[piosenniel]

Giledhel

Two figures stood in the distant courtyard. The nearer one she recognized by his familiar bearing, the darkness of his hair, the cut of his tunic, the planes and angles of his face. Malris stood there, looking eastward as the day’s light climbed into the sky. The sight of him made her smile and she took in a quick, gasp of a breath as she felt the pulse that beat in her long fair neck quicken.

‘My belovéd!’ she murmured, seeing his lips crease into a smile as the fair light washed over his face. Even now his distant presence made her tremble. And she was glad at heart that both he and she stood there in the rising day. The distance between them, she from her chamber and he in the courtyard was as nothing to her. She held him in her heart - were he by her side or off on some campaign for his Lord.

He had returned in time for her party! A frisson of joy crept up her spine, making her nearly giddy. She smiled again, thinking how he must have hastened from whatever place he had gone to . . . to be with her again.

And he’s brought a friend back! She must remind the servants to put another place at the table for this new arrival. Giledhel leaned further over the rough edges of her quarter’s wall, straining to catch a glimpse of Malris’ companion. ‘I wonder who . . .’ she began, her question left hanging in the dawn air.

Malris had stepped back a pace, urging his companion forward a little by the hand. His face was turned toward the sight of the person’s face, the tension of his body focused as much on this other figure as on the dawn’s layered beauty.

Giledhel’s already fair complexion, turned pale as death. What color she had drained from her cheeks, as did the joy from her spirit. She scarce noted the hardness of her grip as she clasped Gorgu’s hand.

‘Tasarënì!’ she hissed. It was her tall, slender form that Malris’ own had hidden from Giledhel’s sight. It was her foul hand had insinuated itself into Malris’ grip. The witch! What deviltry was she using to ensnare him? And here . . . of all places, here . . . within the walls where she and Malris made their home!

Giledhel turned away from the betrayal. No, not betrayal . . . Malris would not do this to her. He was her all. He loved her. It was that serpent spawned woman who had beguiled and ensnared him.

She stamped her foot hard on the ground. Eyes wild with grief and anger she raised her now clenched fists and shook them at the Sun itself. Her plaintive cry screamed forth; a vow, almost . . . fused into the remnants of the fortress by the witnessing wind.

‘Oh, I will not have it! Not at all! She will be dead before another day has come!’

One of her little boon companions had reached out a hand to steady her . . . to give her comfort in her distress, too, she thought. ‘Help me down the stairs, won’t you, dear?’ she asked him, leaning against his offered strength. Silence cushioned their footfalls and she dared not speak until they had come safely to her own bedroom, too close was she to tears.

Giledhel sat on the edge of her bed, tears now rolling down the pallid planes of her cheeks. Her friends sat at her feet, looking up at her, quiet against the immensity of her distress. She wiped at her eyes with a sleeve and took a few ragged breaths before some shadow of control took hold.

‘You’ll help me, won’t you dears?’ she asked in a shaky voice. ‘With what I have to do . . .’