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emmanuellececchi · 2 months ago

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politics begins in play, aka happy birthday @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras!

This was intended as a small happy birthday gift for @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras (happy belated birthday!) but it of course it ballooned into this instead. I also intended it to be more squarely focused on the House of Eorl but I have my biases so the Dol Amroth family are making themselves very present whether we like it or not.

While their (grand)children enjoy a day at the beach, the future Queen of Rohan and the Princess Consort of Dol Amroth discuss the future of their families. (G, 3.8k)

So much for the famously sunny Dol Amroth weather, Morwen thought, as another surge of wind slapped the cold drizzle into her face. She had thought that the Lady Aerlinn would rethink the suggested trip to the beach when the grey clouds rolled in, but the Princess Consort of Dol Amroth appeared blithely indifferent to either the whining wind or the spurts of rain that it brought with it, and Morwen was hardly going to have herself and her children labelled as sheltered, sun-spoiled easterners. Despite being in her late sixties — a respectable age for one in whom the blood of Westernesse ran so thin — the Lady Aerlinn strode briskly along beside her, her youngest grandchild balanced on one sturdy hip. The child, a small, brown-skinned creature, grinned as the wind whipped her hair into her face, raising her arms up to the grey skies.

“Are you happy, Fin?” Théoden asked. Her son walked between them, after having spent the first half of the walk to the beach running and tripping (he had skinned his knees twice, Morwen had counted) ahead of them with the Lady Aerlinn’s older granddaughter, but he appeared somewhat steadier now at least, his round cheeks flushed with cold and exertion, his father’s bright eyes seeming to have caught all the blue that was gone from the flat, dull sea.

“I’m the only one who calls her Fin!” Ivriniel, the Prince’s eldest granddaughter, paused ahead of them, her frown of warning comical on her round face. “You call her Finduilas!”

“There, there, calm down,” the Dol Amroth matriarch grumbled, settling Finduilas more firmly on her hip. “No need to be rude, little one. Well, Finduilas, are you happy?”

Finduilas seemed to finally notice her grandmother’s question, for she grinned all the wider and reached to wrap her arm around her neck. “The wind—the wind’s singing,” she chirped.

Singing might be somewhat generous. Shrilling is more like it.

“That it is, darling,” said the Lady Aerlinn, her White Mountains accent stronger as her voice became lower, softer. “And what is it singing about?”

Morwen did not hear Finduilas’ giggled and no doubt nonsensical response, for at that moment they finally came to the end of the long, winding path between damp scrub and slimy rocks and arrived at the beach. The sands stretched out before them would probably have been a pleasing gold on a warm summer’s day, just as the gorse they had passed would no doubt be blossoming in brilliant colours, but now, after hours of sullen rain, they were reduced to a solid, pedestrian brown. The sea too was far from the jewel-blue that Dol Amroth natives bragged of. Instead it expanded, dull and grey toward the horizon, weak waves lapping half-heartedly at the damp sand.

The children, however, greeted the sight as if they had caught sight of the Blessed Realm itself. Théoden and Ivriniel instantly forget any potential quarrel that could have sprung up between them and ran shrieking toward the sea while Finduilas scrambled out of her grandmother’s arms before the old woman could even begin to set her down, stumbling after them on a three-year-old’s clumsy legs. Even Gildis, older and supposedly calmer, only cast a surreptitious glance back at Morwen before hitching up her skirts and streaking after them, yelling at Théoden to be careful.

As if in response to all the excitement, Moriel wriggled in Morwen’s arms, reaching out pudgy, poorly-controlled babe’s arms to the cold sky.

“Another wind-listener there,” said the Lady Aerlinn. Morwen realised that the Princess Consort was observing Moriel, who stared back at her with nigh-black eyes, serious in the way only the very young can be.

“She’s curious,” said Morwen. “I dread to think what will happen when she learns how to walk.”

The Lady Aerlinn shook her head, a knowingly gleam in her eyes. “Don’t talk like you aren’t proud of her for it.”

Morwen pursed her lips, but said nothing, falling in alongside the old woman as she began to walk slowly after their young ones, their booted feet sinking slightly into the damp sand. She was proud, and what of it? Who would not be proud of babes that were healthy and strong and full of such burning life? And temper. Do not forget that they have their father’s temper.

“How did they fare in the journey?” the Lady Aerlinn asked.

“They enjoyed it greatly,” said Morwen, not bothering to hide the pride in her voice this time. “The horses already love Théoden and he sees it all as just an opportunity to spend more time with them. And Gildis was curious to see the sea. The little one sleeps most of the time and when she does wake she gurgles as if to mimic our talk. It was easier than I thought,” she admitted.

The Lady Aerlinn hummed to herself, tilting her head up and squinting against a sputter of rain. “That bodes well.”

Morwen glanced quickly at the old woman, only to see that she was observing the children. Théoden and Ivriniel were standing at the edge of the sea, every now and again darting forward to kick up a spray of water before retreating to the (relatively) dry land, giggling and shrieking at the cold. A few feet away, Finduilas was transfixed by a gull, mouth open as she followed its looping flight, arm outstretched to mimic its path. Gildis had taken a more creative approach to the outing and was busying herself constructing something with the damp sand, earnest little face furrowed in concentration. “They accept new things quickly and with joy,” said the Lady Aerlinn. “That also bodes well.”

There was an knowing intent to the old woman’s words that rankled. “I do not know of what you speak,” said Morwen placidly, smiling pleasantly in that way that she was so good at.

The Lady Aerlinn met her smile with a flat look. The old woman had a broad, unremarkable face; Morwen could remember jokes being made by the older generation that it was a pity that Prince Angelimir was left to bear the family beauty all alone. She had a peasant’s look about her, that was true, but there was a strange depth in her dark eyes that belied the simpleness that one might associate with that look. “You think we all do not see it? King Fengel the Feckless grows old and weak and his son shows no sign of returning to claim his crown. We are all looking to you, my lady, waiting to see what you will do.”

“Surely you should look to my husband?” said Morwen, holding onto Moriel more tightly.

The Lady Aerlinn stared at her, as if that question did not even warrant the blink of an eye. “You are lucky, Morwen, to have a husband who listens to you. The Valar know mine pays me no heed. You are lucky that you have found a man of such a sort, and I think you know exactly how to take advantage of that.”

Now it was Morwen’s turn to greet the old woman’s words with a hard stare. “My husband’s trust is not something which I ‘take advantage of’,” she said, words an ice-sharp warning. Unlike the way you shamelessly use your son against his father. “That my husband listens to me is not a mark of weakness but of wisdom.”

If you’re going to act like you’re right all the time, her uncle had told her once, when she could not have been more than eleven years old, make sure you’ve the smarts to back it up.

And I do, Morwen thought fiercely. I do.

“And yet he shows no inclination toward his homeland.”

“When did you begin to take such an interest in my husband’s doings?” Morwen asked, wondering if this trip to the beach was naught but an excuse for the old woman to dig for information, safely out of sight of their male relatives.

“Since it became clear that he will be the future King of Rohan.” The Lady Aerlinn sighed, winding her fingers together, the knuckles swollen by arthritis. “The sands are shifting, my lady,” she said, suddenly sombre. “The mountains … by my ancestors’ bones, I miss Ered Nimrais. I miss how solid they were, how defiant. And yet I’m sure that is how our ancestors thought of every great wall they flung up between them and the Enemy. And now he begins to rebuild his own walls, his own fortress. I do not doubt that the confirmation of his return hurried our Lord Turgon on to his death. And now King Fengel …”

Ah, I see. “Turgon has died, and now Fengel will die soon,” Morwen continued for her, a pang running through her at the thought of the late Steward, solitary and tired and wistful for peace. That leaves Ecthelion and Thengel.

“I have always thought that they liked each other well enough,” said the old woman. “But you would know them both better than I do.”

“They do,” said Morwen. Indeed, she was counting on Ecthelion to take her side when Fengel inevitably departed this world. She knew that he too worried about the bond between Rohan and Gondor, grown somewhat tense during Fengel’s reign. The King of Rohan had always made ready use of his brothers’ deaths in Gondor’s war as excuse to not entertain a strengthening of ties between their two countries. It had always driven Thengel nigh to fury when he did that. “As if their deaths are not the reason he grows fat and gold-bloated upon his throne! As if he ever cared for aught but himself and his own satisfaction!”

“Maybe fate smiles upon us,” said the old woman, her gaze fixed on the sea. “We will have need of each other, both our peoples. And as he gathers his forces, so must we.” She turned to face Morwen. “Have you tried appealing to his ego? No man will ever turn away from the promise of wealth and glory and the sound of his name said in reverence.”

Morwen thought her eye might have visibly twitched. “You do not know my husband very well, I fear,” she said sharply, drawing herself up to her full (and impressive) height. Thengel could not be less like his father in this regard. She had no doubt that he would be happy to spend the rest of his life in Lossarnach, taking the children out on hunting trips in the flowering woods, helping her father manage his accounts and listening with interest to all the gossip that her aunts and cousins brought to evening meals. And yet …

Can you not feel it? she had asked him once, seated at their open window, staring toward the northern sky, where the stars seemed to burn all the fiercer, lighting the way. Do you not feel that there is a greater purpose, beyond these pollen-drunk valleys? Do you truly wish the heirs of Eorl to grow up in a glorified garden? Lossarnach, Morwen thought, was not a place where one lived. It was where the rich and the old and the weary came to rest their bones and waste their hours sleeping in the sun or admiring the region’s beautiful flowering plants. When she was young, she had missed the activity and dynamism of their home in Belfalas and now she felt an itch, growing ever greater, to turn toward the north.

She knew that Thengel felt it too, or something like it. He knew, in his bones, that he could not stay, never could, that his duty to his people would call him back. And yet, in the stubborn way that Morwen was learning to recognise was characteristic of his house, that knowledge only made him dig in his heels even further. Kings, unfortunately, did not take well to being given orders.

“He knows what he must do,” said Morwen sternly. “And he will not falter when the time comes to do it. I knew that when I first met him, that is why I picked him.”

The Lady Aerlinn cast her a look then, that knowing look that old women always seem to have in reserve for young fools who think they know better than them. You picked him, did you? that look said. You saw a way out, that look said.

But the Lady Aerlinn did not know. She did not know Thengel as Morwen did and she certainly did not know Morwen. We can do it, she had told him, the last time they had discussed it. You and me together. All your father’s lackeys won’t know what’s hit them.

He had smiled, and in that smile Morwen had sensed victory, had known in that familiar smile that they would head north, as sure as the sun rose in the east. He had smiled and reached to comb her hair back from her face, tracing a finger across her forehead. You would suit it, he had said, being a queen.

He had immediately backtracked, however, saying that she did not know what she was walking into. He did not often play that card, that she was younger, foreigner, not quite royalty. Morwen did not like that card and she could fairly say that she had made sure he would never play it again after that argument. I have the blood of the Princes in my veins, she had reminded him, as sure as you have the blood of Eorl. I know the times we live in as surely as you do, and that is exactly why we must do this. We are needed. And we are able. There can be no choice but to take the path that is before us.

“That is why I came here,” said Morwen suddenly, taking herself by surprise. “I came to say goodbye, for I doubt I shall see these lands again.”

The Lady Aerlinn cocked her head, taking in the low grey clouds and the wind-lashed cliffs above them. “I am sorry that the weather should be so poorly in that case. It seems a poor farewell. My, you’re a sturdy lot aren’t you?”

Morwen heard the shrieks of the children on the breeze and followed the old woman’s gaze toward the sea. Théoden, who had been tormenting Gildis by kicking sprays of cold water toward her, had finally broken his older sister’s patience and was now shrieking in delight as she abandoned her sand sculpture and retaliated with equal enthusiasm. Ah, Morwen realised, seeing the look on the Lady Aerlinn’s face. That’s what this is all about. A son.

Two strong, healthy daughters — strangely named, but the Dol Amroth family were known for their somewhat esoteric approaches to that sort of thing; why name your children after your great ancestors when you could borrow them from tragic epics? — and yet Adrahil had no son. Maybe that’s for the best. What would he call the poor boy? Túrin? Gwindor? Saeros?

“He takes after his father,” said Morwen, more to break the silence than anything else. And he shall be a king just like him.

“I don’t know,” said the Princess Consort quietly. “He has your look. Something in the eyes. There’s a hardness there. Like a stone in need of sharpening.”

Morwen frowned at that, wondering what the Lady Aerlinn could possibly have gleaned from the little time she had spent with the boy. But they did say that the Prince’s wife was strange. Too much of her early life in those haunted mountains, raised among the strange tales that the folk of the Blackroot Vale remembered from their eerie ancestors.

“It’s the sort of sharpness that only finds itself in the breaking,” said the Lady Aerlinn.

“He is yet young,” said Morwen, not liking all this talk of breaking. Not when he is so young. Not when he is yet so small.

“And yet,” said the old woman, “you already picture him a miniature king, after his father’s fashion.”

“It is no crime to have ambitions for one’s children.” She wished her father had taken such an approach. He would have been content for her to marry any fair-faced knight or lowly lord who might live nearby, a means to keep his daughter close and safe. Close and safe, suffocating in Lossarnach’s perfumed peace. She would not make the same mistake with her children, she vowed. She would make something of Gildis' thoughtful silences and Théoden’s smiling talk and Moriel’s stubborn surety.

“No. You are not easily defeated, are you? All others chew their nails to the bone worrying over the Enemy and you plan to remake the House of Eorl. It is a pity there are not more like you.”

The compliment appeared to be genuine, and the Lady Aerlinn did nto seem the sort to join the ring of gossipers who spoke of her unsuitable ambitions, her grand schemes for that she concocted on her husband’s behalf. Word was that the old woman was most content as she was now, watching over her grandchildren after stealing them from their mother. “It’s strange to think that these are our future leaders, isn’t it?” she observed. Ivriniel and Théoden were both heartily soaked from the waist down, their fingers dirty and their faces and legs streaked with mud. They could be any carefree children who had played on this beach for hundreds of years, untroubled by worries of Corsair ships or eastern foes in dark towers. Morwen’s chest ached at the thought.

“It is important,” her companion continued, “for the children of the great to know each other, to befriend each other.”

“Politics begins in play,” said Morwen drily, quoting her uncle.

“Very true. Today it is play, tomorrow it is marriage.”

Morwen raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing. Ivriniel had found a long skein of slimy seaweed and was creeping up on Théoden, who had become distracted by Finduilas. The little one was showing him a crab she had found and the two of them were crouched down to better observe it. The wind toyed with their hair, dark and fair tugged loose about their round faces as they solemnly followed the small creature with their eyes, every now and again shuffling a little to keep up with its cautious movements.

“We are stronger together, that has never been in doubt. Gondor and Rohan, both in need of the other, brothers in arms. You must remind your husband of that, when they come of age.”

Morwen considered her words for a long moment, ignoring her son's loud scream at the feel of cold, slippery seaweed being wrapped around his face from behind. She could see the logic of it. An offer of alliance from the Prince of Dol Amroth was an encouraging prospect and yet … It is all to her good is it not? Even if Thengel did not consent to return to Rohan — and he would, he must, she would make him see — it would be quite a thing, would it not, for the Prince of Dol Amroth to be related to the Heir of Rohan. She wondered if the Lady Aerlinn did not worry that a son would not be forthcoming, that the title of Prince might slip to some illegitimate descendant of her wayward husband, whether she sought to secure her bloodline a secondary prize, that they should continue in the line of the House of Eorl.

“They are only children,” said Morwen, eyes sharp as flint. “They are only young.”

“They are not only children,” said the Lady Aerlinn. “They are heirs.”

The wind seemed to blow colder, rain pattering softly on the heather that clad the cliffs behind them.

“And I will not bargain away my children,” said Morwen. “I know not what the world will look like from the Golden Hall of Meduseld, but I know that the sea is a distant thought to a Horse-lord. And I will not debase either of us by making promises that I may not keep.”

The old woman smiled at that, the only genuine expression of joy that Morwen had seen outside of interactions with her grandchildren. “You really wish to see it, don’t you?”

“I do,” said Morwen. “I do.” And she said naught else, for she did. She had heard Thengel describe it to her; his family’s chambers, his mother’s loom casting its shadow on the sun-bathed floor, the intricate carvings and fine-woven tapestries that decorated the Golden Hall, the view, looking out over the endless plains, rippling on and on, a land where horse and rider could become one, leaping over the long, green grass.

The Lady Aerlinn shook her head. “I had never thought to see a woman eager to depart the comforts of home for a stranger’s hearth.”

“It is not a stranger’s hearth,” said Morwen. “It is Thengel’s, long-unclaimed, and mine it will be soon.” They could make a home, not in his father’s house or hers, but theirs, a place for them and their children, as they wished it to be.

The old woman’s gaze was watchful. “My. Aren’t you a curious thing? That solemn face and those hard eyes and inside there’s nothing but a child’s love for all that is yet to come.”

“Do you always do that?” Morwen asked, curious rather than offended. “Say strange things to people about themselves?”

The Lady Aerlinn shrugged. “‘A man can see or a man can live or a man can sing.’ I dare say the watching stones observe many strange things of us, they’ve just not the mouths to speak them.” And then she seemed to shift, considering the conversation over. “Well, whether you will consider my offer or not, you cannot deny that they seem to like each other well enough.”

The children had all grouped together and were now taking turns to throw stones into the sea. Even as Morwen watched, Finduilas whooped and cheered at the plume of water that her stone produced, grinning as she scrabbled to find another, bigger stone that would hopefully bring about an even more impressive result. Ivriniel made to follow suit but Théoden loudly proclaimed that it was his turn actually and charging toward the sea, launching a pebble into the grey waters. Ivriniel of course declared that she could throw a bigger stone, and further, and so it continued, their excited shouts joining the distant call of the gulls.

"Yes," said Morwen, smiling at the sight. "They do."

"Here," said her companion, "hand me the little one, and you go join them a while."

Morwen opened her mouth to protest, but the old woman was already taking Moriel from her arms, the babe's chubby fingers grabbing at her grey braid. "Go," she encouraged, "I promise not to tell. Now hitch up your skirts and be a young mother before you must be a queen."

Feeling as though she were a child herself again, Morwen tugged off her boots and sprinted toward the sea and her children.

“I like Fin and Rin,” said Théoden that night, when his father ordered him to bed. “Can we come back and see them again?”

Morwen ran a finger through his hair, long and straw-blonde. “I think the Lady Ivriniel would prefer you call them by their full names,” she said solemnly, remembering the girl’s expression of disapproval.

“No,” said Théoden, smiling sleepily and burying his head against her skirt, as if to fall asleep right here, half in her lap. His hair was still damp from washing, his cheeks pink and clean, his eyes half closed from exhaustion. “Rin said we’re friends.”

“That’s lovely, dear,” said Morwen, and tried not to think of the long, long road from Dol Amroth to Edoras. Take heart. There is every chance that they will meet again. I only pray that it will be in a time of peace.

As usual I went into this fic looking for someone for Morwen to bounce off of and came out with very strong opinions about an implied wife. As is mentioned in this fic, she is from the Blackroot Vale (the same place as Duinhir & family) who are seen as somewhat rustic and unrefined compared to other parts of Gondor. She has some degree of prophetic abilities, as seen in her observations about Théoden and Moriel/Hrithwyn’s futures. I like to think that in the Blackroot Vale seeing the future is very much an act of seeing while in Dol Amroth it is associated with the sea and the wind and is thus an act of listening, which a respectable resident of the Blackroot Vale would never do because you do not listen to the voices on the wind, you walk away and hope whatever it is doesn’t follow you home. I headcanon that Aerlinn (born Fedelm, but her parents have always called her by her Sindarin name) is largely ignored by her husband, partly due to their very different upbringing and experiences and partly because she took so long to give him a son, their only child. She encourages Finduilas in her love of the sea and the outdoors, believing it important to have a connection with the land and be aware of your place in it, and teaches her a lot of superstitions about the sea, mysticism and prophecy. Unfortunately she dies five years after the events of this fic, meaning that Finduilas has to head into her teenage years without her grandmother’s influence.

#woooow #Rohan #Dol Amroth

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