She stood in a room that was not hers, wearing a robe that was far too big for her. Hands clasped behind her back, she stared thoughtfully out of the window at the slowly passing night whilst behind her, upon the bed, lay the sleeping form of Ghali. Nothing untoward had happened between them, of course. She would not allow it and he would not press her. It was scandalous enough that she was here at all, never mind wearing his clothing, but at least she held the excuse of a healer taking care of a patient. He was, after all, injured even if it was only a few deep bruises and some self-inflicted clouding of the wits. Idiot,
Rather than dwell upon the now, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to the past, more specifically the events that had led to her being in such an amusingly improper position.
It had all started in Gondor, she supposed. That was where she had been born, after all. It had started the day that she had been informed of her future. Not asked, not consulted, informed. She would be going to Minas Tirith, to the Houses of Healing to train in the healing arts. A tender touch and an educated mind would certainly attract a high caliber of suitor when she came of age. At eleven years old, a future husband had been the last thing on her mind; she had been far too preoccupied with flowers and brightly coloured ribbons and tales of ancient heroism. Still, she had known better than to argue; she had often seen how that ended when her elder brother had done so and it had never worked in his favour. Mother had just been too strong-willed to allow anyone but herself to indulge in the last laugh.
Only days later had she been shipped off to the her new life. There had barely been time to say goodbye to her friends and siblings, and none at all to spare on farewells for her elder brother who had, yet again, incurred the wrath of their parents by doing something unbefitting his station and then daring to argue his case. Nevertheless, she had departed her home with hope in her heart. She was to go to Minas Tirith! The White City! With it's tree and it's high culture. Oh, the sights and the sounds she would soon face! Everything would be so new, so exciting and there would be so much more opportunity to learn, to study, to expand her mind and skills. This would truly be a wonderful time of her life!
How very rude her awakening had been.
Almost instantly she had been transformed from a noble's daughter into a drudge. Her belongings had been stripped from her, replaced by stark white or black gowns to be worn at the appropriate times and in the appropriate setting. There would be no more coloured ribbons for her thick black hair, no more elaborate or playful hairstyles either; a bun or a braid were the only styles permissible. Sensible shoes, short nails, no trinkets of any kind, nothing that may suggest even a hint of individuality between one novice and the next.
Every day had been the same. They were awoken several hours before dawn to eat, wash and gather herbs. They would then assist in the making of ointments or poultices, clean and roll the bandage strips, clean the work areas or the dormitory as their rotating duties dictated. Shortly after sunrise they would indulge in a little book study before being sent out to learn more practical matters alongside fully fledged healers and their patients for the most of the rest of the day. Evening was spent again with the study of books, and then they would be sent to their room come nightfall. With fifteen other girls occupying the same room, Gilsel usually stared at the ceiling long and hard, wishing for one or another to spontaneously combust whilst they prattled endlessly about what their future husbands would be like until eventually they would fall asleep with wistful little sighs, dreaming of a romantic future. Admittedly, at first she had joined in with their ceaseless yammering but that had soon ended.
She had always possessed a keen and quick mind so adaption to her new circumstance had been swift. Too swift and too full perhaps, for inside the first six months she had become bored and listless. With each day so rigidly structured, so similar in form and function to the one before, they all blurred into one. She studied hard, she learned fast; she had to. It was the only thing keeping her mind alive. As the years passed and the tedium ground down upon her, all that she had once been - a happy, bright, bubbly little girl with wistful daydreams of handsome knights atop shining chargers - was turned to dust and blown away by the incessant breath of despair.
Even the few things that she had found some joy in had been swiftly taken away. She had been forbidden to assist in any amputations after the first one for her tutors had decided that she had enjoyed the practise too much. She had then snuck into the distillery, going unnoticed in her experimentation over the course of several months and had, by the time of her discovery, concocted a high strength pain killer that had worked wonderfully and had very few side-effects. She had surreptitiously tested it upon patients both invalid and able and found that it worked wonders providing the imbiber took only a little per day and stayed away from alcohol, else the effects were quite spectacular. She had, of course, been severely reprimanded for her efforts once her tutors had discovered what she had done. It mattered not that it worked or that she had enjoyed the chance to use her own initiative for a change. Nothing was encouraged. Nothing outside of the chokingly strict rules was allowed. Over the course of nine years, this had killed her more surely than decapitation.
It had almost been a blessing when she had been recalled home following the "mysterious" illness of her mother.
She had returned a changed woman. Not that anyone had cared or even noticed. Her darling mother lay abed, after all, choking and spluttering, growing weaker by the day. If the little Lady seemed subdued or morose, it was surely because of her concern for her beloved matron. If she came across as cold and uncaring, it was only because she tried so hard not to show her worry and sorrow as any proper Lady would. In truth, Gilsel had felt none of that. She had arrived in Lossnarch only days before her mother died by which point there had been nothing that she could do to prevent it. Had she been called earlier she may have been able to devise a remedy for the poison that coursed through her mothers veins. Not that poison had been suspected by any but herself. Any attempt to speak her thoughts on the matter had been quickly dismissed as the paranoia of grief and unwitting delusions of a young healer eager to ply her trade. That alone might have been suspicious enough were it not for the sending away of Baingorn on a wild goose chase and how very swiftly her father had remarried after his wife had become a corpse.
Her youngest brother, ever a sharp wit, had seen how matters were progressing as swiftly as she. He had, without second thought or regret, renounced his birthright and returned to his beloved archives in Minas Tirith, sensibly choosing his life over lands and a title.
Meanwhile the suitors that Gilsel had been told of so many years before had never been allowed to call upon her. Rather, a "suitable" match had been chosen, again for her and without consultation. At nineteen years of age, she had been promised to a man several decades her senior with a figure alike a lump of dough, a countenance like melted candle wax and all the wit and charm of a squashed slug.
When, in absentia, Baingorn had been declared exiled on the most spurious of reasons, Gilsel saw her way out. Picking her times carefully that her new step-mother would be busy elsewhere, she had petitioned her father for a chance to see her big brother one last time. He needed to be informed of his fate and of mother's death after all and even with such a fraught relationship as he had with his parents, it would be far too cold and impersonal to simply send a letter. Better that this terrible news come from someone who loved him. Besides, had she not always been a good daughter? Had she not done all that was asked of her without complaint? Had she not always fulfilled the duty required?
With a promise that she would return to marry Lord Boredom and spend the rest of her life choking back her revulsion in order to provide him an heir, thus bringing their families - and ultimately their fortunes and influence - closer together, she was allowed to depart.
It was a promise that she had no intention of keeping.
