I own nothing.
As a rule, Morwen did not like visiting. She didn't particularly like meeting new people, even if those people were members of her own family. There were few exceptions to that rule—they had been her cousin Beren and her new sister, Calwen—and Morwen did not like it when someone tried to force her to meet someone new, not at all.
"Oh, Morwen, you know your mother's tired!" Beren told her as they walked through the settlement, towards a house with shuttered windows at the very edge of the settlement. "You've got to give her some time to rest with the baby."
Morwen tried to pull her hand from her cousin's grasp, frowning when her attempts inevitably met with failure. "Why can't we go out into the woods, then?" she protested crossly. "I don't want to go visiting."
Beren smiled encouragingly down at her. "It will be alright, Morwen. You'll like Aunt Andreth, I promise you."
Morwen frowned up at him. She'd heard her parents and aunts and uncles talking. From what she could tell, Aunt Andreth didn't even like children all that much, and considering Morwen had never met her before, Andreth didn't seem to like visiting any more than Morwen did. However, Morwen had never known Beren to lie to her or try to soften things because she was a child, so she would trust him on this matter.
Still, Morwen would have preferred to be away from the settlement and the people who lived there, if she was given a choice in the matter. She was at her happiest when she was alone, especially away from strangers.
When they reached the house, Beren let himself in without bothering to knock. "Aunt Andreth!" he called into the house, going to look for their aunt, while Morwen lingered near the doorway, drinking in the sight of the front room.
The front room was rather more bare than that of most other houses. It was a small, narrow room with no rug (not even the undyed ones the poorest people would have in their front rooms); several pairs of shoes were piled near the door, and a broom rested against the wall. Morwen could only assume that Beren came here often if he was willing to barge past the front room without permission, though she couldn't help but notice that he had neglected to remove his shoes.
"Morwen?" she eventually heard her cousin calling for her from a room off to the right. "You can come back here now."
Morwen was careful to take off her shoes before she left the room. She had no intention of tracking mud through someone else's house, especially not the house of a stranger.
The room Morwen found Beren and Andreth in had all the shutters drawn shut over the windows, sunlight slanting in through the cracks. There were a great many books, indeed, more books than Morwen had ever seen in her life, piled into shelves up against the walls. A sleek gray tabby cat lied sleeping on the table, long tail twitching languidly.
Beren was sitting in a chair near the door, shoes sitting at his side, but Morwen found her gaze inexorably drawn to the woman sitting by the table. Andreth's hair was white and brittle, her skin pale and heavily lined, but her brown eyes were still clear, her gaze keen as she looked Morwen over. Morwen had been told from time to time that she was wont to stare and that her stare could be a touch unnerving, but it took not long at all for Morwen to start wanting to fidget under Andreth's gaze. She stood still, though, and met Andreth's stare squarely, waiting for her kinswoman to speak.
"Well," Andreth said finally. "Your father said you'd be by."
Morwen nodded, never breaking eye contact with Andreth. "Yes. My name is Morwen."
Andreth's lip twitched slightly. "I know your name, child. Come sit down; there's plenty of space."
Morwen clambered into an empty chair, situated between Andreth and Beren and clearly too big for a child to sit in—though it wasn't like Morwen had seen any child-sized chairs when she walked through the house. She chanced a glance at Beren, who caught her gaze and smiled slightly. "Aunt Andreth? I don't think Morwen has heard any of your tales before."
"No, she hasn't," Andreth agreed, and just as Morwen was going to protest that they shouldn't talk over her head, Andreth directed her gaze back at Morwen and remarked, "I wonder if you would like any of my tales, though."
To that, Morwen could only shrug and reply, "Well, I don't know. I've never heard any of your tales before."
Andreth laughed loudly at that; Morwen jumped, startled at the noise, the cat opened its amber eyes and stared discontentedly at Andreth, and even Beren looked a little surprised. "Well," Andreth managed, once the laughter die out of her voice, "it's been a while since I've been spoken to so frankly, especially by one so young. Here is a tale for you to ponder and remember."
Andreth began her tale, lowering her voice so that Morwen almost had to strain to hear her. However, Andreth's voice was so hypnotic that before long Morwen found herself so engrossed that she forgot entirely her irritation at being made to visit with a stranger.
Long ago, before the House of Bëor reacted Beleriand, they stopped and formed a settlement in the land east of the Ered Luin. In their settlement was a woman who was steeped in the lore of her people, wise and learned in lore and in magic. There she lived, beloved woman, wife and mother to many wise and blessed children. She taught her children to always go out into the world with clear eyes and clear heart, unafraid of toil or danger. These lessons they took to heart, and as the years wore on the woman's children grew to wise adults.
Then, a Shadow fell upon the village. The crops withered; the livestock sickened. The well-water soured, the water in the nearby spring and river both blackened and made anyone who drank it sick unto death. The sky grew dark and foul with smoke, and the village knew that the Enemy had at last discovered them after they fled his dominion in Hildórien.
A cold pall of fear fell over the Edain. Was it one of the Enemy's servants who was causing all of this, or was it the Enemy himself? What would become of them, if they were once again ensnared? They feared the specter of returning to cruel servitude as it had been in the beginning, and feared death yet more. The Enemy is not merciful, after all, and has even less pity for escaped thralls than for his greatest of foes.
While the men argued over what was to be done, the woman gathered supplies and set off in secret to track down the source of the village's suffering. She traveled three days east until she found a dense, dark forest filled with trees blackened and gnarled by the Shadow and creatures with large, glassy eyes who scuttled away from the light. The woods were dark and deep, clouded with smoke, but the Star-guider shone upon her and gave her light to mark her path.
In this forest, the woman found the Great Bat, one of the Enemy's greatest servants, casting spells and enchantments to bring misery down on the House of Bëor. The woman and the Bat did battle for a day and a night, wrestling fiercely for the fate of the village. The Bat spun darkness to cloud the woman's vision, but the Star-guider cast light down upon the forest to clear the woman's eyes, and she sang spells to banish the Shadow on the village and send the Bat scurrying back to her master.
Eventually, the woman prevailed and the Great Bat was forced to flee, but for the woman, victory was a fleeting thing—as the Great Bat made to fly away, she turned about and slashed the woman's throat with one of her claws.
When the Shadow lifted from the village, the woman's family at last noticed she was missing, and set out into the countryside to look for her. They found her with ease, their paths lighted by the Star-guider, and with great lamentation, they brought their beloved woman back to the village, where she was laid to rest.
When the story drew to a close, Morwen blinked and frowned at Andreth, saying nothing.
Andreth raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, Morwen? Have you nothing to say?"
"Well… Yes." Morwen tugged at a loose thread on her sleeve as she asked, "If this was before Balan met Nóm, why are you calling them the House of Bëor? And why are you calling them 'Edain' if they haven't met the Noldor yet?"
"Those are typical conceits of story-telling, Morwen," Andreth replied briskly. "Have you any other questions?"
Morwen had no idea what the word 'conceit' meant, but had no desire to let Andreth know that. So: "If the woman went off by herself to fight the Great Bat, how does anyone know what happened to her?"
"Hmm…" Andreth tapped her chin with a long finger. "Well, no one knows. That much has been lost to history. Anything else?"
Morwen nodded. She had liked the story (something that surprised Morwen, considering how unhappy she'd been with having to come here in the first place) but there was something about it that, above everything else, had been bothering her since first she heard it. "I thought the Edain didn't have any magic."
Andreth lowered her head and made a quiet, laugh-like noise in the back of her throat. When she looked up, her mouth was quirking in some wry half-smile, and the look in her eyes was not exactly bitter, but it was not peaceful, either. "No, the Edain do not have magic, Morwen. But once, long ago, we did."
Now, Morwen found her curiosity piqued even further. "What happened to it?"
"That would be a question for another day, Morwen—if you do decide to return."
-0-0-0-
To the surprise of Morwen's parents (though not Beren), Morwen did indeed go to visit Andreth again, more and more frequently as the months wore on.
Andreth's tales were, Morwen would admit readily enough, not the only thing drawing her to her aunt's house. The house was invariably quiet, a haven from the noise of the settlement—Andreth's few visitors were hardly the rambunctious sort. There were many strange, exotic things in Andreth's house as well—an oil lamp with a stained glass casing from Nargothrond, a horse statuette with blue and black-veined turquoise eyes from Dor-lómin, a braided rug with the bright red, yellow and black geometric patterns which Andreth told her was typical of the Haladin—which Morwen examined with great interest. She had developed some fondness for Andreth's tabby cat as well; the cat was a young male, one that still expressed a kittenish penchant for play.
Morwen and Andreth developed a routine comfortable for them both. When Morwen came to visit, Andreth would tell her stories of any kind—folk tales, fairy tales, "true tales", and even riddle stories (The kind that, though Morwen did not admit it, was her favorite). Those tales largely dealt with the Edain, though occasionally Andreth would tell a tale of the Noldor, or the spirits of the earth.
"Do you know the answer to this riddle, Morwen?"
"Do you have any questions, Morwen?"
Andreth was at her happiest when Morwen knew the answers to her riddles, and when Morwen had questions about the other tales she heard. As to the former, if Morwen didn't know the answer, Andreth would sigh slightly and first tell Morwen to think about it more, and if Morwen still did not know the answer, Andreth explained the riddle in its entirety to Morwen. Andreth was generally more willing to explain things fully to Morwen than most of the adults she knew. According to her parents, Morwen asked so many questions that there wasn't enough breath in their lungs to answer her, but Andreth seemed to like nothing better than questions.
Indeed, Andreth would grow almost offended if she concluded one of her tales and Morwen did not have questions for her. "Do you intend to stumble through life like that, understanding nothing?" she would ask, not outright aggressively, but sharply enough that Morwen would bristle and retort:
"No! I just don't know what to say about it right now."
Andreth's eyes gleamed, and she smiled slightly as she said, "Then keep thinking, Morwen, and keep asking questions. Never stop. Never assume that you understand the world as you see it."
"…I… won't, Andreth."
-0-0-0-
The summer had come unusually hot for Ladros. Anyone who did not have work that bound them to the house or the field had fled to the shaded glades and stream banks, seeking respite from the heat.
Morwen had not gone so far as that. Her mother had shoved her and little Calwen out of the house to make room for Aunt Anneth and newborn Rían, the former of whom was still ailing after childbirth. Morwen would have liked to stay behind, even in the stuffy house—she did like Aunt Anneth, and was actually curious about her new cousin—but Thíngwen insisted that Anneth and Rían be given peace.
"Can you walk to me?" Morwen asked her sister, and was hardly surprised when she got no response. Calwen was of an age to be walking now, but she'd hardly said anything that wasn't babbling, and certainly not to Morwen.
Morwen had sat her sister in front of her in the grass, and crouched before Calwen with her arms outstretched. "Come on, Calwen. Can't you walk to me?"
Calwen remained quite firmly seated upon the ground, blinking innocently up at her sister. Morwen frowned and flopped onto the ground, sighing exasperatedly. "Are you always going to be so difficult?" she muttered, only half-seriously. Morwen propped her chin on her fist. Then, she plucked a blade of grass and flicked it at Calwen. The toddler only sneezed.
It's too hot for this, Morwen though, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her sweaty face. I'd rather go swimming than just sit here. But Mother told me not to leave Calwen alone, and Calwen can't swim. I wonder if Beren would come with us…
"Morwen!"
Morwen perked up when she heard her father calling her name. Squinting against the bright sunlight, Morwen saw her father waving at her from atop a nearby hill. She stood and stared curiously when she realized that Andreth was with him, her arm tucked through Baragund's, her long white braid draped over her shoulder.
Baragund and Andreth's progress down the hill was slow—the hill was steep, and though Andreth still stood tall and straight, her steps were not as sure as her nephew's. When they reached the two girls, Baragund unlocked his arm from his aunt's and pulled little Calwen into his arms with a smile. Morwen remembered with some disquiet her father telling her that she was too big now for him to do the same with her, but didn't comment on it. It seemed useless.
"Hello, my little flower," Baragund murmured to his younger daughter, before addressing his elder, "Morwen, your aunt and I have been talking. You seem to enjoy spending time with Andreth, and well…" He trailed off, and looked to Andreth to continue.
"Thank you, Baragund," Andreth said with a slightly wry note in her voice. "I think I can say the rest myself." She bent down in front of Morwen, wincing as she did so, though unlike Grandfather Bregolas, she didn't make a show of her stiff legs with a theatrical sigh; she only furrowed her brow in irritation and rubbed briefly at her knees with her hands. Andreth's gaze bore into Morwen's face as she went on, "Morwen, the wisdom of the House of Bëor is not something widely disseminated. It would be simple enough for someone to learn from the texts after I died, but if not actively taught, it will fade away eventually.
"I, unfortunately, have put off finding a student for far too long." Andreth grimaced. "You'll find that procrastination is a commonplace failing. However, I'm not dead yet, and it seems to me that you have the temperament to learn the wisdom of our House. Well, Morwen?" If it was even possible, it seemed that Andreth's gaze had become even more piercing than before. "Will you learn the wisdom of our House?"
To become a Wise-woman was a great honor among the Edain, even the Haladin who did not record their histories in any books, and even Morwen, young as she was, knew that. Her heart leapt at the idea of learning more from Andreth, and even more so at the idea of learning the secret knowledge of the House of Bëor. But she instead nodded very seriously, refusing to smile. "Yes, I will. Thank you very much."
-0-0-0-
Of course, it wasn't as though Morwen could go to learn from Andreth every day (Or even every week, for that matter). Her mother needed her at home, to help with chores and looking after the younger children in their extended family (Mostly Calwen and Rían, since Morwen couldn't stand Aunt Beleth's twin sons and made no pretense of hiding it). Andreth had outright told her that she didn't expect to see Morwen every day—"At your age I was doing much more sewing and churning than I was learning Adanel's lore."
But whenever she could find a moment to slip away from her home, Morwen walked across the settlement to Andreth's house, knocking upon the door and calling for her teacher.
"Andreth? Andreth?"
The days spent with Andreth were often like this. They were less of listening to stories and more of reading dry histories, records of the Edain stretching from the time the House of Bëor entered Beleriand to the present day, or records of the Noldor since their earliest days at the Waters. Morwen had learned some interesting things, certainly—the histories of the Edain were interspersed with anecdotes about her ancestors which Morwen found fascinating, and it was somehow comforting to know that the Elves' origins were not all that dissimilar from Men's.
But truth be told, Morwen hadn't entirely expected it to be like this. In retrospect she realized that she'd been blowing things out of proportion, but Morwen had thought at first that everything she learned would be some dark, terrible secret of Men's. It wasn't like that at all. I suppose that if months can pass by here without anything really happening, it must have been the same in the past as well, Morwen admitted ruefully to herself. I should have expected it. She wouldn't complain. It meant too much to be here, doing this.
Andreth looked away from her window, eyebrows raised. "Have you finished reading the section I gave you, Morwen?"
Normally, they would both spend the time in Andreth's study among her books, so that Andreth could answer any question Morwen might have had. But Andreth had been ill recently, and so tired that she spent much of the day, most days, in bed. She said she'd soon be well enough again to stay in the study with Morwen, but the sight of Andreth sitting up in her bed in broad daylight still bothered Morwen deeply.
"Yes, Andreth; I've finished it. I was wondering about something else, though…"
"Oh? And what is that?"
"This." Morwen held up a book she'd found sitting out on Andreth's desk. Its cover was an unassuming enough brown leather, but it was much slimmer than most of the other tomes in Andreth's library. It wasn't labeled as the others were and, most curiously, was held shut with two crisscrossing leather bands. Truth be told, Morwen likely wouldn't have paid it any mind if not for the fact that it was bound shut. "What is this book?"
When Andreth saw what Morwen was holding, her face darkened. "You've not read any of that, have you?" she asked sharply.
Morwen's shoulders stiffened defensively. "No; I didn't think you wanted me to read this if you have it bound shut. I just wanted to know what's in it."
At the assurance that Morwen hadn't looked inside of the book, the shadow left Andreth's face. She leaned back in her bed and sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Good," she murmured. When she looked at Morwen, she looked tired, the expression in her eyes a heavy one. "There are many things the Wise have knowledge of that the rest know naught. You, Morwen, will learn many things fit to darken your mind and leaden your heart. However, it's far too early for you to learn such things. Give me that book, Morwen," she said quietly.
Morwen did so, and watched silently as Andreth put the book away in a drawer beside her bed. Her brow furrowed. What could possibly be in that book to provoke such a reaction from Andreth? I won't falter, no matter how terrible the things you teach me, Morwen wanted to say, but the words shriveled and died in her mouth.
Suddenly, Andreth smiled (too bright), and patted the empty space on the bed beside her. "Come sit here, and tell me what you've learned."
For the rest of the day, Morwen would try to put the incident out of her mind. But her heart was troubled, and her mind kept going back to what Andreth had said.
-0-0-0-
The House of Bëor held Ladros as a fief bestowed upon them by the lords of the Noldor in exchange for service in times of war. Morwen, though she'd heard stories of them from her father, her uncles and from Beren, had never actually met an Elf. She was a little inclined to be skeptical of Uncle Barahir's stories in particular—he'd have her believe that all the Noldor had flames for eyes and voices to charm the stars down from the skies. But no one else's stories made much more sense.
For the first ten years of her life, Morwen never once laid eyes on an Elf. Then, one morning, she woke to find the town all abuzz, and horsemen flying the standard of Nargothrond gathered just north of the town.
Morwen ran to Andreth's house, an uncharacteristic thrill of excitement running through her veins. She barely stopped to take off her shoes in her teacher's front room before heading for the study. "Andreth?! Andreth! Have you seen…"
She reached Andreth's study, only to trail off lamely, and stared.
Andreth was not alone in the study. The presence of a stranger in her house would have been enough by itself to make Morwen stare—Andreth had only rarely received visitors in all the time Morwen had been learning from her, and then only ever from a family member. But this stranger…
Though he sat in a chair, Morwen could tell that this man was far taller than any of the men of her House. His clothes were fine, gold glinting at his ears, throat and wrists (he still wore his boots); his hair, a bright gold exceedingly rare among the House of Bëor, spilled freely down his back as a woman's would. He seemed to draw all the light in the room to him, leaving Morwen and Andreth in shadow—almost as though the light of a candle was being drawn to a moth, instead of the other way around. When he looked about at her, startled, Morwen saw that his eyes gleamed like hot coals. An Elf.
The Elf stood from his chair, and though he was smiling, the look of confusion on his face was palpable. He said something in Sindarin; Morwen couldn't catch all of the words—he was speaking far too quickly for that—but she thought she heard the words 'child' and 'parents' in among them. Morwen could not respond, either in Sindarin or in her own cradle tongue. She found herself struck dumb under this Elf-man's gaze, utterly unable to speak or move. What is he doing here?
Then, Andreth frowned up at the Elf, almost glaring at him, and laid a hand on his arm. "Lord—Finrod," she said tersely, still frowning. "Morwen is not an Elven child."
The Elf—Finrod?! Does she mean Nóm?!—looked away from Morwen, and finally the girl was able to move again. Morwen skirted around the edge of the room until she came to stand behind Andreth's chair, knuckles white on its back as she stared past Andreth's shoulder at her teacher's visitor.
Slowly, Finrod nodded, and his bright eyes cleared. "No, I see that she is not."
Andreth snorted. "And you say that my eyesight has grown dim. I did not know it was so easy for one of the High Elves to mistake a child of the Edain for one of their own."
Finrod's mouth twisted wryly. "The people of your House often resemble the Eldar, at least outwardly. Children, especially. I doubt I am the first to have made such an error. I can see now that she is not."
"I'm still here," Morwen muttered, scowling at them both but pulling even closer to Andreth, peeking out from behind the old woman's head at Finrod.
"Indeed." Andreth looked back at Morwen, speaking directly to her for the first time. There was an odd stiffness in her voice Morwen had never heard there before. "Morwen, this is Lord Finrod, King of Nargothrond. Greet him."
Morwen could hardly mistake the tension in the air, emanating from Andreth and, to a lesser extent, from Finrod as well. She did not smile, and her grip on the back of the chair tightened, but nonetheless she nodded to the Elven king and murmured a "Good morning." She had no idea just what it was she was supposed to do when greeting a king. Was she to bow or curtsey? Kiss his hand as she occasionally saw visitors do with her grandfather? Whatever it was, Finrod would have to be content with this.
He didn't seem offended, though. Finrod smiled, rather more warmly than he had at the first. "Good morning to you as well. I believe Andreth said your name was Morwen?"
"She's my niece," Andreth interjected, pressing her hands down on her lap. "And my student."
Just like that, Morwen found herself being spoken over once again. Finrod raised a quizzical eyebrow at Andreth. "Your student? You always said to me that you would not take a student."
Is that what she said to him? Morwen wondered, still marveling at the fact that her teacher actually knew Finrod at all. Didn't she say to me that she'd put it off for too long?
"Yes, well, I reconsidered my position," Andreth explained with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I know you've also found that your opinions can change."
Finrod actually looked a little uncomfortable at that; the light gathering around him shivered and quaked. "…Indeed," he murmured, looking away. Then, Finrod looked back at the two of them, Andreth and Morwen, and affixed another bright smile to his face. "Well, I must take my leave of you both." He began to walk out of the room, the light following behind him.
"You won't stay?" Andreth asked, but Morwen thought she sounded as though she wasn't entirely unhappy Finrod was leaving.
He stopped at the doorway. "No, Andreth. I'm needed in the north."
"Ah." Andreth's voice was decidedly brittle.
With that, Finrod left. With his departure, light flooded back into the room, no longer drawn to that one point. Morwen let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding in.
-0-0-0-
"You never told me you knew Nóm."
"Oh? I would have thought you'd know. Finrod's visits were always the talk of the town."
Morwen frowned a little. "No one's ever mentioned them to me."
"And the last time he visited was before you were born." Andreth finished her thought with a brisk nod of the head. "I see."
Morwen's frown deepened as she looked more closely at Andreth. She was sitting far more stiffly in her chair than she usually did. Her slightly shaking hands clutched at her skirt. Morwen took a step forward, brow furrowed in concern. "Andreth… Are you alright?"
Andreth's head snapped up. Morwen nearly took a step back when she saw the look in Andreth's eyes, one of jagged pain and deep, bitter anger. "What?" Her eyes cleared (But Morwen would remember that look, always). "Oh, yes, child; I'm fine." Morwen drew closer, putting her hands over Andreth's in a vain attempt to keep them from shaking. "He's not always kind," Andreth muttered, mouth set in a thin, ambivalent line. "And he certainly knows how to put his foot in his mouth. But still… You have to worry about him."
-0-0-0-
(For reasons Morwen would never understand, Andreth seemed to think that Finrod mistaking her for an Elven child was something she needed to share with the rest of their family. The amount of joking and wonderment that followed nearly drove Morwen out of her mind with embarrassment. Finrod himself said that Bëorian children were like in appearance to the Noldor. Was it really such a shock, then, that he would take her for one as well?
Her father took to calling her 'Eledhwen.' Morwen didn't know why, but this didn't bother her quite as much as the rest of it.)
-0-0-0-
Morwen preferred to study in silence. It was far easier for her to concentrate when she could hear nothing but her own breathing or the wind beating on the exterior of Andreth's home. Andreth seemed to understand this—when Morwen was set to studying assigned texts, Andreth would say nothing unless Morwen approached her first.
Now, especially, Morwen appreciated that silence. There was a strange feeling of tension lying over the town, blown in on a cold autumn breeze. The women whispered amongst themselves and the men gathered in silent, unsmiling groups, clutching at their forearms, knuckles white. As much sound as a door slamming was enough to make her jump.
I wish someone would tell me what's going on.
"Morwen? Morwen!"
As much as Morwen did genuinely enjoy the company of her sister Calwen and their cousin Rían, when she heard their voices echoing through Andreth's house, saw their faces peek around the door to Andreth's study, all she could do was jump and glare at them. "What do you want?" she muttered, running a hand through her hair. She wasn't facing Andreth, but she could only imagine the look on Andreth's face.
"You know lots of stories, don't you Morwen?" Calwen asked her with a bright smile. Standing just behind her, Rían bobbed her head up and down, grinning ear to ear. "Beren says you know lots of stories."
"Beren said…" Morwen's gaze was drawn to the space above Calwen and Rían's heads. There stood Beren, smiling just a touch sheepishly down at her. He brought them here? Traitor! He knows I can't read with people talking to me!
Her anger must have shown on her face, because Beren held his hands up as he edged into the room. Morwen thought his smile looked just a touch strained. "Don't be angry, Morwen; we won't be long. I just need to speak to Aunt Andreth."
Once Beren walked past them, Calwen and Rían swarmed Morwen's chair—standing far too close for comfort, if you asked Morwen, though she'd note that no one was. "Please tell us a story, Morwen," Rían begged her, staring up at her cousin with imploring gray eyes.
"Please, Morwen," Calwen added. "You never tell us any stories; you must know so many!"
Morwen felt her face grow warm, angry words rising in her throat. She would have liked to have yelled at them—how many times had she said for them not to bother her while she was reading?!—but she knew that wouldn't go over well with her parents or her aunt and uncle, and she didn't really want to make Calwen or Rían cry. So instead, Morwen took a deep breath, and said, as calmly as she could, "Not right now, Calwen, Rían. I'm trying to study. I promise I'll tell you some stories when I'm done." In the meantime, she'd have to think of a story her mother wouldn't scold her for telling to such young children.
"But Morwen…"
"No buts!"
Morwen scowled at the two younger girls, but before she could say anything more, she caught the strains of Andreth and Beren's hushed conversation on the other side of the room.
"…been an increase in the number of orc raids near the border with Ard-galen," Beren muttered, leaning low over Andreth. His jaw was set, and there was a hard expression on his face that Morwen had never seen there before.
Calwen and Rían trailed off, staring anxiously over at the adults—Beren hadn't been quite quiet enough to keep his words from reaching their ears.
Andreth's brow was knit as she nodded choppily. "I see. And what is to be done about that?"
"I don't know yet. Da and Uncle are trying to decide if they should send—"
"Children!" Andreth exclaimed, turning her gaze to the three of them (She must have noticed we were watching). She smiled too-widely and beckoned to them. "Calwen, Rían, you wanted to hear a story, didn't you? You must leave Morwen be for now; I'll tell you a quick story before you have to leave."
Morwen found it impossible to concentrate on her reading after that—though not because the silence had been broken.
-0-0-0-
Morwen awoke coughing.
Coughing quickly turned to wheezing. Morwen fell out of bed, collapsing to her knees on the icy floor, struggling to breathe through the foul smoke that flooded her bedroom. What's happening? her desperate mind wondered, as Morwen clutched at her throat with scrabbling hands. Her eyes stung horribly. Is the house on fire?
When she finally found her voice again, Morwen called out for her parents. "Father?" she cried out. "Mother?"
There came no answer. Morwen struggled to her feet, still gagging on the noxious smoke, and reached for a shawl to wrap around her shoulders. "Calwen? A… Are you… still here?"
She heard nothing from her sister either, but Morwen would not take chances. She stumbled out of her bedroom and into the one next to it, where she found her sister huddled in bed, coughing weakly. "Calwen," Morwen wheezed, grabbing her sister's arm to pull her out of bed. "We have to… go. I think the house is on fire."
Calwen nodded but said nothing, clinging tightly to Morwen's hand as she led her out through the open door of their house and into the winter night.
If that was at all possible, the smoke was actually worse outside than it had been in the house, though at least outside there was a viciously cold wind to keep it from clogging up Morwen's lungs. Her home was not on fire. Instead, the town was in absolute chaos—men clipping their swords to their belts, running for their horses and their cloaks, while the women ran from house to house, banging on doors and on windows and shouting for everyone still abed to wake up. Everyone was coughing, gagging, wheezing, gasping, clutching at their throats as their shoulders shook and their legs wobbled from the smoke.
With that in mind, it took Morwen a few minutes to realize that it was far lighter outside than it should have been. Her gaze turned north, and she let out a horrified gasp.
There was no moon to start with, and the cloud of smoke was so thick that it obscured the stars entirely. But when she looked north, Morwen saw light, light so bright that it might as well have been the light of the Sun coming hours too early.
The entire northern horizon was ablaze, red flames leaping up towards the sky, devouring all in their path. Though far away, if Morwen strained her ears she could hear the fires roaring as they consumed trees, grass, the beasts of the earth, and any Man or Elf unable to flee from it quickly enough.
The north was ablaze, a sight soon to haunt her dreams, every night (Every night that she found sleep at all).
-0-0-0-
"Father? Father!"
Morwen finally found her father with the other men, preparing his horse for travel.
Baragund caught her eye briefly, but turned his face away from her soon after, busying himself with his saddle. "Go back to your mother, Morwen," he said. "I must leave you now." Morwen saw (and felt her blood run cold to see) his hands trembling as he finished with his saddle.
"Father, please, tell me what's happening," Morwen pleaded. Tears began to burn at the corners of her eyes; she rubbed them away viciously, furious with herself for crying, but still unable to banish the fear crawling in her heart.
Baragund turned back to her, and smiled falsely. "It's nothing for you to worry over, Morwen. Only a fire that needs putting out."
Morwen shook her head incredulously; what an obvious lie! Even with the beginnings of anger welling up inside of her, she found her fear still dominating her, and her voice shaking (even more than the smoke would have made it shake) as she called out again, "Father! Father, please. Tell me what's happening."
For a long moment, Baragund made no reply to her, standing with his back to her, trembling hands upon his horse's back. Then, he strode towards her, until he fell to his knees in front of his daughter, and put those trembling hands on her shoulders. His waxen face was washed red with the light of the inferno. Despite the cold, he reeked of sweat.
"I… I ride to war, Morwen," Baragund whispered, fear and pain swirling in his eyes. "I do not know when I will return, or if I will return at all. Listen to your mother." He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed hard. "Look after your sister. "And please… If you can, Eledhwen, please be brave."
-0-0-0-
Morwen could be brave. She could learn to ignore the fact that her throat constantly ached and burned from the pall of smoke that hung permanently over Ladros now. She could hide her fear from others, conceal her dark dreams, learn only to watch the horizon for her father when no one else was looking. She could do all that. But the truth that came to her over the next few weeks was a simple one: Her bravery alone would save no one.
Some of the men returned to the town, eventually (though Baragund was not among them, having stayed further north to fight), but those who had stayed behind would not enjoy their company for long.
"Andreth! Andreth!"
Morwen found herself running for her teacher's house one last time, as ever ignoring the way her throat throbbed and burned when she spoke. This day, she would not bother to knock, and it wouldn't occur to her to take off her shoes in the front room.
Andreth, though, could be found where Morwen usually found her. She sat at her desk, writing something down on parchment. When her eyes met Morwen's, Andreth rubbed her forehead and sighed. "What is it, child?" she said, in the croaking voice the Bëorians all shared now.
"Andreth, it's time to go. Emeldir's gathering us all." And passing out weapons to anyone who could bear them; Morwen herself now wore a long knife at her hip, its weight somehow comforting and nerve-wracking at the same time.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, Andreth." Morwen tugged on Andreth's sleeve. "Andreth, we need to leave now."
The look Andreth gave her was almost unnervingly calm. "No, Morwen," she said quietly. "I am not leaving."
"But Andreth—"
"Do you truly think me able to make such a journey, Morwen? Do you?"
"Well…"
"No, I am not. And even if I was, what future is there for us, now that the Enemy sets himself to winning dominion of the world again? Remember, Morwen: he has less pity for escaped thralls than he does for his greatest of foes."
Morwen felt her heart sink low in her chest. But there was something in Andreth's words that didn't sit right. "But Andreth, will the Noldor not prevail over Morgoth? It's not as though the Powers would just abandon them."
Andreth sighed heavily, and clasped Morwen's hand in her own. "Morwen…" She squeezed her eyes shut. "It is not spoken of widely, but you must know. The Noldor left the light of the Blessed Realm long ago. They fled from it. They are shut out from it, and it is denied to them. The Powers are not kind to those who would disobey them; I doubt they think at all of the Noldor anymore."
"What?!" Andreth said nothing, and Morwen shook her head in stricken disbelief. "But we are all the children of the One. Surely he will not forsake us."
To that, Andreth laughed hollowly. "No, Morwen. The One forsook us long ago. Take this." She stood, disentangled her hand from Morwen's, and took a book from her shelves, the thin tome Morwen was denied knowledge of what seemed a lifetime ago. "Read it, and you will understand." Andreth looked down on Morwen and smiled sadly. Morwen's heart hammered in her chest. "You are now a Wise-woman of the House of Bëor, though few may live to hear your wisdom. Farewell, Morwen Eledhwen."
Later, Morwen would read the book, and she would understand. When hunger and fear gnawed at her, wearing away all that she was, when death came and took so many of those whom she loved, when she stood alone, she understood. Her bravery would save no one. Her wisdom, what there was of it, would not reach their ears. All she could do was look on those blackest of days, and remember.
Nóm—a name of Finrod Felagund given to him by the Bëorians, meaning "Wisdom."
Ered Luin—'The Blue Mountains', the mountain range that makes up the border between Eriador and Beleriand (Sindarin)
Hildórien—'Land of the Followers' (Quenya); the land in the far east of Middle-Earth where Men first awoke
Edain—Men of the three houses (the Houses of Bëor, Hador and Haleth) who were faithful to the Elves throughout the First Age; after the War of Wrath they were gifted with the land of Númenor and became known as the Dúnedain; after the Akallabêth they established Arnor and Gondor (singular: Adan) (Sindarin)