Thrill and Thrall {Narbeleth, Calon, Gilwen} [March 3010]

“No, no.” Niniel pushed her away, and Narbeleth faltered, sucking in her breath to cover the sob that was trying to escape from her throat. It was becoming clear she was not going to be able to convince the woman.

“He’ll come for me. He won’t lose us both. He’ll… Faeldor came for you, sweetheart. Just like I promised, he came.”
I can’t go, Mama.”

If she were able to take Niniel from the home, what would she do? Faeldor could take Gilwen and wed her; keep her safe, yet he could not do the same for Niniel. “She'll go, she'll go, don't fear,” Narbeleth hummed to Niniel. “She's not going to Haradwaith.”

“Faeldor, get her out now,” Narbeleth was rising again, moving across the room.

“He’ll find me. He’ll hurt you, and he’ll—”
“Not another word, Morwen!”
“…I love you...You’ll be all right. Just go.”

“No, I will not be all right. You have to come with me sweetheart, listen. We'll take you away from here. You'll be fine, you know I won't leave you… I would never leave you,” Tears were forming in the man's eyes. His chest ached, and it was not only from the blows taken earlier.

“Faeldor,” Narbeleth's words were biting. “The guards are going to be here any minute, did you come all this way to get yourself put in prison again? He'll have her on that ship before you're out; get out of my way.” She crouched down to the floor, edging Faeldor aside with her shoulder and hip as she came before Gilwen.

“Gilly,” Narbelth hummed, her voice softening. “I've missed you, oh my friend.” She leaned forward to hug her, and kissed her cheek in one motion. Her lips felt the marred skin, and she closed her eyes for a just a breath of a moment to fortify herself against the feel of her. Bones beneath dirty cloth. Even as she did so though, she slipped her arm's beneath Gilwen's and heaved back, lifting her to standing. There was no more time to waste.

“Beleth, stop, you're going to hurt her doing it that way,” Faeldor was protesting, trying to still her motions, grasping her shoulder and trying to still her. He sent a hurried glance to Calon; that man would be on him like bricks if he grabbed his sister and pulled her off, and he released her shoulder again, though still hovered.

Narbeleth was disinclined to listen. “We have lots to catch up on. I need to tell you about my husband, and you'll have to come see my pups. They'll like you… lick you all over and wag as soon as they see you. And won't you like the flowers in the wood here soon with spring upon us? I found a flat, open glade in the forest last summer. It is just perfect for dancing… I cannot wait to show you… There is a fair waterfall tumbling from the cliffs there… so slender, only a thin stream you can stand beneath on the hottest days, and water seeps from the rock wall so constant that the damp and mist leave the little plants to grow right from the rock face as a hanging garden.”

Her voice was not cheerful, simply emotionless, yet she rambled onward and her constant stream of words offered Gilwen no room to protest what she was doing. Faeldor however was protesting and panicking behind her; worrying that she was going to hurt the woman in her grasp. Narbeleth had bent to lock her arms about her friend's jutting hips, lifting her and holding her weight against her shoulder.

She had thought this would be more difficult; though it was still a challenge to maneuver the little woman, it was far less a challenge than it should have been. She weighed no more than her young sister had the last time she had hefted the girl over her shoulder in play; perhaps even less. Narbeleth's talking stilled once she made it to the door, though Beregar was screaming behind her for guards.

“Fael, help!” she suddenly pleaded as she weaved around the broken door toward the horses; the steadiness of her voice was gone, and her eyes were filling with tears. “Get her on the horse, I can't lift her up alone. What are you doing? Help me!”

“Beleth, you're hurting her, stop!” Faeldor ordered back, finally reaching for her and supporting Gilwen against him, he held her shoulders and pulled her against his chest, though once he had her there it was both in relief and horror that he brought his arms around to clutch her close. “Oh, love,” he muttered. It had been over two months since he had held her this way; though it had been the opposite circumstance. She had been taken from him last time, and while she had not been at her best on that day, she had been soft and comfortable against him. Her hair had been clean and sleek, and her strength growing. Now, he could feel her ribs through her dress.

“I'm not the one marrying her, Fael. You have to do something! The guards are going to be here any moment with that din he's making! I don't want Calon in there any longer. He isn't a fool like you to end up in the prison! Get her up, now! Lumiel,” she had turned already to get the horse nearer, and Faeldor finally stooped to lift Gilwen into a cradled hold, and easily settle her on the back of the mare. Narbeleth held legs and steadied her as Faeldor climbed on behind.

“Calon!” Narbelth shouted back into the house as she made a bound for Thissel.

Both Faeldor and Narbeleth heard the weak protests Gilwen was offering for her Mother. “I tried to get her,” Narbeleth answered as she waited for Faeldor to pull himself up. Perhaps she had not tried as hard as she had for Gilwen. She could go back in and carry her out as well; yet Niniel had seemed of more strength, if she had not wanted to go, she could not force her. Why she would not go, Narbeleth did not understand. They could have thought of something. She cringed, looking back to the house and hearing the shouting coming from inside.

“Get her to Arandur at the Parbarad. One of the guards ran ahead. Some sort of call to make sure he was ready with a quill in case of an emergency today.”

The guards stood upon the street offering their comment. Narbeleth began to feel a great respect for them as she tried to look beyond the armor and silver wings to each face and commit them to memory. She would do anything she could to thank them later, but for now she could only offer a brief look to them as she pulled herself back upon Thissel.

“It will be all right, sweetheart,” was all Faeldor could offer to Gilwen as he watched his sister climb to the saddle, and heard a crash from the house, then Calon coming behind mounting the great golden stallion before them.

“Come on, let’s go. Where are we headed? I hope you had more of a plan than just grab her and hope for the best.”

“I do not think he had a plan beyond that,” Narbeleth answered her husband seriously, glancing back toward her brother for a moment. Lumiel was following, yet Faeldor was not even watching the street ahead. His eyes were down on Gilwen. “Off to the Parbarad,” Nabeleth added. “The guard sent someone ahead to tell Arandur we were coming. Same scribe we had,” she let out a single uneasy laugh then fell back to silence, her stomach rolling.

She could not entirely blame Faeldor. Gilwen was a sight to behold, and now that they were in the waning light of day, it was even worse. Her eyes had once held an inner beauty all their own, her gentle demeanor shining through. But now they were ringed and sunken. Narbeleth felt her chest shudder and looked away, instead fixing her eyes on Calon's back as he led them through the streets. She knew her husband had taken that man's fist to his face, though he seemed well. She would still look over him though. Get a cloth to sooth and tend him. It was much easier to occupy her mind on the easy fix that Calon would be compared to what was waiting behind her. She was not certain that anything in her midwife kit was going to be of use.

“She needs a healer,” Faeldor called up, his own thoughts of similar mind. “Uncle Amarthon said there was a good one in White Town.” He began to heel Lumiel to turn off the path of Calon's lead to to make for White Town, and Narbeleth heard him do so before she turned to look and she immediately turned to head him off and block his path. Thissel and Lumiel snorted at each other, and the horses sidestepped on the stone street.

“No! You're getting married first, Fael,” Narbeleth pressed, her brow furrowed. “You cannot help her if you don't make her yours. Turn.”

“I need to get her to the healer,” Faeldor pleaded. “Look at her; she's dying.”

Narbeleth was ready to vomit; she most certainly was dying, and the girl didn't want to acknowledge that fact. “She's lasted this long. She'll hold longer for you now. Turn back to the cliffs. Beregar is going to have the guards after us soon. We must not tarry here. Calon will not be able to stop them for you. They will have to do their job after time, and you'll be up in the tower while she's off to the Haradwaith.”

Faeldor tried to get around her once more and Narbeleth nearly jumped off the horse. “Calon!” she pleaded for help, though what was he to do! He could take her from him, but he could not stand in for Faeldor with the scribe.

“I promise, Fael, we'll get the healer and bring him back to Uncle Linnon's. Please. She cannot stay in the city. Get to Parbarad, and we will get the healer after. Please believe me, for once. For Gilwen's sake; she would say the same thing.” Faeldor seemed to consider the comment for a moment, looking down to Gilwen and running his hand gently over her hair. Finally without a word, he turned, this time riding with Narbeleth behind him.

Once they passed through the lower towns, they took to the narrow road leading up along the cliffs where buildings and towers jutted out in the spaces they could fit. Parbarad was not far below the garrison itself, and struck up in white stone, the sea beyond.

“Cal, carry her in. I don't think Fael is well himself,” Narbeleth stated as she slipped down from Thissel.

“I'm fine, I'll get her myself,” Faeldor answered though he was already struggling with how to climb off Lumiel without dropping Gilwen. She could not bear her weight, meager as it and, and his own mind was muddled from overwhelm and the earlier blows he had taken.

“Faeldor, don't make this more difficult than it already is,” Narbeleth chided.

Faeldor dismounted and Narbeleth ushered him to the entry beyond, glancing behind her with furrowed forehead. The sound of the waves below filled her ears, but she was listening for horses quickened hooves or men's boots rushing. Faeldor had slowed them considerably, and she feared his lapse in judgment had lost them the time they needed. Faeldor, however, needed no encouragement to follow Gilwen into Parbarad.

“…And the groom?”

“Here,” was all he stated as he made straight for Calon, sad eyes roving over Gilwen once more.

"My brother," Narbeleth added as she came behind, a hand on Faeldor's back. She looked to the guardsman beside Arandur. "Thank you."

“You didn’t say she was in such poor repair. Perhaps a doctor…?”

Faeldor's face twisted at the words. “She needs...” he started, yet his sister shot him a look and interjected.

“There is no time for that now,” Narbeleth answered, her expression dulled. We need this written in the records in haste. Faeldor son of Faelon to be wed to Gilwen, daughter of… Beregar.” The man's name was detestable. “It won't take long, Fael,” she tried to assure him. “He has only to write it and the two of you to agree… then he cannot take her back.”

Narbeleth's looked anxiously toward the doorway. The last she had stood in this tower. It had been a far different different picture that day. The autumn breezes had blown in off the seashore in bright daylight, and she had laughed and larked in giddiness. Calon's eyes had been sparkling like sea crests in the sunshine, and she could feel his love and joy washing over her that day.

“Come to me, darling,” Faeldor urged, looking hesitantly toward Calon as if in permission, then reaching to take Gilwen back to his arms. He placed her feet upon the ground, yet held her firm against him with an arm, the other hand moving to brush her hair back from her eyes. “It is not how I imagined our wedding day, but it will do. Then we will get you a healer. You will be mended… he will not harm you again...”

“Faeldor, just...” Narbeleth turned back from the door, sighing. “We cannot tarry. Just say it to Master Arandur. Say… 'I take Gilwen as my wife.'”

Faeldor nearly startled at the words, looking up again. As soon as he had taken Gilwen back to his arms it were almost as if he had forgotten the others were present. “I take take you as my wife, Gilwen,” he murmured, looking back down to her brown eyes. “My Starlight.”

“Gilly, now you,” Narbeleth nodded, spurring them on.

“I’m not Gilwen, I’m not your Starlight.”
“You…you aren’t Gilwen, daughter of Beregar?”
“No, she is. She’s…she’s just confused. Perhaps—?”

Narbeleth nodded in agreement with Calon's statement. “She is Gilwen.[/i]” She was obviously disoriented; hungry, thirsty, frightened, exhausted. Her father had been calling her Morwen. She took in a quick breath as her mind moved to thinking on getting her some sustinence. Water would be no good in this state… milk. She would need to find milk for her. She almost started back for the door again to do just that but paused when Gilwen spoke.

“I’m not confused. Gilwen would not have let her father sell the betrothal band for ale. Gilwen would have remained faithful. I’m not Gilwen. Not anymore.”

“You don't mean...” Faeldor was cringing. It was the most Gilwen had spoken at once since he had last seen her in December, yet the words were not settling. His Gilwen would never be unfaithful to him. He knew it… she was so purehearted. She loved him. He knew she would never even think of being unfaithful. She had promised to be his. Nonetheless, he tightened his arms about her and held her firm.

“The band does not matter, sweetheart. Do not worry about it it.” He could replace it easily and it truly gave him no worry; with the state Gilwen was in the statement had seemed almost obvious with him. Surely Beregar would not have allowed her to keep it.

“Whatever has happened… it's… it's fine.” He could not hold her accountable for what had happened while Beregar had her. She had been unwell the entirety of it. Did she mean her father had… Faeldor's stomach turned so hard that he thought his legs might buckle for the moment. Or had it been someone else? Beleth had mentioned the tonics. Why else would she need take a contraceptive if not that?

“You're my Gilwen,” he affirmed. “Whatever happened, we will start fresh. I love you. It will be all right… you said you loved me,” His eyes were giving him away and filling with tears the same as hers. Nothing felt as if it were going to be right again.

Narbeleth watched, almost horror struck. Faeldor's emotions seemed to be spiraling. She had not seen her brother cry in ages… not since that night Gilwen had brought him home drunk after the horse kick. “If it was done unwillingly it is not unfaithfulness,” she added quickly. “What happened?”