Chapter 17
Dreams of Longing
Morwen was dreaming.
She was certain of it.
The worlds around her fizzled and distorted, changing first from fuzzy shapes to sharp, clear objects, down to the last detail. And yet, though she knew she was not awake, she could not get her mind to control her lucid dream.
Though her feet did not move, she was walking down a long hall. Here, the details did not matter, and the walls were blurs of brown and the occasional colors of a flag of the horses. It was a world seen through a child's brief, glancing eyes, or perhaps as seen through the eyes of a child when he is an adult looking back.
Memories.
That was what it was.
She was traveling through time, through her memories of her new home in Rohan. The halls were lined with dark, oak slabs, brought from forests far from Edoras, where she and her lord resided, but she could not recall how they looked. It must have been because she had walked by them a hundred times, ceasing to notice them after the first or second glance.
Outside a room at the end of the hall, she stopped, or at least, the building stopped advancing; she never remembered moving one foot. From the doorway, she could see, now, in the best of detail, the boards of the two narrow walls that opened up into her bedroom.
Their bedroom, she remembered. It was her husband's, as well, though he had many other chambers where he could spend the night.
The walls danced with bright lights and leaping shadows, and Morwen smelled the cozy aromas of burning wood. A few crackles and pops confirmed that there was indeed a fire going in the long abandoned fireplace in the corner, across from the bed.
And there was something else… Something she had never felt before in this room. Warmth flushed her cheeks, and she was surprised that this detail caught her mind. Dreams were never in detail.
Peals of delighted laughter pierced the air like jingles on a horse's reins in the middle of a snowy winter evening. Just listening made her heart ache with need, made her want to look inside, made her feel the urge to join them.
A human voice, deep and rich, rumbled like soft thunder against the walls, and more laughter issued. It was the laughter of pure joy, filled with innocence and naivety so that it could only have belonged to children. A pang of raw hunger thumped against her chest, and she realized how much she wanted children.
It was one of those things that she had planned on doing in the future, but when she had gotten into the third year of her marriage and still showed no sign of pregnancy, her husband had began to wander. It was then that she grew up and actually became an adult. Her childhood fantasies of true love and heroic men were erased and replaced by the harsh truth that she had only been married off by her father for an entirely political reason. Her husband did not enjoy her company in bed; in fact, he would rather be out of it than in it. He had only endured her because she was the only way for him to have a legitimate heir.
She edged closer to the doorway, and finally, though the part of her that was still in control knew it was wrong, drifted in upon the voices.
It was then that she realized what she was seeing. She had had this dream many times before, and though she did not know why, she still never recognized the beginning of it. It was her childhood view of marriage to the perfect man, except here, her perfect man was her husband.
The five in the room did not see nor hear as she came in, but continued their activities as if she was not there. She realized that to them, she really was not. Even in her dream, she was merely an apparition, watching and feeding hungrily as others lived out her blissful wishes.
Beside the bed was a large, comfortable couch, and her husband and another woman were sitting on it, his arm around her shoulder, and she leaning into him lovingly. Upon second glance, she realized that it was her, albeit a cleaner, plumper, and more beautiful her, it was still her. They were speaking encouragements to the three children, who were playing on the rug, before the fireplace.
Two lovely girls, neither over ten, were setting out dolls around a few blocks that they were using as tea sets. The other child, a healthy, ruddy-cheeked boy with golden locks was bouncing a ball near them and occasionally, the ball would run into the dolls, knocking them into their "tea."
She looked again at the figures on the couch, and between gentle admonishments and smiles at the children, the two would turn to one another and speak in low voices, their noses almost touching. As she watched, their lips met in a brief, but meaningful kiss, and the cleaner, plumper, and more beautiful her leaned her head against her husband's chest.
Her vision blurred again, and suddenly, the scene before her began to fade. It was as if an invisible force had taken her around the waist and lifted her up, through the roof, through the sky, and completely out of this imaginary world that she had created in her subconscious.
Slowly and painfully, she woke to reality with her head pounding and her heart racing with want. Real tears were on her cheeks, but before she could wipe them away, the Voice again called her name harshly in the darkness. "Morwen!"
She sat up, heart pounding in her chest. She swallowed through her dry lips and tried to remember the dream, but it was seeping away like water in cupped hands. She could have been so happy…
Oh Valar, her husband was faithful, and she had children…
But after all, it was just a dream.
"Morwen!" the Voice was more insistent this time.
"Yes, my lord," she mumbled, wiping at the tears on her cheek. She found that she could not say anything else. She was not allowed to disobey.
"They approach," the Voice said, almost smugly. "Would you be kind enough to lure them in?"
She wanted to scream and break away so she could run, but she found that her legs were lead. Instead, her body seemed to be guided by an invisible force. She stood as her legs unfolded underneath her, and her arms went out to find her balance, all without her control. Slowly, she began to walk towards the door to her chamber (prison cell, the part of her that was still her whispered), and stepped into the light.
"Of course, my lord," she said in the same, mumbling tone.
"Are you forgetting anything?" the Voice asked.
"No, my lord," she answered.
"I want them dead," the Voice said simply.
"Yes, I know, my lord." With a stead hand, she withdrew a long, white dagger from a sheath at her waist.
Please review!