Malintended Murk, Mud, and Mire
Aug 14, 2018 22:00:34 GMT -5
Post by Faeldor on Aug 14, 2018 22:00:34 GMT -5
“We are? You mean…I’m your wife?”
“Well yes,” Faeldor answered, a grin rising to his face. “My wife. As a matter of fact, you are. He filled out the record for us.” He straightened, a rather smug look upon his face for a moment as he looked up, straightening his back and glancing around, as if there were someone to whom he needed to announce the fact. Gilwen,’s hand he squeezed, then releasing it, and moved an arm around her back, holding her nearer.
“Do we tell them now?…Do they know?”
She seemed hesitant, and Faeldor turned his glance back down. “I...” A hand lifted to her chin, tilting it up to him and he stopped on the street. “Well Grandmother and Grandfather know, and Miriel… the others have yet to hear unless someone else has spoken on it.”
He doubted it. His Grandmother and Miriel were likely to be the least pleased on the matter, and Melanir would let smug and let his grandson bear the news to the rest of the family. “They only know I have a celebration in mind. We’ll get to tell them… we’ll tell mine tonight and...”
Faeldor started to walk again, his step light as they took down the street on the way to his family home. He glanced further down the winding white stone path, “Your parenst. I’m sure they’ll… find out tomorrow. Your Father.” He stopped again suddenly, stopping Gilwen alongside him, a grimace for a moment upon his face. “He… does he? When he bars you in your room like that…” He had lowered his voice, speaking discreetly now that none on the street might hear him. “When he does that, does he check on you, or let you go the night alone? Is he going to come looking for you tonight, darling?”
Not truly wishing to speak on Beregar for the moment, but the topic was at hand and necessary, and neither would he bring it up with his Mother this night, though certainly he would wish to seek her advice upon it. Gilwen had hardly seemed to think such a thing was an issue when he had pulled her from her window now not once but twice in the span of a month and a half. And how many times when he was not present had Beregar done the same thing? If Beregar was to come searching this day, surely he’d know where to look and, Faeldor did not wish him to come seeking before… well before it was official. In all ways.
“You see...” he took a breath, grasping her and walking nearer the edge of the street, where the tall wall stood and they were out of earshot of any passerby. “We’re married on the record now. It was that simple. There just is… one more thing to do. To make it fully legal, that he could not demand you returned to him. I have to make you my wife.”
The topic coming quite unnatural to him now, uneasy. Not that he did not wish for such. Faeldor could not say that he had never imagined it in nearly two years, he was a man after all. “You know,” he whispered. “In… in bed tonight. With no… nightclothes,” he added, as if it were not enough that he said earlier. Gilwen sometimes needed… a bit of extra explanation. Not that he had any night clothes for her. Surely it would require a stop at the markets the next day, at the tailors shop, to find her the things… she needed. Faeldor felt a flush creeping up his neck. Not that she needed anything tonight.
“To make it fully binding. Before we… before we tell your Papa. We need to make sure. We’re fully… situated… in the matter.” His flush was red across his cheeks. There was no doubt on what they needed to do, and perhaps it was all the better to have the conversation here and not try to explain at his Mother’s house with everyone around. He pulled in a breath and glanced around again, watching as a line of guardsman made their way past on the way up to the citadel, his chin slightly turned to the air as if he were speaking of the birds.
“Do you… understand, darling?” A hand upon her cheek, looking down at brown eyes. Her own face felt hot to the touch, pink tinged. "Only as much as... as we need. As you want."
“Well yes,” Faeldor answered, a grin rising to his face. “My wife. As a matter of fact, you are. He filled out the record for us.” He straightened, a rather smug look upon his face for a moment as he looked up, straightening his back and glancing around, as if there were someone to whom he needed to announce the fact. Gilwen,’s hand he squeezed, then releasing it, and moved an arm around her back, holding her nearer.
“Do we tell them now?…Do they know?”
She seemed hesitant, and Faeldor turned his glance back down. “I...” A hand lifted to her chin, tilting it up to him and he stopped on the street. “Well Grandmother and Grandfather know, and Miriel… the others have yet to hear unless someone else has spoken on it.”
He doubted it. His Grandmother and Miriel were likely to be the least pleased on the matter, and Melanir would let smug and let his grandson bear the news to the rest of the family. “They only know I have a celebration in mind. We’ll get to tell them… we’ll tell mine tonight and...”
Faeldor started to walk again, his step light as they took down the street on the way to his family home. He glanced further down the winding white stone path, “Your parenst. I’m sure they’ll… find out tomorrow. Your Father.” He stopped again suddenly, stopping Gilwen alongside him, a grimace for a moment upon his face. “He… does he? When he bars you in your room like that…” He had lowered his voice, speaking discreetly now that none on the street might hear him. “When he does that, does he check on you, or let you go the night alone? Is he going to come looking for you tonight, darling?”
Not truly wishing to speak on Beregar for the moment, but the topic was at hand and necessary, and neither would he bring it up with his Mother this night, though certainly he would wish to seek her advice upon it. Gilwen had hardly seemed to think such a thing was an issue when he had pulled her from her window now not once but twice in the span of a month and a half. And how many times when he was not present had Beregar done the same thing? If Beregar was to come searching this day, surely he’d know where to look and, Faeldor did not wish him to come seeking before… well before it was official. In all ways.
“You see...” he took a breath, grasping her and walking nearer the edge of the street, where the tall wall stood and they were out of earshot of any passerby. “We’re married on the record now. It was that simple. There just is… one more thing to do. To make it fully legal, that he could not demand you returned to him. I have to make you my wife.”
The topic coming quite unnatural to him now, uneasy. Not that he did not wish for such. Faeldor could not say that he had never imagined it in nearly two years, he was a man after all. “You know,” he whispered. “In… in bed tonight. With no… nightclothes,” he added, as if it were not enough that he said earlier. Gilwen sometimes needed… a bit of extra explanation. Not that he had any night clothes for her. Surely it would require a stop at the markets the next day, at the tailors shop, to find her the things… she needed. Faeldor felt a flush creeping up his neck. Not that she needed anything tonight.
“To make it fully binding. Before we… before we tell your Papa. We need to make sure. We’re fully… situated… in the matter.” His flush was red across his cheeks. There was no doubt on what they needed to do, and perhaps it was all the better to have the conversation here and not try to explain at his Mother’s house with everyone around. He pulled in a breath and glanced around again, watching as a line of guardsman made their way past on the way up to the citadel, his chin slightly turned to the air as if he were speaking of the birds.
“Do you… understand, darling?” A hand upon her cheek, looking down at brown eyes. Her own face felt hot to the touch, pink tinged. "Only as much as... as we need. As you want."
