Unconquered by Rhapsody

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.”

"As I told you, they waited for Nienor to be weaned off and I could easily be away from home for a night. From what I have come to understand now, is that Aerin tried her best to stall this moment and I am grateful for what she did. I know that I was watched, for Brodda did not want me to run off as my kinswoman Rían did.  What they did not understand is the pain of loss: I would never have wandered off in the wild carrying a babe beneath my heart. To lose one to the unknown death and sending the other off to here for a better life was more than enough I was willing to bear.

Aerin had no chance to warn me for this: I only realised this when I entered his newly built hall and saw her. Her last attempt to help me in secret had come at a price: she carried her arm in a sling and did not look at me. You must understand, Melian, Húrin and I did discuss this outcome, he instructed me to leave our homeland the moment their loss was known, but we both did not know that I was expecting our third child. It changed everything for me.

Laws are silent in times of war: I had seen it before when Dorthonion fell and we barely could make it to Fingon’s lands. Orcs are brutal, a woman might survive a rape, but I saw… that some who were not quick enough being torn apart by those creatures. I wondered for long why Brodda left me alone, why he or his men never came to claim my son. I saw how many mothers were separated from their children – even at a young age. Young girls were being wedded off to men thrice their age. Ah yes, the incomers brought along their camp followers: some higher ranking their spouses or sisters. They were simply unwilling to share and turned to those who lived here. They were given our lands by Him, so why not claim the women and children that came along with it? 'To the victor go the spoils.' Is it not?

My turn had finally come. I was still young, quite able to bring forth many children. The summons to appear before the high board came soon. So, as I was forced to kneel in front of Brodda and his men, none dared to claim me as their rightful loot. Apparently none of them wanted to take a witch to their warm beds." Morwen fell silent and met Melian’s eyes. "I never quite understood why they thought I was one of our wise women who would come close to their interpretation of a witch. Surely I was taught by a few, but it soon became clear that my path would be different."

"I can only guess, Morwen. Perhaps the deeds of your husband ignited the spark of fear inside them. You carry yourself proudly, fey even. And perhaps they do talk well of the woman who stands behind Húrin the mighty." Melian answered thoughtfully, remembering what Mablung told her upon his return from the Nírnaeth Arnoediad. "I once stood beside my kin, Uinen, who showed me how a small and tiny fish called the puffer fish would puff itself up to twice its size to look more intimidating so that it deems to be a threat. This posturing often is enough to cower those they do fear, a woman even. Someone who they cannot fight without legitimate reason and from what I know they could not leave either. The easiest way is the name calling, trying to isolate you."

"The isolation of my own kin weighed down on me, that much is true." Morwen admitted and stretched her legs. "None the women I knew dared to help me when Nienor came into this world. There was not much Sador was willing to do, besides helping me at the end. He was distressed when he heard how I named my youngest."

"She was yours to name," the Queen concluded, "then there was someone who dared to take the witch on."

"Just not someone, an equal.’’  Morwen answered thoughtfully and rubbed her knees.

"An equal, you mean…"

"Yes, one could consider her to be of my station."

Melian sat back in surprise, working out the details in her head. "I do not understand. I thought the swarthy men arrived with no women of their own."

"There were camp followers. Others did not dare to leave their spouse at home, fearful of adultery. Others insisted on journeying with their husbands, taking their vow to Melkor together. It is not unheard of, it was just not enough for all. They earnt and boasted their moniker 'the incomers' proudly." She shuddered, remembering the first raids and the brutality unleashed upon many of the women. "I was spared of much, at first."

"She. Who was she?"

Morwen fell silent and sighed, “Acca, sister of Brodda and wife of Lorgan, the new chief of all the Incomers. She would occasionally visit her brother who had been given the lands that were once mine.” Meeting her hostess’ eyes, she continued. “Lorgan was cunning, his people were more hunters than farmers and he forced Brodda to become very inventive for our grounds were not easy to grow upon. The best lands Lorgan had claimed for himself, tossing a scrap to his brother-in-law, no love was lost between them for Acca was a peace weaver and the initial feud between them was never properly settled. Acca was… a beauty: brown eyes, a sallow skin and like me with dark long hair. What she lacked in height she made up with her sharp tongue. She and Lorgan were quite a match.

Later she told me how she heard of the witch of Dor-Lómin and how this rumour intrigued her. She stood beside her brother when I was led into his hall to be brought before them. ‘What to do with you, Morwen the witch?’ He boasted then in front of all his men as he stood mighty upon his high board. I was forced to kneel before him; I felt the spearhead in my neck, forcing me to look down. It seemed a small price to pay then. I sat there motionless, not making much sense of the fierce debate that followed in that hall. Many men spat at me, some kicked straw towards me and I patiently waited, hoping that Aerin would be of some influence of him.

I tried to shield off my thoughts in the tumult around me, and I did not sense her approach until I felt cool fingers brushing my neck and a smooth voice washed over me, followed by a firm yank of my hair. ‘Ah. The witch of Dor-Lómin.’ Her accent was thick and I could tell that there was an edge to her words. ‘This is what you fear?’ She mocked her brother’s men openly. ‘I think that I want to claim my spoils of war, brother mine. Give me this so-called witch and I shall see to it that your poor men will not have to be afraid of her.’”

Feeling unsure if she should continue, Morwen studied her nails. “This is how we met and first laid eyes upon each other. I did not understand her, but the telling look in her cold eyes said enough. Even I was claimed now, left to the mercy of an Incomer.”

“Judging from what I had seen earlier, there was not much mercy bestowed upon you,” The Queen answered as she rose to her feet to move a piece on the board.

“It was not always that bad.” She answered quickly; surprised that she felt this urge to protect her mistress. “The first years she was utterly content by parading me around during the nights she did spend with her brother and men. All I had to do was sit at her feet on the dais and watch how the evening meal ended up in debauchery.”

The memories of these horrors brought a lump to her throat. “I, eh…” Rising to her feet, Morwen stood up from the table and walked towards one of the basins. As she scooped up some water with her hands hoping to still the shaking, she hoped that it would pass soon if she would only calm herself. One by one, she tried to quiet the scenes that raced through her mind: the pain and debasement of so many youth, the death of some when too many had taken their turn… Nevertheless these memories would not be subdued.

“They considered us as lower beings, these strawheads who were only good enough to work on the lands then during the evening and night for their pleasure. So many were kept as cattle in his hall: all rights were denied to them. I know my kinswoman tried her best and I was all too keenly aware how lucky I was to be trotted around like a priced broodmare. I behaved, did what was asked of me.”

She turned to face Melian and found the tall lady sitting her chair still: her back upright, but oh her eyes! How could they still reflect such peace? “You wanted to know. I shall spare you the details that do not belong in a fine court like this.”

Melian’s expression changed and she rose to walk towards her guest. “My daughter had told me some of the horrors she saw in Morgoth’s court. I think… I somehow expected that these tribes would have been more civilised.”

“They cannot be compared to our Houses, your highness.” Morwen murmured. “Yes, there was some refinement as you have seen.”

“What changed then? You did not get that from simply being paraded around.”

“Nienor flowered. She became of age to wed and Lorgan became interested in her. Tales of her beauty had reached him and I became desperate, knowing that he wanted her as his. I could not stand the thought of her being taken against her will by that brute. Aerin could no longer aid me, Acca could as his wife. As long as I was willing to become her courtesan, she would do anything in her power to dissuade him.”

“And she was successful.”

Morwen sighed and started to feel restless. She wondered what Thingol’s queen would say if she enjoyed most of it, except for the nights when Acca was in a foul mood. For her daughter’s sake she submitted to her lady’s darkest whims, even if it would mean that the days after she was not able to tolerate any kind of fabric upon her back. “Yes she was. Very muchly so.”

“Forgive me for asking this, but I must know…” Melian started to formulate a question, but Morwen suspected what she wanted to know.

“No never. It was strange at first, like I said some still had some refinement and pride in them. Acca took pride in teaching me these arts and I have always been grateful that it never went beyond her chambers. I suspect that even she felt unsure how her clan would react if she took pleasure in being with another woman.”

Melian nodded and motioned her to sit down. “And for you?”

“I love my husband still. Both arts can complement the other.” She answered immediately, hoping that Melian would leave it at this. “It is love.”

It never occurred to her that the comfortable bed that now awaited her would become a place to fear and be a source of torment. She had avoided Melian’s questions the past days where she tried to function as normal as possible. The ladies simply enjoyed their afternoons together where minstrels sang, dresses were tried on by her youngest daughter. After her dark confession to the Queen, both never brought it up again. Yet, Morwen found it hard to find a routine.

Her confession to the Queen that she also loved Acca had opened a door in her mind that unleashed one night terror after another. For long she had thought that to ignore the events of twenty years of debasement and corporal punishment that she had to witness would be the best, for her. It had worked as long as she had to walk into Brodda’s hall, a routine etched into her daily life: the leash and chain, debauchment and the soulless eyes of those women around her as they were forced to see to every need. She had simply marched on, most often directly to Acca’s chambers where most often a night of passion would await her. Had she feel guilt about that? Of course she had. Her mistress made sure that once a while she had to pay a steep price for her nights filled with titillation.

Memories of Acca’s darkest arts plagued her now as she would sleep. Every night it was as if she would lie there again on the bedding. Restraining herself, she waited for the inevitable once the blade would break her skin, and then cry followed muffled by the fabric that was placed in her mouth. The pain would eventually slowly abate, that she knew once the tangy smell of her blood reached her nose. Her mistress never took long, first tracing her skin where the tip would bite through the surface. It was not done, once, nay thrice over before she would leave her laying there, fighting to remain conscious for the pain that become unbearable.

‘You are my piece of art,’ she would whisper to her.

These were the moment that she truly hated Acca. To be reminded of her role and that her daughter would be spared was one thing. Still to be considered a piece of art: a mere plaything was another. To Morwen, it was no play: it was something she should never forget – it was her sole reason to survive.

Now luxury surrounded her; no unexpected rapping on her door when capricious Acca demanded her presence. Not much was asked of her and any suggestion on her behalf to make herself useful was simply brushed aside: she should rest and recover. It was the Queens explicit orders. And how would this help her exactly? Morwen shrugged off her dress and allowed it to pool on the floor around her ankles. She stared down at it: the dress had a simple cut, but the fabric embroidered with golden dragons and entwined with flowers had set her aside as royalty.

"It belonged once to Lúthien," her assigned maiden had confided to her in the morn.

Morwen did not care much for these details and she simply had accepted it without a word. Gingerly she bent her knees, ignoring the aches that shot through her back once she lifted it from the floor and carried it to a nearby chair to put it down.

It had been a long time since someone had waited upon her, and she sighed deeply at the sight of the meticulously detailed garb that had been draped on her bed. It was just too much, too much all at once. Her hand found the wooden hair pin that had kept her braid in place: a wedding gift from her missing husband. Long ago he would comb her long tresses with his strong hands as they would lay entwined in their bed late at night when hope soared high and peace was still in their lands.

“This has to stop!” She cried out. “It has to. Why is it me that has to carry around this burden?” She nearly threw away the wooden pin and she fought hard to regain her calm. The last thing she wanted was to lose her control; it was already hard enough that there was none in her sleep. “Be strong, she will know a remedy.”

Resolving to have it settled now, Morwen marched towards her door, snatching her cowl before she stepped outside. Melian’s chambers were not too far from there and she had remembered the route all too well. Her sudden appearance surely startled the sentry that stood outside the door and both stared at one another. She still could turn around and find her own solution. The thought of another broken night, however, was more than she could bear.

“I need to see her,” she simply demanded.

“You cannot, she has... company.” He hesitantly answered.

“I am sure he will understand that I would call upon his lady in great need.” Morwen pressed on, “It cannot wait until the morn.”

The gilded door was yanked open as an answer, leaving Morwen surprised and the guard started to rap of his apparent defence in an incomprehensible elven tongue to the Queen who stood in the doorway simply clad in a simple silver shift. With a curt nod Melian dismissed the guard and smiled warmly. “I somehow knew I could expect you one of these days; however, I had not foreseen this soon.”

“Neither did I. I mean, I would not have come to you this late if it was not for something this urgent.” Morwen fumbled for her words, her resolve seeping away as the kind grey eyes of the queen met hers.

“I know you would not come unless you deemed it this urgent. Please, come inside. This conversation is not one intended for the cold hallway.” As the door closed behind her, Morwen tried to see who else was in the room. The interruption had come so suddenly that the guard had not told her whom Melian was with.

“Ah, it is her. At last.” The answer came quickly from the bed where the tall Artanis observed her. The magnificent lady lay naked on her stomach, chin propped up in her hands and legs crossed at the ankle behind her, swaying side to side while the candlelight seemed to kiss the golden tresses of Melian's apprentice. Although, apparently so, much more than this.

This all was not new to Morwen; Acca often took younger girls to her bed when she had grown bored of her services. When it did occur, she had to watch how her mistress drove the maidens far past their boundaries as she knelt in the corner of the room with her head bent low as it was expected of her.

“What is it?” Melian gently enquired and led her to the chair close to the hearth.

Before she could answer, Artanis swung her long legs over the edge of the bed and rose to her feet. “It is the horror of that which one cannot forget. Is it not, little one?”

“Artanis!”

“Do not claim it is not so, it cannot only be me who has perceived this. You may have heard her words, but her eyes tell more than she ever would be willing to share.”

Artanis’ apt observations unnerved her and Morwen wondered as to why she ever thought this would have been a good idea. There was a depth in the tall ladies eyes, her words spoken with a lilt still that came too close for her own comfort.

“You do not need to answer, all you need to know is that I understand. Time will reveal your burden. Maybe, given the short span of your kind, you will carry it into your grave, trusting it will be gone once beyond Arda.” Artanis simply smiled and made her way to a washstand to fill a goblet with water.

Morwen observed how she tilted the pitcher with grace and casually turned around to await her answer.

“It is a burden,” she finally answered Melian, “I feel the need to keep myself busy and to live here with nothing to do…”

“I offered you healing if you wished to receive it,” Melian interrupted her; “My apprentice has many qualities but alike some of her kindred, she reads people very well. You have not come here to ask for chores to do for I will give you none. You are a guest beneath my roof and will be treated thusly.”

“I recall, before I made my way here, that the nights were the most difficult. In my dreams I became haunted, reliving every death on the grinding ice again. Suffering that painful loss again.” Artanis added. “One does not need much to tell that you do not sleep well; the dark circles beneath your eyes give away too much.”

“It is your choice to make, Morwen. Yes there are remedies that make you sleep, but the effects of it will not last forever.” Melian reached for her hand and brushed it.

Both looked at her expectantly at first, and Morwen felt unsure what to do.

“May I look?”  Artanis suddenly asked and joined them; and moved to stand at Morwen’s other side.

“Ay, I rather…” Morwen paused and took a step backwards.

“You can trust her, Eledhwen.” The Queen gently squeezed her hand. “Artanis has seen many horrors and survived.”

Many women she knew had survived and from tales of lore she had learnt at what a price her people had came here. How harmful could it be? She stood silent as she unlaced her shift and let it drop down her shoulders. Morwen heard how the Noldo lady moved behind her.

"Oh my, how lovely," Artanis breathed.

"Indeed," Melian replied slowly, allowing the word to hang in the air. "She has never seen it herself, as you can see the last scab has finally healed."

"Then she must see it." Artanis abruptly decided and walked across the room to the dresser. Morwen felt uncertain if she wanted to see what was done to her back over the years and yet she could not bring herself to fasten the laces of her shift. Instead she felt a rush of boldness course through her and shrugged off the linen. Turning her gaze to Melian, she found how the Queen smiled provocatively at her. What could she possibly hide after all she had been through and what she had told the Queen days before? Pride? Her honour? Would it matter now? She would not allow herself to be conquered by this.

"Come hither," Artanis instructed her and once Morwen looked into her eyes, she saw how they shone with a beautifully potent mixture of desire and curiosity. Doing as she was told, she walked towards the mirror and looked at herself. Her grey eyes stared back at her, a few grey hairs trickled trough her dark hair which graced her strong neck and shoulders. Her eyes wandered off to the graceful lines of her collarbone and her ample breasts now slightly sagged much to her mistress’ pleasure. For her age, she was still considered a beauty and she was proud of that. Artanis moved to stand behind her and held a mirror in front of her chest that caught the reflection of the one Morwen was now looking at.

She blinked twice and her mouth fell open in surprise. It was Artanis who interrupted her thoughts: “She did cut you often, did she not? She must have had a design in her mind for she was very prepared. I have heard some of the Laiquendi decorating their skin so. As the cut is made.” Morwen said nothing and felt spell bound when she saw a smile that curved Artanis’ generous mouth, it seemed like an invitation to more as her finger traced the outlines of a leaf that had been engraved upon her skin. “It will be covered with tattoo ink and that which leaves a lightly coloured design when the skin is wiped clean.”

“She often told me, before darkness of pain claimed me, that I was her piece of art. I never expected it thusly.” Morwen spoke quietly and turned slightly to take in the design of an intricate rose with dark petals and thorns. Its stem was unbent and the petals were opened, yet not too far to be dropped.

“She saw you. Eledhwen.” Melian joined the couple and touched the back of her guest appreciatively… “And you loved her for it.”

“Your days may have been dark for so long,” Artanis added and her hand slid around Morwen’s buttocks, then down her naked upper thigh to tease the inside of it oh so lightly, “I once learnt that love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. Now you know the truth.” Morwen fought to keep a strangled cry at bay, but lost it when her lover traced her femininity boldly.

“It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves. Will you not join us this night to celebrate it so?” Melian added, her palms travelled from her shoulders to the curve of her bosom and traced it tantalizing slow.

It had been enough, the darkness had to be set aside, Morwen thought and met Artanis eyes first before she let hers rest upon Melian’s. “You have taken me in and your apprentice has stripped away the ugliness I did feel. Allow me to surrender to love and let us exchange the love we can offer to each other.” Both did not utter a word when Morwen reached out to the both of them: her hands were accepted and she was led to the Queen’s bed.

Melian cast aside her robe and reclined on the bed of with soft pillows, pulling Morwen down on top of her. Eagerness drove her, and Morwen kissed her, first feverishly, then deeply once the Queen placed her hand in the nape of her neck. Slowly, her mouth lingered on her partners and with a knowing smile Morwen broke away, enjoying the feel of warm hands running down her body. This was love as well, she realised, and it felt as a new life coursed through her. It was a different love that she had experienced the past years: she felt as if she had reclaimed her old fervour.

Melian’s body was so soft and lush beneath her. Giving into her desire, Morwen cupped the Queen's full breasts in her hands, bent down and sucked one of the nipples into her mouth before she moved to the other. It was much to Melian’s pleasure and soon moans of bliss rippled through the room. Entangled as they lay there, Morwen felt how Artanis hands trailed up and down her back, letting her know that she was still there and apparently patiently awaiting her turn. It felt so good. Feeling curious of Artanis’ motives, she let go of Melian, and sat up again tracing her hands slowly over Melian’s beautiful chest. She looked over her shoulder and met the Golden Lady’s mirthful eyes.

It was an invitation that the tall lady could not ignore. Artanis bent in swiftly and placed an arm around her, hugging her lightly before she bent her head to Morwen’s ear. The elven lady’s breath tickled her ear and she heard a soft whisper: “Would it please you if I gave you a kiss?” It was so unexpected to Morwen, as if bold Artanis had let down her façade suddenly. A shiver ran up and down her spine and simply nodded once she felt how Melian’s hands ran up her thigh imploringly before the Queen gripped her buttocks hard as if she wanted to let her presence known. Morwen smiled, luxuriating in the warmth feeling that started to spread as their legs entwined further. The Maiar was not willing to let go of her that easily.

Nor was Artanis willing to let go, Morwen realised when she felt soft lips kissing her cheek. It was so gentle and unexpected compared to the elf’s behaviour the past days, that she closed her eyes briefly and enjoyed the intimate attentions both lavished upon her. For that moment she allowed the pleasure rising within her, climbing slowly on that ladder of dazzling joy whereas one rained down small kisses upon her neck and shoulders; strong hands kneaded her breasts: the other let her fingers grazing up and down her nether lips. A heavy sensation settled low and she well knew what Melian was up to. How could she favour one over the other?

Instead it was settled for her. Just as she felt how a nail skimmed her clit, a force pulled at her shoulders and she was pulled flat down and away from the Queen. Then Artanis was kissing her again: first her lips, then her cheeks and tenderly her eyes. The bed shifted, some pillows were moved around and placed below her for support while Morwen heard how both exchanged a few words. It was too softly spoken to make sense of them. A small cry of pleasure escaped her once she felt fingers gently brushing her neck. It was a touch so light that slowly journeyed downwards to her collarbones, to her breasts that seemed to swell at the mere touch of the golden lady’s benediction.

Morwen enjoyed the sensual haze that filled her senses, arching into the touch of her explorer whose nails grazed brazenly over her nipples once more before she finally bent and kissed them. Her mouth was so dry, she licked her lips and as she opened eyes, she met Melian’s brooding gaze upon her.

“Please, do not hold back on my account,” Morwen whispered to her, hoping that she and Artanis had not awoken the Queen’s jealousy.

“She will, little one,” Artanis smiled against her skin and bit her nipple playfully. Both her breasts felt ready to burst and after this treatment her tips felt almost painful. Then she felt it, the soft exploring hands of Melian who tugged at her knees. Understanding all too well what was expected of her, Morwen parted her legs and she felt how one of her knees was pulled up and moved to one side opening her fully to her lovers.

“See,” she heard Artanis whispering in her ear as she lay down next to her and kissed her on the lips ending her thirst. It was little kisses, teasing her mouth continuously and Morwen knew that it was meant to distract her.

“Is that all, Artanis? “ Morwen challenged her and the Noldo lady answered her. Soon the brushing of the elven lady's lips and tongue against hers became intoxicating and burning hot.  Enjoying the moment in full, she kissed back hungrily showing that she would not yield so easily. As they kissed again, Morwen felt how Melian’s hand started her own hungry exploration. It felt so good to feel how the Queen’s hands opened her further, exploring and her finger slid into her wetness eagerly. Her thumb brushed her clit and Morwen whimpered softly.

“Soon, soon we will release you.”

She did not have to wait long. Artanis held her in an intoxicating embrace where both one moment would war for dominance of their lips, and the next alternating to nuzzling and nibbling her breasts. Morwen wanted to last as long as she could, but soon realised she could not as she felt kisses upon her belly and loins. Melian was set on claiming her and it felt so immensely pleasurable how her fingers slid inside her wetness, moving around brashly at first and then Melian slowed down her deft fingers flicked and stroked  her relentlessly. It was inevitable: waves of pleasure started to build up inside her.

"What are you doing to me," she whispered, almost to herself. Still, she gave no resistance. The events of the last several days and the frustration of lost sleep had made her mad with excitement. She no longer wanted to control herself and wanted to give it all. Morwen pulled away from Artanis' lips and buried her face in her shoulder shuddering wildly once she felt the first touch of Melian’s tongue inside her.  She could not help herself and arched her back wildly to meet her lover’s demands. Her movement was rewarded and Morwen nearly lost herself once she felt her lover catch her clit with hers teeth and bite down on it. The exquisite, slight pain only increased her pleasure to new heights while her lover lashed it hard and fast with her tongue.

It was so glorious how Melian treated her, lifting her higher and higher. She simply could not help herself:  her pelvis started to move into her need for more. Artanis held her tight, allowing her to start on the first wave of pleasure as started to drive her over that edge; the orgasm welled up in her and she let it go, thrusting herself against Artanis in complete trust and surrender. “Please,” she cried, “stay with me!” And they held her close as more waves crashed through her, more powerful than the first. 

After a while the intense tingling receded and Morwen lifted her head lightly to find Artanis bemused eyes. Little butterflies Morwen remembered from long ago surfaced unexpectedly and fluttered wildly in her belly, but also between her thighs.

“There will be enough time to explore that,” Artanis smiled lovingly, “will we not?”

“I will not mind sharing my apprentice,” Melian murmured as she moved to lay at Morwen’s other side. “I should have known she would enchant you, Morwen.”

“I enchanted her?” Artanis laughed and flopped onto her back.

“Nay, I do not think that she enchanted me,” Morwen answered lazily and closed up her thighs. “After all I am the Witch remember?” She smiled freely and pulled Artanis to her. “Please allow me another demonstration.”

All three laughed merrily and their hands joined the others for a new night filled with love’s wonders.

Chapter End Notes

There was a lot I could do with the writing challenge offered to me. Still I remembered how the people of Dor-Lómin were enslaved by the Easterlings or the Incomers after the Nírnaeth Arnoediad. As I was reading Children of Húrin the following quotes made me realise how well Morwen Eledhwen’s story would fit very well in this challenge:

Then Brodda sprang forth, and he was red with drunken rage. 'No more!' he cried. 'Shall my wife be gainsaid before me, by a beggar that speaks the serf-tongue? There is no Lady of Dor-lomin. But as for Morwen, she was of the thrall-folk, and has fled as thralls will.
From Children of Húrin, Chapter 7: "The Return of Túrin to Dor-lomin"

As for Acca and the women who travelled along with the Easterling tribes: during the medieval times it was well known that women travelled with their spouses during a crusade. I only need to think of Eleanor of Aquitaine who participated in the unsuccessful second crusade, simply because her husband Louis VII of France was so jealous that he could not bear to think of leaving her at home alone. Like Eleanor of Aquitaine, I envisioned Acca as a strong woman. Married off to Brodda to settle a score between two tribes as a peace weaver as it was custom amongst the Anglo-Saxons. Since there are mentions of Brodda’s Hall where enslaved people were kept, I kept close to those traditions.

Marcus Tullius Cicero offered also some inspiration, the line ‘Laws are silent in times of war’ is a free interpretation of Inter arma enim silent leges which Latin meaning "For among [times of] arms, the laws fall mute".

The title of this piece is fully inspired by Húrin's words shortly after Morwen passed away in his arms:

But Húrin did not answer, and they sat beside the stone, and did not speak again; and when the sun went down Morwen sighed and clasped his hand, and was still; and Húrin knew that she had died. He looked down at her in the twilight and it seemed to him that the lines of grief and cruel hardship were smoothed away. ‘She was not conquered,’ he said; and he closed her eyes, and sat unmoving beside her as the night drew down.

—J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, “Of the Ruin of Doriath”