Sploosh!
Gwen gasped, lurching forward as the bucket of cold water rinsed out her hair.
"Sorry, miss, just one more," the maid said sweetly, picking up the bucket once more.
"I really don't think this is nece-" Gwen started before the cascade of soapy water nearly drowned her yet again. She growled, moving her auburn hair out of her eyes with both hands, glaring evilly at the maid whose name she had not been told.
"I'm afraid it is," she said, searching for towels to dry her charge off. "Your hair is very thick and very long." She picked up a chunk of hair and examined it. "And very dry."
"I think I can handle this myself, thank you!" Gwen said indignantly, wrenching her hair away.
"Very well, Miss," the maid said calmly. "Shall I pick out what you are to wear?"
Gwen shook her head, pointing to one of her bags. "My blue dress in there."
The maid obeyed, fetching the dress.
"Oh, no, no, no, this will not do!" She fretted. "It is much too plain!"
"What?" Gwen exclaimed, coming over to see for herself.
"Neither pearls nor lace adorn this dress," the maid sighed. "I will see what I can do."
Gwen rolled her eyes. This exactly why she did not want to be a lady. Too much fussing over clothes. "Well, I think it's quite alright!" She put her two cents worth in.
"Not for the Lord Denethor and his sons," the maid responded briskly.
~~~
A good twenty minutes later, Gwen was finally fitted into her gown, her hair curled, and had a wreath of pearls around her neck. The maid - whose name Gwen still had not bothered to ask for - had tightened the gown as much as it would, leaving Gwen gasping for air.
"Do you plan to suffocate me before my duties even begin?" She asked as she struggled to stand up.
"You will not suffocate," the maid said incredulously, as if Gwen had suggested flying to the moon.
Before Gwen could answer, a knock sounded. She went to answer it.
"Meredor!" She exclaimed. "You are my savior," she whispered.
Meredor laughed. "Has Limwen gone to the extremes yet again?"
'Limwen,' Gwen thought. 'So that is her name.'
"She means to suffocate me, I think," she said aloud.
"I'm simply doing my duty!" Limwen stated indignantly.
"We are just joking around, Limwen," Meredor laughed. "Do not take it to heart."
"Regardless of your intentions, my work is finished. She is ready to be presented."
"And a marvelous job you did! She is more than ready to meet the Steward." Meredor exclaimed as her took Gwen's hand and placed it on his arm. "Farewell, Limwen. Wish us luck."
~~~
The White City was even more beautiful during the night time. The levels of the city shown with torches, setting off a soft warm glow. The stars, though not nearly as many in number as back home, were like a million tiny diamonds encrusted into the black cloak that was the night sky. The moon was just rising, enormous and orange in color, behind the mountain.
It was truly a wonderful city to live in, to start anew in.
"This is it, eh?" Gwen asked as they made their way to the front court room. "My old life is behind me. My new life is just beginning."
"That is correct, m'lady," Meredor said as he led her to the large oaken door.
Clearing his throat, he knocked sharply three times on the door.
A voice could be heard from within: "Meredor, Squire of Gondor, presenting the Lady Gwennan of the Southern Woods."
The doors were flung open and Gwen and Meredor stepped through.
Gwen took in the sight. The court was enormous, with huge marble pillars surrounding the perimeter. They caught the rays of moonlight shooting up from the mountain, sending cold beams of light dancing on the crystal embedded walls. An illustrious velvet carpet lead straight up to the throne. On top of the throne sat the Steward of Gondor, the Lord Denethor himself. Two young men stood on either side if him. All were dressed regally, the two younger ones sporting the crest of their city on the tunics: The White Tree.
Meredor lead her up to the throne, bowing low.
"My lord," he adressed the sour looking Steward. "Permit me to introduce Lady Gwennan Alassë of the Southern Woods."
Gwen took that as her queue and curtsied, her skirts rippling out around her as she sunk to the floor.
Denethor nodded. "Meredor, you are excused." Meredor bowed once again, gave Gwen an encouraging smile, and left the castle.
"Well?" Denethor turned to Gwen. "You do have a tongue, do you not? Speak!"
"Forgive me, my lord," Gwen said, embarrassed. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."
"Yes... Well..." Denethor muttered as he clasped his hands behind his back and circled around Gwen, inspecting her. "Far too skinny, rather sharp cheekbones, extremely pale," he stood up to his full height. "And much too tall."
Gwen waited nervously, staring straight ahead and grasping her hands in front of her.
"I do not think you are a fit for this court," Denethor continued. "Much is left to be... Mmm... Perfected."
Though she had enough sense not to loose her tongue, her insides raged with indigence towards this nasty, sour man. She could feel her cheeks turning a dark rosy red with each second that ticked by.
"I don't know, Father," the one who looked to be the older of the two stated, turning to his father. "She is a fresh, new face. A spritely young thing. She might turn out just fine."
Denethor studied her from her seat. "What is your heritage? Do you have Elvish in your blood? Dwarf? I can not accept this."
"I do not, good sir, I am completely human," Gwen stated.
"Who are your parents?" Denethor continued his prodding.
"I am an orphan, my lord. I was raised by an older woman, Faerwyn Rindel."
Denethor stiffened, blinking several times at the mention of Faerwyn's name. "Faerwyn, did you say?" He asked bitterly.
"Yes, sir."
The Steward turned from her with an air of disgust, his face screwed up as if he were searching for the person who allowed her to step foot in his throne room. "I did not realize your heritage, girl. This Faerwyn you speak of was a maid of the lower levels of the city. Her kind was not fit to be a ranking lady of the court."
Gwen seethed, her teeth grinding together as she so desperately wanted to cry out.
"My son, Faramir, will escort you to your room for the night," he spoke again in his cruel, cold tone. "I will have to think about this news and decide your fate tomorrow." And with that, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
Gwen could not help but let her mouth drop open when Denethor turned his back towards her. How was this atmosphere any better than her little home in the woods?
The younger looking son stepped forward, bowing. "If you will follow me, my lady," he suggested warmly, offering his arm.
Gwen composed herself and smiled, graciously taking his arm, and together they walked out.
Denethor watched their retreating figures suspiciously. "Faerwyn, daughter of Rindel," he repeated, turning to his son.
"I'm sorry?"
"Correct my memory if I am wrong my son, but surely that is not the same Faerwyn that was your mother's maid?"
"It's highly unlikely," the son said. "You said so yourself she retired a good twenty years ago, going to live with family."
"I did, didn't I?" Denethor spoke softly.
"And she was far too old to have children as young as that girl."
"Yes..." Denethor mused, stroking the stubble on his chin thoughtfully.
Could it be?
Maybe his son was right.
That girl was gone, sent to an orphanage twenty years ago as a frail baby. She was most likely dead.
Or was she?