Sitting in the dark and the silence of the newly remodeled front room, Gilsel lifted a goblet to her lips, sipping slowly of the contents. She was not usually given to drinking, preferring to keep a clear mind, but the last few days had been difficult. As on each of them, so she had come home late this night, too late to take any real comfort from the presence of Ghali who, by the time she had trudged in through the door, had already been asleep in bed.
Her gaze drifted from the slightly ajar bedroom door, through which she could hear the soft sound of gentle snoring, down to the simple gold band that adorned her ring finger. Strange how that had come to pass...
After the debacle with Meary, Gilsel had been wary of her own relationship with Ghali. True, she had agreed to give him a chance, to let him try to prove to her that he could be trusted, that he wasn't what she had been told he was, that there could be a future for them. One chance, no more. His first step had been a promise to give up the poppy and though the process was still ongoing, she had been pleased with his resolve thus far. She had meant to watch him, to treat the situation alike a particularly unstable potion in the making - don't touch, lest it be ruined! - to think carefully through each step before taking it.
What power the man wielded to bring forth the spontaneity in her!
He had understood, accepted and even respected her refusal to share his bed in a less innocent sense. She had made no secret of the fact that her maidenhead was intact and she would not easily, or lightly, change that particular situation. She had been stern in her statement that, whilst she was aware the local culture was a lot less stringent in its morals, she would not compromise hers without being absolutely certain that he, and thus they, were worth it. He had agreed to her requirements for intimacy and had even seemed to find her stubbornness in this matter to be endearing.
Not that it had stopped him from finding many and varied ways to test her boundaries!
It had been on one such occasion that, driven to distraction by his attentions, she had pushed him away and jokingly offered a bargain; if he married her that very night, she would willingly go to his bed sans robe. She had expected him to refuse. She had expected him to make light of the suggestion and start behaving himself. She had not expected him to accept!
Certain that he was bluffing and refusing to have her own called, she had walked with him to the town hall of Bree. It had been alike a childish staring contest with neither willing to blink. Even when he had spoken to the officials, even when she had signed her name to the document, even when his had been signed alongside, they had continued to engage in that unspoken war of wills.
And just like that, with no forethought or planning, with no fanfare or ceremony, with no friends or family to bear witness, Lady Gilsel Arnenoth of Gondor had become the wife of Ghali, exiled variag of Khand.
How amusingly surreal!
Baingorn had not been pleased when she had, some weeks later, informed him of her nuptials. He had flatly swore to castrate her husband should he ever raise a hand to her and had ominously predicted that, since they had not spent a proper amount of time getting to know one another, their relationship would disintegrate in due time.
Was her brother correct? Perhaps so, but for the moment she could not bring herself to care. From a practical perspective, as long as she remained legally wed to Ghali, she could not be forced to marry that oaf back in Gondor. More than that, however, was the matter of how he made her feel.
That he engendered in her anything beyond the crushing hopelessness she had suffered for so long was a miracle in itself. That he made her smile, made her laugh, made her want to be near him, made her want to be his... that was something beyond mere words to her. He encouraged in her all that she had long since left behind, bringing forth her discarded joy, her impulsiveness, her flair. When near, it seemed to her that the world took on more colour, becoming instantly vibrant and alive where before it had been dull and decaying.
Would her sudden, unexpected and improvised marriage fail? In time, probably, but thus far she had no regrets. Thus far, she had enjoyed every moment of her time with him. Thus far she had achieved something she had never thought possible; she had found happiness in being a wife, and that was his doing. She would not give that up easily.
Gilsel took one more small sip of her wine before placing the half-empty goblet upon the table. Suddenly she did not feel the need for space. Suddenly she did not wish to be alone in the dark. A small smile played upon her lips as she made her way across the wooden floor and into the bedroom, shedding her hated black dress as she walked - the very one she wore to signify when she was on duty as a healer. She wouldn't need it again until the morning and sunrise was yet several hours away.
With a gentle touch and a soft murmur of intent, she woke her husband to bear her company until both would succumb to happy exhaustion.
