Gilfaer (Sindarin for 'bright spirit')
Gilfaer is the shade of a valiant but perhaps overly-committed servant of the family who swore a rather strong oath to defend the family vault against intruders. She will be spooky and mysterious, she's a shade in a spooky place after all. :) Atmosphere! She may be a bit cranky, or simply have been through so many harrowing years as a shade that she's not entirely well. She's dedicated though. Very, very dedicated. She swore an Oath, which is why she's _still_ guarding the vault so many years after her death.
Gilfaer was once a dedicated, young, and somewhat shy servant of Lady Itheldar. Gilfaer began life elsewhere and came into the Itheldars' employ during the time of the plague that ravaged Gondor and Cardolan. I would like her to have been fiercely grateful to the family for taking her (and possibly her surviving child) is and treating her well. This sets her up for her oath later. She might have taken to the duties of a chaperone/ guardian, giving her that mentality about the family, protective, putting the family before her own safety. Maybe the Lady of the House adopted her sister's orphaned infant- another reason to bind herself strongly in their service.
She was once exhorted by Lady Itheldar to sing something- out flowed this swift ballad from some forgotten hill country from whence her family came and struck the Lady sweetly. There is a song that is handed down to the children of each generation, and those of the House will know it.
On this first visit she simply does not believe that representatives of House Itheldar have finally returned to claim entry. She'll be a bit bitter and haughty and demand that if we really are with the House, we'll know what the rest of the song is. She then sings the first line or two of our song and vanishes. She doesn't really expect anyone to be able to reply.
Silent is the House-all are laid asleep;
One, alone, looks out o'er the snow wreaths deep;
Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
That whirls the 'wildering drifts and bends the groaning trees.
Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor;
Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;
The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far;
I trim it well to be the Wanderer's guiding-star.
Frown, my haughty sire; chide, my angry dame;
Set your slaves to spy, threaten me with shame:
But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serf shall know
What angel nightly tracks that waste of winter snow.
What I love shall come like visitant of air,
Safe in secret power from lurking human snare;
Who loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray,
Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay.
Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear
Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:
He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me;
Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy.