A Night There Was When Winter Died (Gilwen) {February 3008}

“Master Faeldor--” a small voice interrupted. A black haired lad was standing in the doorway to the Stablemaster's quarters, and Faeldor looked up from where was seated. The book he was reading, The Lay of Leithian dropped to his lap and he used his thumb to mark the page.

“Yes, Bregor,” he asked. The boy was but ten years old, and finishing up his first afternoon in the stables. He had run a few errands for Faeldor, helped to water the horses, and mucked a few stalls as was now the privilege of the youngest stable hand. All to earn a decent afternoon's wage, and some experience. The boy was good, and gentle with horses. After a few years, he would be able to work for him full time, and be a grand asset for the Steward. Maybe someday he'd even make himself out to be a groom, and leave all mucking behind.

“Master, there's a… a girl… in the stables,” Bregor said tentatively.

“What do you mean, a girl?” Faeldor asked, wondering if a stray child had wandered in. It certainly would not do to let a little one be hurt or in the way of the straggling Calvary who came in late. He was already taking up his book mark and settling his book aside as he made for the door. It mattered not, for he had read the Lay countless times over, and knew most of the verses by memory.

“I mean, a girl,” was all Bregor could say as the Stable Master slipped around him for the great open hall that was the center of the Steward's stables. He looked about; the torches already lit, for evening would be upon them soon.

“There,” Bregor whispered, and pointed. Faeldor's eyes were drawn near to his own horse's stall, and he saw the back of of a woman standing there. She was nearly obscured in the darkness of the shadows, though he recognized her. One who worked in the Steward's halls, he knew, for the garments she was often seen in. She had been wandering into the stables for years, though often in passing. She never stayed long, nor had she ever troubled a soul there.

“She's fine,” Faeldor said, turning back to Bregor and laying a hand on his shoulder. “As long they trouble not the animals nor men, I do not mind if the city folk wish to take a moment with the horses." It was where he drew comfort himself. His horses, and his stories.

“All right,” Bregor answered. “I'll just finish hanging up the tack. And then...”

“Then you'll head on home for your supper,” Faeldor told him, smiling. “I'll have a word with your Father, if you can send him by in the morning.” Bregor swallowed nervously at the words, though Faeldor saw his expression, and ruffled his hair. “I only mean to tell him what a fine asset you've been to me today. I doubt we'll need to continue a trial period, unless your Father sees fit. I'll have you here on afternoons, every second day. First wages will come at the end of the month from the Steward's payroll.”

“Thank you, Master Faeldor,” Bregor smiled, as he began to dart off for his last task, and Faeldor laughed.

“Bregor!” Faeldor called, and as the child turned back to him, he tossed a coin his way. Bregor caught it in open palm, and looked at it. “Starting bonus,” Faedlor grinned. “The bakery on the third tier is always open late for the men getting off shift after dark,” he suggested. “Second best cinnamon rolls in the city, only the Steward is served better."

“Thank you!” Bregor called, grinning as he looked to the shiny silver castar. Faeldor waved him off, and the boy was quick tempoed as he stuffed the coin in his pocket and went back to work. It was no Steward's bonus that had been gifted, simply the Stablemaster's own reward for the boy. Enough to stop and buy a cinnamon roll every day til he got his first wages at the end of the month if he wished it. A job well done deserved quick reward, at least for a youth of his age, Faeldor felt. Aside, Faeldor had many young siblings of his own, and delighted in making them smile. He sometimes felt the young stablelads were simply additional family to him.

Faeldor began to hum to himself as he turned to make for his quarters again. His own recordkeeping was long done, and as soon as Bregor had set out for home, Faeldor had in mind to take his horse, and his flute, out for a ride on the plains.

As much as he loved the bustle that was his own household, he needed peace at the end of some days. Faeldor felt restless. He had for some time, and he wondered if the fresh air would settle him. In fact, if he readied Lumiel now, he would be able to set out right around the time Bregor did. He turned to look back down to his own horse's stall.

Ah, the girl. He had forgotten in his conversation with the stablelad. Something in him felt torn; he did not wish to disrupt her. He watched her finger's trail over Lumiel's muzzle. The horse was pressing against her for the attention, and Faeldor sighed, watching. Something of the sight was lovely. The grey horse, and her dark hair in the shadows of the white stone beams.


Faeldor's eyes thought back to his book. He could read a time yet. He did not wish to interrupt her. She seemed content as Lumiel, and he knew she would soon vanish with the night as well.

The thought was somewhat troubling, and Faeldor knew not why. Where? he wondered. Where would she go? He had not thought it before. Home to her family, of course. Where did she live? When would she come again?


Faeldor crossed his arms, the verses of poem coming to his mind, and he still watched her. The girl was quiet, unassuming. He could no sooner walk to his quarters and come out again and see her shadowy form vanished, and he thought to himself, that he would miss her. It was foolish, he knew. It had been over six years since Faeldor had given passing thought to a girl. The Lay of Leithian was playing games with his head. He imagined, it could, with any man.

Still he could not shake the notion to take his eyes from her. He chuckled to himself quietly. He did not even know her. Not even her name... then again, Beren did not know Luthien.

Perhaps he should learn her name. Surely, at least she would like to know the horse's name. He would not send her off to ready Lumiel, only give greeting,  and perhaps chat for a time before she passed off into the shadows again. Quietly Faeldor approached.