 2017 13:06:15 GMT -5
Faeldor felt the hefty blows to his face and chest; oh he felt them to a great extent, yet he could not still his own motions long enough to care. He had fought to defend Gilwen before. He had drawn the blood of that drunkard on the street; and he had stood up with words to Beregar many times. He could not rightly say he had fought Beregar, for the first time the man had accosted him and given him no chance to fight back.
He did not like to be riled to anger, and he did not like himself when he lost control, yet he could not forgive this man for what he had done to Gilwen, and what he was still doing.
He was taking her away from warmth and safety; from a place she was happy. She was happy. She had just told him just the night before how happy she was, and her eyes had sparkled up at him as if there were stars within. Tomorrow they would have been wed. She would have been his, and nobody would be able to take her away from her rest and healing, and from his arms. From the true start of their life together
The guards were pulling him off, and Beregar was calling for him to be charged. Faeldor's mind was having difficulty focusing, both for his anger, and the blows he had taken. Beregar was shouting. At him. At the guards. At Niniel. At Gilwen. Faeldor glowered at him, yet he no longer had words to form, and simply let forth a shout of rage and frustration as he saw the way Beregar force Gilwen to the saddle. This time the guards had him firmly by the arms and there was nothing he could do.
“Hurry.” Niniel's last words to him. He would hurry. Gilwen was under Beregar's firm grasp, yet she twisted in her seat to look back to him. Her brown eyes were wet and full of grief. Faeldor tried to pull away from the guards once more.
“Fael, do not make it worse,” Meleth chastised, tears still rolling down her own face. They could hear the hooves on the street long after they had passed round the curve of the city.
He did not like to be riled to anger, and he did not like himself when he lost control, yet he could not forgive this man for what he had done to Gilwen, and what he was still doing.
He was taking her away from warmth and safety; from a place she was happy. She was happy. She had just told him just the night before how happy she was, and her eyes had sparkled up at him as if there were stars within. Tomorrow they would have been wed. She would have been his, and nobody would be able to take her away from her rest and healing, and from his arms. From the true start of their life together
The guards were pulling him off, and Beregar was calling for him to be charged. Faeldor's mind was having difficulty focusing, both for his anger, and the blows he had taken. Beregar was shouting. At him. At the guards. At Niniel. At Gilwen. Faeldor glowered at him, yet he no longer had words to form, and simply let forth a shout of rage and frustration as he saw the way Beregar force Gilwen to the saddle. This time the guards had him firmly by the arms and there was nothing he could do.
“Hurry.” Niniel's last words to him. He would hurry. Gilwen was under Beregar's firm grasp, yet she twisted in her seat to look back to him. Her brown eyes were wet and full of grief. Faeldor tried to pull away from the guards once more.
“Fael, do not make it worse,” Meleth chastised, tears still rolling down her own face. They could hear the hooves on the street long after they had passed round the curve of the city.
