All Mustn't Fail or Falter by Elleth

Chapter 1

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All Mustn't Fail or Falter

When the news of the lost battle came, it was a blistering summer day, and the fields of Dor-lómin bent summer-yellow and withered beneath the onslaught of the sun. Annael of the Swan Wing was the message bearer, returning by the grace of an ill chance that had spared him alone.

There would be none other coming, the elf said, standing alone in the center of the assembly place, squinting at the sun and rubbing his arms, shivering despite the heat of the day. None friendly.

The crowd dispersed, and Aerin, too, hurried homeward to break the news. It only struck her looking into her mother’s face that her father was among those who would not be returning from the battle.

Almost in defiance of the fact she pulled clothes from her wardrobe that he’d always liked, an embroidered shawl and headscarf and a long-sleeved dress she’d last worn for the winter festival, where they had evoked the promise of a hopeful spring. The thick green cloth did not do much to keep the numbness at bay.

* * *

She hadn’t thought about Morwen until a day or so after, but when she did, her feet couldn’t carry her fast enough. Húrin’s house – Morwen’s house now, she reminded herself - was dark and shuttered, the door to the garth locked, but she could hear movement beyond the enclosure, the clang of a bucket being drawn from the well, that made her call out on impulse. One of Morwen’s servants opened, skittering nervous eyes over her form. “Oh, it’s you,” she said and made room to let Aerin in. “The lady doesn’t want to see anyone, she’s not to be touched, or disturbed, or talked to, or anything at all.”

"Thank you," Aerin dimly heard herself say. She tugged her clothing into place, rumpled as it was from sleeping in, and swallowed around the lump in her throat. "I’ll see to her, if she’ll have me."

She found Morwen in Urwen’s chamber. It had been abandoned after the girl’s death, and if not for the candle flame shuddering like a halo around Morwen’s dark head from a corner of the room, Aerin might have missed her entirely. As it was her heart skipped to see Morwen sitting on the nursery chair like a wooden doll, with her fingers clenched, one hand around the seat of the chair, the other twisted into the fabric of her dress above her knee.

"Morwen," Aerin said softly, and the words faltered when no reply came. She would have laughed if not for her throat closing up at the thought that came to her then, asking, how are you, and the reply. Morwen was not a jocular woman, but she enjoyed banter sometimes, a little more acerbic than friendly, but always enough to send Aerin’s heart skipping when her eyes lit on the tall, straight figure and the light from her eyes hinting at a sort of laughter. She’d say, oh, all is well. My husband hasn’t returned from war and Húrin thought that if the war went ill, we’d be in for a fate yet worse than dying on the battlefield.

Aerin did not ask, and Morwen said no such thing, said nothing at all, just sat. Mindful of the servant’s warnings, Aerin didn’t attempt to touch her, but pulled over a chair of her own and sat without brushing the thick dust from it. There weren’t any words of comfort to be had, but it seemed at last that Morwen took notice of her if she had not done so before, for her fingers began to curl and uncurl in the fabric of her dress, and from the other hand there was the scrabble of fingernails over wood.

Aerin reached out, pulling that hand away, and Morwen flinched. No wonder – it was hard to make out in the dim light, but her fingertips were bruised, the skin hot and surely painful. Aerin folded her own hand, smaller and cooler, over it, hoping it might bring Morwen some relief.

They continued sitting, un-speaking, after that, until Morwen at last seemed to sag ever so slightly, toward her. Worn-out though she might be, the gesture was enough to set Aerin’s heart racing – for married as Morwen was – widowed as she was, or even had she not been, that was one of the few things Aerin could hope to gain from her to cherish, for Morwen had been called strange in her choices – not given to love, by some, but that was ignorance – not given to love as others did, perhaps.

Were it otherwise, she’d not be sitting here in the dark, nor would they be sitting in the dark together. Nor would Morwen at last let her head droop toward Aerin, or poise her shoulders between the need to be touched and not, when Aerin took it for permission to slide an arm around her, to rest her lips on Morwen’s forehead, nose against her hairline.

It wasn’t the time for speech yet, for Morwen only sighed and fell quiet again, but they had one another, and whatever else came – as long as they had this, and had the darkened room to sit in, all mustn’t fail or falter.