The Yuletide Ball that Transcends Time and Space (Open)
Nov 16, 2017 18:41:58 GMT -5
Post by Gilwen on Nov 16, 2017 18:41:58 GMT -5
Minas Tirith was familiar, though the streets were haunted with memories that the woman did not entirely wish to recall. Gilwen shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the bright red winter coat Faeldor had handpicked for her to wear that evening, and flashed her wide, brown eyes up to him for a moment. He seemed to be examining the city just as much as she was, though his face did not seem to lose much of its brightness. Her husband was a merry sort; indeed, he had near sang to her the entire time they had ridden from Dol Amroth to attend this Yule Feast. Songs of stars and moonlight, and carols about holly—she had half wondered if he had planned to make himself the Steward’s bard for the evening, as he often did at their inn in Dol Amroth.
The palace was decorated, bright, and cheery. It was strange to be back, Gilwen decided. Especially as a guest of honor, and not clad in the black and white garb of the servants of the palace. It felt very much like the time she had attended the Midsummer Ball a little over a year past. Where Faeldor came in and saw equals, the first thing she noted were the familiar faces stationed along the walls and along the wine tables.
She had never seen the palace in such a state as this. Holly and mistletoe, wreaths and garlands, and bright fires and glass baubles were hanging throughout the throne room, making the cold halls warm and cozy. She marveled at the work that must have gone into preparing the space in such a way, and did not pity the women who still worked here that would also need clean it all away come the close of the night. Beside her, Faeldor stopped and turned to take her hand and bring it to his lips.
“It is no doubt my Lady should wish to start the evening with my first dance.”
Gilwen smiled at him, peering at him through her dark lashes as he led her to the dance floor. It was relatively unoccupied, the night still young and many going first for the drinks and foods along the wall. As he turned her, drawing her back to his arms for the saltarello, she gasped. “Fael!” She whispered. He lifted her, and while she followed the motions and the steps, her eyes were peering elsewhere. “Fael, is that a moving tree?” She gasped.