Work Text:
Year 8 of the Fourth Age
Pinnath Gelin
Morwen loved her husband. Not romantically, or in any way that a lady was expected to love her husband. Rather, she loved him for who he was and for how he treated her with dignity and respect. He gave her freedom and never demanded anything of her. And he trusted her to handle the household and the governing of Pinnath Gelin when he was away, which was quite often, either out at sea with the King’s Ships or paying an official visit to Minas Tirith.
While her husband was away from their fief, she was responsible for fulfilling his duties, as well as her own duties as the Lady of Pinnath Gelin, meeting with vassals, hosting important guests, ensuring the household was presentable and properly stocked, that the servants and other staff were being paid, and keeping up with her husband’s letters. It was in performing this last duty that Morwen discovered a rather shocking secret about her husband. Well, to be truthful, it was shocking at the time, though after considering the matter, it should have been quite obvious, given how unimpressive their wedding night had been.
It started when the head butler came to deliver the letters while Morwen broke her fast. He would typically look at the senders’ names and inform her of any that might require her immediate attention. Morwen had just taken a sip of tea when the butler paused a few paces from the table and bowed to her.
“Good morning, Elegil.”
“Good morning, my lady. I hope you had a restful slumber.”
“I slept well, thank you.” Morwen’s gaze lowered from the butler’s face to the letters clutched in his right hand. “Did you find anything of importance?” The butler held out the letters, which Morwen took from him, before withdrawing a letter opener from the inside pocket of his waistcoat.
“A letter came from Queen Lothíriel for Lord Erchirion.”
“Likely a birthday letter. It is coming up soon.” While she was speaking, Morwen searched for her sister-in-law’s letter before setting it aside, unopened.
“It is indeed, my lady.”
“He told me in his last letter that he would be back in time, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he has already forgotten all about it.”
“I am sure that Lord Erchirion is preoccupied with this ongoing conflict with the Corsairs.” Morwen hummed in acknowledgement and unsealed a letter from one of the vassals of Pinnath Gelin, her eyes skimming over the message but not retaining it.
For the last three years, she had seen very little of her husband, because he and the newly-reestablished King’s Ships—a division of the Gondorian Navy that was under the direct command of the King—had been dealing with the Corsairs of Umbar after they had crawled out of the ashes of defeat and attacked Dol Amroth. He had sent a few letters, but they were mostly to tell her that he would be returning briefly to replenish his supplies, as well as answered her own letters when he had the time for it. His replies were usually short and concise, as was his way; he was a man of few words and did not engage in small-talk or trivial matters if he could help it, and whenever they were out in public together or attended events at court, he usually let her take the lead in all of the socializing. And for her part, she had no complaints. For Morwen, this was a suitable arrangement, since neither she nor her husband had any romantic feelings for each other, nor had there ever been any expectations of the sort.
A few years after the War of the Ring came to an end, Morwen reached the age of majority in Gondor, and her father, Lord Húrin, Warden of the Keys, spent the first few months after her twentieth birthday introducing her to as many noble families as he could. In the end, it was Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth who proposed a union of their families. The Prince had conversed with her father quite a lot after his arrival in Minas Tirith and in the days leading up to the coronation, since her father was greatly involved in the organization of the ceremony and at times in matters of governance. When her father had informed her of Prince Imrahil’s proposition, he had expected her to protest. But to his surprise, she agreed immediately.
It was true that her betrothed was twelve years older than she, but Morwen could have easily found herself in a much more undesirable situation. All she had wanted in a marriage was a spouse from a good family who would provide her with a secure and stable home and livelihood. She had also wanted a husband who would not pressure her into bearing children and did not deprive her of her bodily autonomy. As it turned out, Lord Erchirion met all of her requirements. A new title was a nice bonus, and she would be a fool to deny that he was appealing to the eyes.
“There was also a letter from the new Lord of Anfalas,” the butler spoke, interrupting Morwen’s musings.
“From Anfalas?”
Though the fief of Anfalas was their closest neighbor, Morwen could not remember having ever received any correspondence from their lord. She had been informed of the passing of Lord Golasgil two years earlier, but she had not heard anything of his successor. Was the new lord simply extending greetings and salutations? Or was the purpose of this letter for less favorable intentions?
Morwen frowned as she searched for the letter and broke the wax seal. No sooner had she opened it and read the first line did her breath catch in her throat.
Ernil o Eilph nín. My Prince of Swans.
That was certainly no form of greeting she had ever come across before. At least, not between strangers or even casual acquaintances. Rather, this was reminiscent of the passages she had read in romance novels. Morwen set the letter opener on the table and swallowed, taking another sip from her tea before she continued to read.
It has been far too long since we last saw one another. I hope you are well.
I would say that I can imagine you have little time to spend freely, but I now know of that burden, as I have been given a noble title of my own by His Majesty. It would seem that saving the Crown Prince from a runaway vegetable cart was a deed worthy of a fiefdom! I do not know the usual protocol, but I learned the news in a letter from King Elessar rather than in a ceremony, though I expect that he is rather busy with this conflict with the Southrons. Are you involved in that, as well? I suppose if I do not receive a reply that you must be. I wanted to go, but I was ordered to remain behind to protect the city, along with a garrison and the City Guard.
As I have no sons of my own, I have given my home in Minas Tirith to my nephew, Bergil, who followed in his father’s footsteps and has chosen to become a Guard of the Citadel. It has only been a month since I came to Anfalas—it would appear we are neighbors! I hope I can do well for the people who have lived here their entire lives. Was it the same for you? Of course, you are a son of Prince Imrahil, so I suppose you are already accustomed to this sort of thing. I do not think I deserve such a reward and privilege, but I cannot refuse His Majesty, especially not after he showed mercy and spared my brother-in-law's life.
Now that we are no longer separated by such a great distance, I hope that we will be able to see more of each other. And if you would rather not, now that you have a wife, I hope that when you read this letter that you will at least write to me. Not as we used to, though infrequent it was, but perhaps as nothing more than old friends. Even under the pretense of official correspondence between two lords would satisfy this yearning for you that has not waned since you told me of your intent to marry.
I must end this note here, as I am neglecting my duties—of which I am still learning. Please send a reply to my nonsensical rambling… even if it is to tell me to never contact you again, though I sincerely hope it will not come to that, for I think I might wade into the sea and give myself over to the waves.
From a soldier who loves you,
Iorlas
Morwen’s hand was pressed to her lips as she read the last lines of the letter; either to muffle any noises she might unintentionally make or to hide the grin on her face. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Whoever this Iorlas was, it was obvious to her that he was indeed from a common background, for no noble would be foolish enough to speak so openly in a letter that was addressed to someone other than a family member or spouse and risk it being intercepted or opened by someone other than the intended recipient. Whoever this Iorlas was, he was lucky that the letter had been opened by her and that she was not prone to jealousy.
“Elegil,” she said, a smile making its way onto her lips.
“Yes, my lady.”
“I would like to send a reply to the Lord of Anfalas.”
“I shall bring writing materials straight away. Would you like them here, or…?”
“Bring them to my drawing room, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“As you wish, my lady. Is there anything else you need at the moment?”
“No, that will be all, Elegil. Thank you.”
“Of course, my lady.”
The butler bowed and took his leave without another word. When she had the dining room to herself, Morwen folded the letter and tucked it into her dress. Her smile grew wider as she brought the teacup to her lips. She’d had no inkling of how the day would progress, and she was not disappointed.
‘My husband is a lucky man,’ she thought to herself gleefully.
~*~
The return of the Lord of Pinnath Gelin was a quiet and uneventful affair, but the atmosphere suited the lord quite fine. It was over an hour after he arrived that Erchirion set foot in the manor, having been overseeing the unloading of used supplies and replacing them with fresh ones. By the time that had been completed, it was late afternoon and the men who were not locals set up camp in a flat area on the southern side of the fief. Erchirion entered the foyer and handed his cloak to Elegil, who was already waiting for him.
“Welcome back, my lord.”
“Thank you. I hope all has been quiet here.”
“Quiet as a door mouse, my lord. Lady Morwen has done an exceptional job of keeping Pinnath Gelin afloat while you were away.”
“I am relieved to hear it.”
“Supper will be served in an hour, my lord. Shall I have the bath prepared for you before then?”
“Please.”
“In the meantime, Lady Morwen is currently in the main drawing room entertaining the Lord of Anfalas. Shall I inform her that you have arrived?”
“She is with whom?” Erchirion asked.
“The Lord of Anfalas. He sent a letter about a fortnight ago and Lady Morwen wrote a reply and invited him for a visit. He arrived a little before you did.”
“I see…” Erchirion’s eyes shifted nervously. What was the Lord of Anfalas doing here? And what had been said in his letter? Had he decided that he wished to withdraw his consent to allow Erchirion and his men to anchor their ships in the Bay of Belfalas near the border with his land? “Er… no, that won’t be necessary. I will greet her and our guest myself.”
“Very good, my lord. Will there be anything else?”
“No, that will be all.”
Elegil nodded once, and after he hung up Erchirion’s cloak, he briskly departed and returned to his duties. Erchirion turned to the doors to the drawing room and tugged at his shirt and sleeves to get rid of any wrinkles. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly, bracing himself for what would be on the other side of the door. He turned the knob.
~*~
Morwen turned her head when she heard the door that separated the drawing room from the antechamber open. She stood upon seeing her husband in the doorway and crossed the room to greet him, rising onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“Welcome home, husband. For a moment, I thought that perhaps you had chosen to sleep with your men.” Erchirion spluttered, something that was unlike him.
“What?”
“I thought you had decided to set up camp with your men. I heard you had returned more than an hour ago.”
“Oh…” Morwen’s lips curved into a secretive smirk. This was way too easy. “No, I was overseeing the loading and unloading of supplies.”
“Ah, of course. I would expect no less.”
“I heard you have a guest,” Erchirion said, and his eyes darted toward the settee where he could see the top of a head with dark hair.
“Yes. The Lord of Anfalas has come to see you.”
“To see me?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously.
“Yes. Apparently, he is an old friend of yours.”
“Of mine?”
Morwen took his arm and led him to the seating area. When they came around the outside of the nearest settee, the visitor jumped to his feet. Erchirion froze. Morwen watched him out of the corner of her eye but said nothing.
“Long time no see,” said their guest, a faint tremor in his voice and a sheepish grin on his face.
“Iorlas? You are the new Lord of Anfalas?” Rather than answering politely—or answering at all, for that matter—Iorlas laughed.
“Why do you sound so surprised? I told you of this in my letter.”
“What letter?” Iorlas’ smile vanished.
“What do you mean ‘what letter?’ You sent a reply. That is why I am here, because you said…” His mouth fell open and a look of horror flashed in his eyes as he watched Morwen slowly withdraw an envelope from somewhere in her gown. “Oh no…”
Morwen, for her part, tried to keep her smile fairly tame. Her experience in the Gondorian court had helped her learn to keep her true thoughts hidden from prying eyes, but on the inside, she was cackling like a madwoman. Without looking at him, she held the envelope out for her husband to take. She slipped her arm out from the crook of his elbow and clasped her hands before her like a proper lady while her husband hurriedly read the letter, his grip on the parchment tightening every so often and his face becoming paler and paler. Poor Iorlas looked as if he were about to be sick on the rug.
“Had I known who the sender was and what was written, I would have left the envelope sealed and given it to my husband upon his return. However, since it had come from the Lord of Anfalas, I could not ignore it and opened the letter. I sent the reply on his behalf,” she said at last, when the silence stretched just a little too long for her liking.
“What have you done…?” Erchirion whispered. Iorlas looked at him and swallowed.
“I’m so sorry.” Erchirion clenched his jaw and crumpled the letter in his hands.
“What have you done?!”
Even Morwen found herself surprised by his outburst. Her husband was usually calm and level-headed, and she had never heard him raise his voice before, likely as a result of being raised in Prince Imrahil’s household. But then again, that really wasn’t saying much, since they had only been married for a few years and he was rarely home. He was very much a follower of rules and complied with the status quo and orders that he had been given; whether or not he agreed with all of them was anyone’s guess, since he usually played his role without objection. He may not have wanted to marry her, but he also did not complain about the arrangement or attempt to get out of it.
“I didn’t know someone else would open your letters! Or that you were not home to open them yourself!” Morwen brushed her hands down the front of her dress and let out a calm yet slightly exasperated sigh.
“Well, it sounds like the two of you have a lot of catching up to do. If you will excuse me, I am going to check on the progress of supper.” She nodded to them and turned to leave.
“Wait, Mor…! Morwen!” Erchirion quickly caught up to her and grasped her elbow. Morwen kept her expression neutral as she watched her husband’s gaze flicker between her face and where Iorlas was still standing. “Please, just let me explain.”
Morwen sighed again and patted her husband’s hand. She then turned to address Iorlas.
“I do apologize, as it is terribly rude to do this to a guest, but would you mind stepping into the next room for a moment, Lord Iorlas?” He blinked at her, as if he had a hard time believing that she was speaking to him.
“Not at all.” Without making eye contact and saying anything more, Iorlas took his leave and closed the door behind him. The corner of Morwen’s mouth curved upward at his lack of decorum.
“I will not attempt to deceive you. Yes, Iorlas and I know each other… intimately. But it was ten years ago. We met at the coronation and saw each other a few more times, but all of that ceased once we were married.”
“In his letter, it seemed as if you had corresponded.”
“A few times, yes, but no more than once or twice after our wedding.” Morwen hmm’ed, not revealing her inner thoughts. “Please, I beg of you, I will do anything you ask of me if you would just forget what happened today took place.”
“Oh dear.” She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “You look quite fatigued, darling. It must have been from all of those days at sea and your days of travel. Why don’t you sit down?”
Erchirion didn’t try to resist as Morwen led him over to the settee. She poured him a cup of tea and handed it to him, but he did not drink from it. He only stared at her with a furrowed brow.
“I did not poison it, if that is what you are concerned about,” she said as she sat across from him and folded her hands in her lap.
“You… do not seem angry.”
“What reason should I have to be angry?” His eyes shifted uncertainly, as if he expected her to suddenly lunge at him from across the table and attempt to strangle him.
“Because of… what I just told you.” She blinked at him and tilted her head, as if not understanding his meaning. “And you also do not seem disgusted.”
“Why would I be disgusted?” Erchirion pressed his lips into a thin line and set the teacup and saucer on the table before curving his hands over his knees.
“Because that is the normal reaction people have when they hear about this sort of thing.” Morwen exhaled through her nose and smiled. Perhaps she had drawn this out long enough.
“One of the things I love about being married to you is that you never expect me to behave a certain way. You simply let me be. You never demand anything of me, nor do you put pressure on me to give you an heir. Though, I can see why that is, now.” He swallowed and rubbed his hands on his knees. “After reading that letter, it should have been obvious to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, how shall I put this…?” She pondered over how best to answer him without hurting his feelings. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. “You don’t know how to pleasure a woman.”
Erchirion started coughing, probably from choking on his own saliva. He grasped the teacup and downed the tea in two large gulps. Morwen stared ahead impassively. In typical Gondorian fashion, no one bats an eye when a man boasts to his friends about a woman he bedded, but when a woman brings up sex, it’s an absolute scandal!
“Was it truly that bad?” Morwen cocked her head and hummed in thought.
“It was hardly extraordinary. Or satisfactory.” Erchirion groaned and buried his face in his hands. There was nothing more painful for a man to hear than being told that his skills in the bedroom were lacking. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t want to upset you by telling you that.”
“Well, you should have.”
“What good would that have done?”
“I don’t know, but…” He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, making some of his unruly curls stick up at odd angles. “But I was your first. How could you know about that sort of thing?”
Well, she could have said that some young ladies receive books from their governesses with information about it. But she decided instead that telling the truth would be best.
“I suppose that it would be unfair of me to keep my secrets when I already know yours,” she said offhandedly. “I prefer the company of women.”
Morwen silently watched her husband. The blinking of his eyes. The shifting of his gaze. The appearance and disappearance of wrinkles as he furrowed and relaxed his brow.
“Now, it makes sense. Now, I understand why at our first meeting you asked me what I wanted in a marriage.” She nodded once.
“I refused to be tied to a man who would control my life and only use me as his broodmare. When you told me you wished only for a wife from a noble household who would meet your father’s approval and to not hope for a marriage built upon love and affection, I couldn’t believe my luck.”
“I think you are the first woman to ever say that she was lucky to be in a loveless marriage.”
“You might be surprised.”
“When did you realize…?”
“I kissed my maid when I was fourteen. She was a little older than I was. We were close and spent more time together than we probably should have, but we were careful not to rouse suspicion. A couple of years into it, I realized that she must have been indulging me only because my father was her employer. It felt wrong to continue. I never made her do anything she did not wish to do, nor did I ever forbid her from refusing, yet I believe she still thought that she had to obey my commands and fulfil my desires.
“So, we returned to being mistress and servant, and not long after, the war started and the women were ordered to evacuate from the city. She became ill on the road and did not make it.”
“I am sorry.” Morwen gave a curt nod.
“I think that if you still care for Iorlas as much as he seems to care for you, you should pursue this. Discreetly, of course.”
“I don’t think that is a good idea. It is unfair to you.” Morwen sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Darling, I may not love you as a wife loves her husband, but I do still care about you and want you to be happy.”
“What about you? You deserve happiness, as well.”
“I will keep my eyes and ears open. In the meantime, all I ask is that when we are in public, or are summoned to court, that you act as if our marriage is perfect in every way and that we couldn’t be happier. And that you visit my bed occasionally so that I can silence everyone who seems to think it is their business whether or not I am with child. I can only keep using the ‘he-is-away-at-sea’ excuse so much before people stop believing me.”
“Well, I am away at sea more often than not.”
“Yes, but you are expected to sleep with me whenever you briefly return home.”
“Right…” He rubbed his hands on his knees again, which Morwen guessed was a nervous behavior of his. “I suppose I can manage that. You have my word.”
“Good. Now, if you will excuse me, I really should check on supper. The salt of the sea and the smells of the road are clinging to you, so you should wash up.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively. “Perhaps Iorlas will help you with that.”
“Wha—?”
Before Erchirion could finish his reply, Morwen stood up and came around the edge of the table, stopping right in front of him. He stared up at her openmouthed, unsure of what she was planning. After a pause, Morwen held his face in both of her hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead, moved down to his cheek, before allowing her lips to linger on his mouth. When she pulled away, leaving Erchirion somewhat breathless, she gazed down at him with a smile that held an edge of mischief.
“Happy birthday, husband.”
