Unconquered by Rhapsody

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Unraveling

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Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking,
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves.

Author: 1 Corinthians 13:4-7

 

There was nothing but silence between them. Morwen stood silently, enduring the inquisitive hands of Melian whose touch seemed to irritate her. With all her garments gone there was nothing she could hide. She knew all too well that it had nothing to do with a woman’s touch, merely with the uneasy feeling of being locked inside a tomb. There had been many children’s tales about the dark stone prison of Morgoth: how it would enclose around you like a heavy blanket, forcing you to kneel down for darkness alone.

Hours before they had ridden hard for Menegroth, not only did they fear for being tracked by the enemy: it was the rain poured down on them relentlessly for more than an hour that made them drove their horses beyond their limits. They had travelled for weeks, escaping Dor-Lómin with no provisions and only the clothes that they wore. Despite being utterly soaked, she had not expected that once they would cross the stone bridge they would be taken underground immediately. Her ears had popped as a warning as the path slowly winded down and soon she started to miss parts of the conversations around her. Her daughter had taken it all in with youthful exuberance, firing questions at the guards who had been expecting them. Moments like these hurt her the most – not only because she preferred the blue skies above her head, even more so that her daughter was a perfect image of Húrin, her husband. He, like his daughter, would have enjoyed the rain.

For her there had never been much room for simple moments of joy in her childhood: her house was hunted, living as an outlaw’s daughter searching for safety. She had done all she could to spare her youngest from much grief. Once she had much patience with her children, her always energetic husband, and her kindred. Long she thought that this would help her weather it all, nay she no longer felt certain if it was ever enough. When the guards finally halted in front of what appeared to be the throne room, Morwen just snapped: the dark hallways emanated a chill and her clothes clung unto her body in an uncomfortable fashion. The pain in her ears had become unbearable and she wanted out, away from here to a dry and warm fire. They tried to calm her, but the more they touched her, the tighter the band around her head felt. It had not been the grand arrival she thought she would have as Beren’s kinswoman.

Before she could turn, a gentle voice stopped her: “Here take this and blow your nose.” The simple handkerchief with a lavender scent proved to be a simple remedy to relieve some of the pressure that had built up in her head. It at least took away one of her annoyances.

“That will be all, thank you. Please see to it that the Lady Nienor ….,” Morwen shook her head violently as her ears shut of all sounds and conversations around her. It all too soon returned painfully and she caught the last lines of what was said to her by one of the maidens: “… for I do think Lady Morwen is in need of more than refreshments, would you not?” Another loud plop made Morwen shake her head in confusion and she observed how her daughter was led away from her. All that stood in between her and the doors to the throne room stood a fay creature with long dark tresses. Melian, she assumed.

“I think you already have deduced who I am,” Melian answered with a smile and offered her an arm. “Come, your reaction to all of this is not new to me. Two of your house who have been here before reacted exactly the same. Your son never felt at ease here and as for my daughter’s husband… he preferred to have a roof of leaf above his head.”

Morwen silently nodded to this quick introduction and fell into Melian’s step. The Lady of Doriath chatted amicably while they crossed a myriad of paths in these dungeons and as the pressure on her ears seemingly faded away, she allowed herself to take in the environment. The walls appeared to be covered with sceneries of mosaic, some she recognised from the wise woman Andreth’s tales. She halted for a moment at the portrayal of two magnificent trees whose long branches even covered the ceiling above her.

“Telperion and Laurelin. They were a beauty to behold.” Melian explained, “Crafts woman Nili tried her best to capture them, but it still remains a copy to me.”

“They must have been magnificent.” Morwen uttered and tore her gaze away to meet the eyes of her hostess.

“They were. Come, Lady of Dor-Lómin, we are almost there.” Melian gently squeezed her wrist and moved onwards. More splendour was to be seen and Morwen saw hunts, hills with flowers where bright ladies danced free with wildlife as men watched them. She never noticed that a door was opened for her, and nearly tripped over the doorstep. As she managed to catch her footing she grasped the rim of a silver basin and quickly stole a glance at a large table in an open space.

“Not a very gallant first impression to make,” A silvery voice said and Morwen met the grey eyes of a tall lady whose long golden tresses shone in the light of the cave.

“Ah, let her be Artanis. She had a miserable journey here. Would you be so kind and ask Dorea to fetch some of my clothes. The lady Morwen has my size and could do very well with a dry set of clothes.” Melian chided the golden lady.

“You must forgive her, her kindred are very… outspoken, but she is a great pupil.” Her hostess said. “Welcome to my hall.”

Morwen simply stood there, drinking in the scenery. She thought that she could hear nightingales singing in this mighty hall where the dome above her seemed to reflect the night sky. Slowly she turned around, gazing at the details of a garden cut out of stone; and there was a fountain of silver, and a basin of marble. The floor seemed to be covered by many-coloured stones. Yet her gaze was drawn to the table again where a land had been built covered by small cabins, trees and other miniatures.

“Your son was fascinated by my table as well, yet little did he understand the workings behind it. Celeborn made a copy for him, but one of his homeland. It gave your son comfort when it all became too much. During his good days, he loved to play with his armies.” Morwen ignored the pang of guilt when Melian explained how her son had spent his time here. She wanted to ask more, but servants burst into the room with towels, clothes, and pitchers with warm water.

Both waited patiently until all had been set down and they were left alone once more.  To what Morwen had earned this private audience with the Queen herself, she did not know, but a chill crept over her and she wanted to shed her shoddy garment as soon as she could. The perfect moment arrived quickly: her hostess turned away from her to study her table. Never before was she so reminded of her old age as she tried to undo her clasp: her fingers ached after being exposed to the cold for so long and it took her several tries to open it. Once her cape fell down, Melian turned around.

“Forgive my rudeness, you must feel very cold. Let me help you.”

And how does one deny the helping hand of a Queen so mighty? Morwen could not and allowed the lady to help her. Melian made quick work of her dress and much to her relief said nothing once the shift beneath it followed suit.

“Where is the towel? Ah, they warmed it, smart girls.” Then there was silence and Morwen kept her gaze fixed to a chair close to her waiting for the Queen to pass her judgement at what she should see now.

“How long have you endured this? I am no skilled healer, but some wounds still need to be tended.” Melian broke the silence while she gently wrapped a towel around her exposed back.

“I will be fine. So far I have seen to it myself. I brought some of my own yarrow salve and found some leaves to make some extra poultice.” The tall lady replied as she hugged the comfortable fabric around her and shuffled away from the Maia.

“Morwen…” It was clear that Melian did demand an answer.

“Fine, if you must know: For twenty years.” Morwen cut her off abruptly and stepped behind the other side of table. “They could not wait for Nienor to be weaned properly. I was lucky to be spared that long.”

Melian sighed deeply, silently wondering about the stubbornness of the House of Beor. Long she had wondered about the boy’s mood, but it was quite clear he had been his mother’s son in many ways. News from Dor-Lómin had been very scarce and what Túrin’s guards had told her then was that life had been hard on her.

“I did summon you to come here, especially after what Gethron and Grithnir shared with us about the fate of your people. It grieved your son when you did not join him here, perhaps he did not know of his little sister’s impending birth.” Melian said as she picked up one of the archer’s miniatures. She studied it briefly and settled it down on the map. “So it happened to you as well?”

“That and more.” Morwen sighed, stilling sudden thoughts about her son’s whereabouts. “Nienor was so small; I could not risk losing her while travelling. I knew Turin would be safe here. Sheltered and spared the anguish of our people. What would you have me do then? I had no idea what Brodda dared to do next. I was too naïve, I thought I was untouchable.”

“The two guards said as much,” Melian replied and draped the shift over a chair, a woollen dress over another, “I have heard some of the tales that the Lady of Dor-Lómin was to be feared. Untouchable and those near to her would come to no harm. With that air, your son carried himself proudly here.”

To that Morwen allowed herself a smile. “For as long as he saw fit. My kinswoman’s influence was strong.”

“Not strong enough.”

“No.”

“But how?”

“Must you really know?”

“I was once told that if you speak about this, it will open the door to healing. You carry too many scars, Morwen; I cannot even start to imagine how you could have survived this.” Melian spoke firmly and observed her quarry closely. “It would be wise to dress yourself.”

Morwen said nothing at first and then curtly nodded. The Queen meant well, but this was something she would rather leave behind her: In the past where it should be. No words were exchanged until Morwen had properly covered herself and she felt grateful for the offered comfort. What harm could it possibly do, she wondered, and finally fastened the brooch of her woollen dress on her shoulder.

For a brief moment she allowed herself to remember. “Just once then, if you think some healing can be found. Promise me that he will never find out. If any is true about him what I heard so far, he could put our people in great danger.”