Who can say where the road goes,
Where the day flows?
Only time...
Morwen turned in her saddle and looked back. The White City still stood tall and proud, a beacon of hope still defiant in the face of the ever-growing darkness in the East. Morwen shivered and thought to herself in despair, "But for how long? And will I ever see it again ere it falls, as fall it must...?"
A rebellious tear came to her eye, and she blinked it back furiously. She must not show weakness. A daughter of the House of Húrin must be an example of strength to all. She thought of her namesake, the Lady Morwen of Dor-lómin, wife of Húrin Thalion and mother of Túrin Turambar, who was known for her inner strength and courage in the face of tragedy and evil. Morwen bit her lip. Somehow, she too would summon that inner strength for herself. She would not give up or give in.
Brenna, her waiting-woman and several years her senior, rode up beside her and asked gently, "Are you well, Lady?"
Morwen nodded. "Fine, Brenna, thank you."
Brenna narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. For all her outward calm and composure, she knew that Morwen still deeply mourned the loss of her beloved, her brother Faramir's right hand man who had fallen in battle protecting him but a few weeks past. Now, to be torn from her city as well and sent up to the court of Rohan, must be almost more than she could bear.
She reached out and took Morwen's hand in hers. It was icy cold.
"I know you were not consulted about this marriage," Brenna went on, lowering her voice sensitively. "But you must know, I have heard nothing but good about the prince from the North. They say he is an honourable man, and I am sure he is willing to give you honour and respect as his wife..."
Morwen said nothing, but her thoughts raged restlessly inside her.
"Honour?" " Respect?" And what of love...?
But no, love was not important. This was a political match, no more. With no time even to grieve over the untimely death of her lover, she was merely another pawn for Denethor to move at his will. She must be married, he had said. She must be married before anyone found out about her illicit affair with Galian and it must be to someone who would strengthen an alliance with Gondor against the evil of Mordor. But when Morwen had objected to such a proposal, saying that she would rather lie at Galian's side, though he be dead, her father had ignored her. She, as his daughter, would obey him in this matter!
A faint pitter-patter of rain was beginning to fall when the time came for them to halt and take their rest. But Morwen lay awake for several hours, thinking of what lay before her. She had heard such stories about the wild land of Rohan with its thatched roofs and hut-like houses, nothing at all like the fine graceful dwellings of Minas Tirith.
And Galian...
The tears she had held at bay for so long slid down the side of her face. After his death, she had retreated into her grief, gathering it about her like a dark cloak so that none could penetrate it or reach out to her through it. Many had though it due to worry for her brothers who were off defending distant borders, and she had done nothing to undeceive them. Let them think what they would. She wept silently and long into the night until exhausted sleep took her. But although she finally did sleep, Galian's face and his touch haunted her dreams.