Chapter 7: "That's what you get when you let your heart win"

"Come now, daughter, dry your eyes."

Gilmith lifted her head from where it was tucked into her father's shoulder. The shock at Galador's angry outburst had caused tears to run afresh, and she was once again comforted by Imrazôr's strong and supportive embrace.

"You have a husband who is, I trust, anxious to take care of you. Go to him now."

As Imrazôr began to break away, Gilmith, loath to leave the warmth of his hold, reached out to cling to him.

"No, Adar, I beg you. I do not wish to leave you."

Her head was still reeling. Emotions she had not yet begun to fathom were stirring a tempest in her mind, leaving a surreal feeling of disorientation with the situation about her. All she knew was that here, with her father, she felt the familiar safety and reassurance which she had always enjoyed in her life up until now. It was relief to have him take her in his arms, to listen to his words of assurance and be comforted by them, just as she had done so many times in her childhood.

Imrazôr shifted away from her, shaking his head sadly.

"No, daughter, you must go. Forgive me..." He turned to face the window again, looking out across the bay. "I wish to be alone now."

Noises were made, people entered the room, and Gilmith was gently led away from her father's presence. But, in her confused state, much of what happened around her passed her by like remembered fragments of a dream upon waking. People, so many people, noise and murmurs, when all she wanted was to shut herself away, far from it all – the pitying looks, the hushed voices, the concerned gestures and consolations. To be alone and have a chance to sort the chaos in her mind away from prying eyes was all she desired. And despite her confusion, she was yet acutely aware of what a state she must look to others, and the knowledge of it pricked at her pride. Just enough was left amidst her befuddled thoughts to ensure the belief that she should maintain as much dignity as possible in the eyes of any onlookers. Difficult enough to crippled by grief – harder still to have it witnessed by others.

And so, with a deep breath, straightened shoulders, and as composed an air as she could manage, Gilmith proceeded to leave the home that she had always known, to return to the house of her husband which she had lived in for but a day.

Istaeron was outside the door waiting to greet her, reaching out immediately to put his arm protectively around her shoulder and gently speaking words of consolation. But as he tried to support her, Gilmith stiffly shook her bowed head and moved herself out of his reach. It was not that she did not appreciate his care, naturally she did, but, she simply could not cope with it now without losing her composure. Just the feel of his embrace would render her once again to pitiful tears, she was sure. His tender words would make her more fragile. For so often the softer words break through that protective layer more effectively than the harder.

She could only hope that her choice of independence from him would be recognised not as a rebuke, but as a plea for solitude, and that her husband would understand that, often, a woman's pride is no less indomitable than a man's.

But had she raised her head to see the bewildered, if not hurt, expression on his face, she perhaps would have thought better on it.

-

An age seemed to pass until Gilmith was finally able to lose her brave facade. She ran trembling into her new bedchamber, throwing herself across the bed, relieved at last in the quiet. The door fell shut behind her and, perhaps notably, Istaeron did not follow.

Sleep was fitful and broken. When Gilmith finally roused, her pillow was clammy and damp from tears, her throat was tight, her cheeks wet, and her eyes puffy. For a brief moment of disorientation, she forgot where she was and why she had been crying but as the realisation began to sink in she moaned and rolled onto her front, pressing her face deeper into the pillow.

Her thoughts turned to Istaeron. Had it only been a few hours earlier that she had been held so lovingly by him there in the bed? Those were the feelings, so new, exciting, and wonderful, that she wanted to surround her again, warming her aching heart. As if echoing a memory her arm stretched across the coverlet, but the empty space that greeted her fingers was cold and unwelcoming. He had not followed her to the bedchamber, and, frowning a little, Gilmith realised she had assumed that he would. Admittedly, she had not requested he do so, nor encouraged him, but he had been so kind and understanding that she could only wonder now at his change in concern for her.

A knock at the door put paid to these reflections and she hastily wiped her face.

"Come in."

As her chambermaid entered, Gilmith tried to ignore the sense of disappointment at not seeing Istaeron in the doorway and concentrated instead on composing herself.

"Forgive me for intruding, my lady, but Lord Istaeron asked that I check on you – to ensure you had everything you need. Lord Saelon has recently arrived to offer his condolences to yourself, but my lord has explained that you are currently indisposed."

These words succeeded in heartening Gilmith a little. Istaeron had obviously felt that she needed solitude and had taken steps to ensure that she would get it. How could she have doubted his care of her?

"Thank you, Hîthwen. I think I should like to dress and join my husband and our guest."

"Of course, my lady."

Hîthwen assisted Gilmith with her toilette – bringing her water to wash her hands and face, tying the laces of her gown and deftly braiding and pinning her hair up.

"If... if my lady does not mind my saying so, I was greatly saddened to hear of Lady Mithrellas's departure. I always knew her to be a lady of great kindness and generosity. I held her in the highest respect – as I do you, my lady, and your lord father and brother. I am so terribly sorry for your loss."

It hurt to hear the subject brought up again because it caused a tide of melancholy to rise up within Gilmith once more, and, in truth, she would much rather the subject not be mentioned again to spare her such feelings. But, nevertheless, she recognised it for the kind and well-meaning sentiments that were intended. Her parents had raised her with strong principles – to judge herself, and others, by merit and deeds rather than rank or perceived status. And so, she reached out her hand, taking the young woman's in her own, and looked at her with a soft, melancholic, smile.

"Thank you. I am honoured and most grateful for your kind concern for my family and myself. I know that my mother would greatly appreciate your opinion of her."

She could feel her lip begin to wobble traitorously at the mention of her mother. Inhaling deeply, Gilmith turned away, trying to put on a brave face. She thought of her brother's control, how calm he had been when he had first broken the news to her earlier, and wished that she could mask her feelings so well as Galador often did. If only she had his strength of character.

He had always maintained that he was too hardened for such sensitivity as hers, claiming to envy her the gentle nature she possessed. Yet now, Gilmith was beginning to consider her own character as the weaker one; for her tender sensibilities often led her to acquiesce to the desires of others above her own, and more often left her seeking direction and guidance from those with stronger personalities.

Once Hîthwen had finished attending her, Gilmith stood in front of her mirror, taking in the contrast she saw from the happy young woman who had looked back at her not yet a day before, in her wedding gown, so filled with joy and eager anticipation. Now that woman looked gaunt and grey, with sunken eyes and a blotched complexion that the quick splash of water to her cheeks could not hide.

Well, she supposed that she would just have to make-do with her appearance as it was. Her eyes were now surely suffering a drought, and a pervasive sense of numbness ensured that her nerves would, for now at least, stay in check. She was the lady of the house, there was a guest to receive and she had been too long from her husband's side. Decision made, she gave a quick cursory glance back at her reflection and made her way to the reception chambers.

Gradually, as she walked along the corridors, dim snatches of conversation could just be made out. Hearing the faint timbre of her husband's confident voice heartened Gilmith considerably, and she picked up her pace along the winding corridors, heading towards the glimpses of sound. The door to the reception chamber, she could now see, was ajar, as the odd word floated to her hearing.

"...you on your own marriage, Istaeron..."

"...thank you, yes, I..."

"...impossible situation..."

She came to stand just outside the door, her hand hovering to push it open, when she clearly heard her husband speak.

"Of course, it was only for her father's position that she was ever seen as a desirable spouse. It was certainly not a love match."

For a moment, Gilmith stood completely dumb, visibly shaking, deaf to everything but her erratic breathing. Her vision became blurred by prickling tears she had thought all cried out. How could this be true? Istaeron was her husband, the man she had loved for so long. The same man who had shown her so much care, affection and adoration. Yet, even as her mind protested in denial, the hateful words were repeated relentlessly in her head, ravaging her already grieving heart. She had heard the words from his own lips. There could be no denial.

The harrowing events of the day, coupled with this new devastating revelation were simply too much for Gilmith to cope with, and like any wounded animal, her prevailing instinct was to flee. She ran back down the corridor as swiftly and as quietly as possible so as not to make her presence known to the two men within. Once in her dress-chamber, she stopped briefly in order to collect her cloak, and then made her way quietly out of her husband's house, taking great pains to be unnoticed.

The irony of her actions did not completely pass her by – mother and daughter both taking leave in secret from their husbands within a day of one another – but an overriding sense of betrayal and despair left her little caring for opinions of her flight.

She felt it safe to believe that she would be little missed.