Fire and Ice

“Careful with that Lass! Let me—”

“Let you, Old Man? Hardly! You’ve no reason to overwork yourself just because—”

“There’s no call for you ta—”

“Oh Morgoth’s bleeding stumps, both of you, out of the way!” Morwen fumed, fed up with Walda and Folcwyn’s constant arguing over which was more fit to do heavy work, the visibly pregnant whore or the landlord with the troublesome heart. Fighting the urge to grumble under her breath, Morwen put her shoulder to the cask in question and shifted it in the rack behind the bar until it settled with a thump.

“You’ll bruise yourself, doing it that way,” Walda grumbled.

“Better a bruised shoulder than bleeding ears,” Morwen shot back with narrowed eyes. For a moment they stared at each other sternly but eventually Walda’s eyes twinkled and the corner of Morwen’s mouth quirked. Their stand off finished with chuckles and a pat on the arm.

“We’re not that terrible, are we?” Folcwyn asked, hand on belly and Morwen slipped an arm around her waist. To say that Folcwyn had been sensitive once she’d announced her condition was an understatement, but almost everyone agreed it was simply an affect of the pregnancy. Rapid mood swings were a fairly common symptom of breeding from what most of the women had seen. Of course Dreame insisted Folcwyn had always been nigh hysterical and no one had bothered to notice it before, but as winter had finally turned into spring, her complaints had become less passionate and therefore easier to ignore. There were still days, though, when Morwen daydreamed of plowing the little blonde into the mud in the inn yard on the off chance it would shock her into silence. Luckily the mud had mostly dried now that summer approached and temptation couldn’t turn into action. Walda didn’t deserve to handle the fighting.

As they hoisted and lowered the last ale cask into place, Morwen realized she worried about Walda quite a lot. The work was getting too hard for him and now that they knew his ailment wasn’t likely to go away, any task that could overwork him sent at least two of the women to his side, “getting in the way” as he put it. What they needed was another man to help with the heavy work Walda wouldn’t let the women do but couldn’t do much longer by himself, but finding someone both trustworthy and willing to work in a tavern full of whores would be difficult. So in the mean time they simply worked harder and for longer periods of time, bustling through the day to see that everything was done before night fell. With warm weather came more people, but the surprise of all surprises came that night when a familiar lanky lad came through the door, shielding someone else behind him.

Walda was the first to call out, as was his habit, but the stormy look on the young man’s face quieted the landlord again. It had been over a year since Gram had set foot in the tavern, and he seemed no more at ease in it than he had those many months before. It was only when Scarlet removed her shawl from over her head and stepped around him that his expression softened and he spared her a smile before he returned to scanning the room.

“Hello Walda,” she said as she approached the bar. “I thought you’d like to see her.”

“Well look at that,” Walda murmured, gazing down into the folds of Scarlet’s shawl. “Looks like her Da, if you don’t mind me saying.” The remark earned another slight smile, but still Gram said nothing. The group huddled around the bar drew Morwen’s curiosity and she paused when she recognized the man, then the girl.

“Here lads,” she said as she put her pitcher on a table at the back. “Have at it. I’ll be back before it’s empty.” Whatever the men said as she left didn’t register, for now she saw a patch of golden fluff poking out of Scarlet’s shawl and realized who else had come to visit.

Oh my gracious.

By the time Morwen reached the bar, followed swiftly by Rose, Walda had coerced the baby to take hold of his finger and she studied it with a scowl before opening her mouth wide and popping it in. Walda grinned.

“I’m sorry,” Scarlet said, trying to save Walda from a thorough chewing, “her teeth are growing in.”

“Tch, think naught of it Lassie,” he replied. “I’ve never minded being nibbled a bit by a pretty little lass. How’s things, Gram? Business picking up now that the weather’s broke?”

“Aye,” the farrier replied as the other girls arrived and pandemonium began, “doing well.” Nothing else the lad may have thought of saying could have been heard over the cooing and fuss raised by the other women, but Morwen stayed a little apart, almost as frightened of the baby as of frightening the baby by increasing the mob of strangers around the little family.

“We didn’t mean to disturb the entire place, truly,” Scarlet was saying. “I’ve wanted you to see her all winter but it was too horrible to risk the walk.”

“Has she been sickly?” Folcwyn asked.

“No, not at all,” Scarlet said.

“She wasn’t going out in that weather,” Gram replied, surprising most of the women into silence. It was the first time most of them had heard him speak so forcefully before. Folcwyn and Morwen exchanged glances. The young farrier was proving to be a protective father… and husband.

Ah well, Morwen mused. It’s not necessarily bad, nor surprising. And they seem happy.

“How was the birth?” Folcwyn asked quietly, passing a hand over the baby’s downy blonde hair.

“Taxing,” Scarlet said wryly. “But when are they not? Seems you’ll find that out soon enough yourself.”

“Aye, in autumn, a bit before.”

“Let me know when the time comes,” Scarlet said quietly, “I may have some clothing and such you can borrow.” The offer drew a snort from Gram and yet another surprised pause from the women that only extended when Scarlet turned toward her husband.

“I’ve already thanked you for bringing me to see my friends, haven’t I? I’ll not deny them the same sort of help they’ve given me.”

“There’s no need,” Walda said. “We’ll see that Folcwyn and the wee’un are taken care of. I do what’s best for all my girls. Always have. How about a pint then, Gram lad? No charge o’ course.”

“Let’s have a seat,” Morwen said, finally finding her voice. “It’s not right to leave a young mother standing while we all gape at her so. Find a place, sweet one; I’ll bring food and cups.”

“Thank you Morwen,” Scarlet said shifting the baby to her other hip. “She is getting awfully heavy these days.”

The trips to and from the kitchen for bread and cheese also let Morwen top up a few tankards, and gave her time to think. She felt rather like a weight was lifted from her chest, seeing Scarlet and her family thriving, but she also understood Gram’s foul mood. Were she in his position, the last place she would take her family is the tavern where her wife once worked. At the same time, though, he had to know Scarlet missed her friends, and those were hard to come by for a former whore— except among her own kind. Hopefully Morwen would get a chance to talk to Scarlet some time before they left, but why she felt the need to speak to the girl so much she couldn’t decide. Superficially at least it was to double check that she was actually happy, but there was something else drawing her attention back to the girl-mother with the little blonde infant in her lap as the night wore on.

Eventually the newness of their smallest visitor faded and the girls drifted off toward their other customers again. Scarlet had chosen a table close enough to the bar that she and Walda kept a fairly lively conversation running, with the others chiming in occasionally. The twins fell to a game of peek a boo with the baby by crouching behind the bar and popping up one at a time from opposite sides of Walda, making faces and noises until the little one laughed. The baby was entranced by their antics, as were half the customers of the tavern. Dreame even saw fit to spare them a smile. Scarlet seemed relieved to have adult conversation, and chattered for some time about her wedding and how she and Gram had passed the winter. Morwen felt a frizzle of pride when she overheard the girl mention embroidery, but came up short when Scarlet addressed her next.

“You can do more than stare, Morwen. She won’t bite if you don’t let her,” the young mother teased. “Come say hello.”

Morwen paused cautiously for a moment, but gave in and crouched next to the table before she rubbed the baby’s chubby fist with her finger. As before, the little girl scowled at the stranger before her and popped her hand into her mouth. Finally Walda’s comment about her resemblance to Gram registered and Morwen grinned.

“She does look like her Papa,” Morwen said. “What’s her name?”

“Sigrún,” Scarlet said. “After her grandmother. Here, take her. She likes you.” Morwen wondered what, exactly, gave Scarlet the idea that her daughter felt any differently about Morwen than she had any of the other women but couldn’t refuse before the child was settled into her lap, still clinging to Scarlet’s shawl. For a moment the two simply looked at each other, equally shocked, but thankfully the baby was the first to recover and let go of the familiar shawl in favor of something new to be studied—a fist full of Morwen’s hair.

Why is it always the hair?

“Oh, Sigrún, no. Don’t chew that,” Scarlet said, but the child seemed content to simply stare at the clump of curls in her hand, so Morwen let her continue. Truthfully she was a little afraid of the caterwaul reclaiming it could cause, and really, she told herself, it harmed very little. Her crouch on the floor, however, was another matter, and she stood up slowly to give her knees a rest. The baby had no objections to being shifted from Morwen’s lap to her hip, but merely looked up at the woman holding her with large blue eyes full of questions. With her back to the door, Morwen heard rather than saw it open and shielded the baby’s head from the draft of cool spring air that rushed in. A familiar grunt finally turned her around.

It was, she realized after a moment, quite an awkward thing to be standing between Gamling and his ale with a baby on her hip, though it seemed the prospect was still more startling to Gamling himself. But, striving for normality, Morwen simply smiled.

“Hello.”

Gamling nodded.

“This is Sigrún, Scarlet’s daughter. Your usual?”

Gamling grunted, cocking his head to the left as he studied first Morwen, then the baby and back again. Sigrún, in return, studied the Horse Lord with a comically matching scowl that both Morwen and Scarlet noticed.

“I’ll take her with me,” Morwen said as Scarlet reached for the baby again, “give you a chance to finish your food.”

“You don’t… well, it would be nice,” she said, relenting. “Thank you.” Morwen headed toward the kitchen, Sigrún on her hip studying the flowers around the collar of Morwen’s dress while Gamling remained in front of the door looking bewildered. After a moment more of staring, he grunted again and took his usual place near the windows, deep in thought.

“You let her take her?” Gram asked once Gamling was seated a short distance away.

“The worst that could happen to her with Morwen is that someone looks at them twice and Morwen either laughs in his face or brains him with a pitcher,” Scarlet replied, stretching her back and arms.

“I’d have taken her if you’re tired.”

“She needs to meet new people, Gram, or she’ll never learn how to behave with others. No one here will harm her.”

“And what if another fight starts up, like that one last fall? You think she’ll be safe then?”

“There’s a reason I let Morwen take her and none of the others,” Scarlet replied. “I trust her; upper level members of the Guard trust her. I wish you could at the very least trust our judgment, if not trust the woman herself.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust her,” Gram began.

“It’s that you don’t like what she reminds you of, I know,” Scarlet cut in, “but, darling, the only difference between me and any one of these women was finding the right man at the right time. Am I to throw up my nose at them because I’ve had a stroke of good fortune?”

“You don’t belong here any more,” Gram growled, clunking his tankard on the table.

“Nor do I belong to you,” his wife shot back, her jaw set. “You cannot and will not keep us locked away from the world forever. We should finish this discussion at home.”

“That can be arranged. Get her back here, we’re leaving.”

“No, we’re not,” Scarlet snorted, turning around again.

“You know why I’ve kept you ‘locked away from the world’ as you put it?” Gram replied, his voice rising. “No one will let their wives or daughters be seen with you, or for that matter with me, because you—”

“I’m beneath them,” Scarlet said after Gram stopped himself. “I know. But how do you expect Sigrún to be able to face those who will snub her for what her mother was if she doesn’t first know that there can be— and often is— good in people other than her family?”

“She’s right,” a voice rumbled unexpectedly. “Come have another drink lad. The baby will be along.” The young farrier seemed surprised that the guard would address him directly, but was awed just enough by Gamling’s presence to give Scarlet one last, hard look and change seats. They said nothing for a while, though Gram shifted nervously between swigs of ale and baleful glares at his young wife. Gamling, of course, was as composed as always, carefully weighing the speech he was about to make.

“That fight last fall started because of Grima’s men,” he began. “They won’t cross that threshold again or their lives will likely be forfeit, and everyone knows it. It’s the only place in Edoras I know those greasy hill rats don’t skulk around in the shadows. Probably the safest tavern in the city.”

“I’m glad to know the prince and his friends can drink and whore in peace,” Gram spat in reply. “But what about the rest of us? Have you even heard what’s happening outside the city?”

“We’ve heard it all,” Gamling said. “There’s little more to be done for it, and certainly nothing we can do from here. The danger likely won’t come this far south. They’re taking horses, not humans, and the stock is being kept closer this year so the Eored can help the herdsmen. The trouble is to the north. It’s not as dangerous in the city as you think.”

“For how long?” Gram asked. “They’ve been seen fifty leagues from here.”

“Over fifty leagues from your family,” Gamling said and took up his tankard again, “on the opposite side of thick walls and hundreds of soldiers. I think you’re a bit over worried, lad.”

“Orcs without aren’t the only danger.”

Gram’s pronouncement dropped most of the tavern into a hush and Gamling paused in thought again, his blue eyes shrewd.

“That’s not a threat here, after last autumn. Not with Walda up and about. Not with me here, and I usually am. Let your wife enjoy a night with her friends or she won’t be the same girl much longer.”

The farrier opened his mouth but shut it again when he saw Morwen sit next to Scarlet, still holding his daughter. The baby’s normal frown was gone, replaced by the wide eyes and slobbery smile that Gram had learned meant she was pleased with something. Scarlet too looked more peaceful than he was used to seeing her; the color that had left her cheeks through the winter had returned, slightly, and even from a distance he could see the light in her eyes again.

“They’ve been through enough,” Gram said, “your woman and mine both. Don’t you fear for them, with what’s coming for us?”

Gamling thought hard about his answer. To say that yes, he did fear for Morwen and for every woman and child in Rohan, would be disloyal to Théoden king and counter-productive to his reason for calling Gram over in the first place. Whatever he thought of what went on behind Théoden’s counsel chamber doors was not proper tavern talk, and the lad didn’t need to know how astute his implication really was.

“I wish I could do more, sometimes,” Gamling said. “But we’re well enough. Keeping them away from the entire world helps you feel better, but women aren’t like horses to be shut in a barn when the snow flies. They’re as thinking as you or me, more fragile yes, but stronger in some ways too. Think of what your girl saw and did before you met her, before she came here. Lost her Ma didn’t she?”

“Aye. Raised three younger brothers and a baby sister before her Pa died. Then the children went to an uncle that wouldn’t take her.” At Gamling’s raised eyebrow, Gram dropped his voice. “The aunt wouldn’t allow it. She was too pretty; apparently the uncle couldn’t be trusted. But letting her end up here… I wouldn’a stood for it were she kin of mine.”

“Nor I, but can’t be helped now. Can’t do anything beyond see that she’s safe and your weeun’ grows up with both of you. Don’t think I don’t understand your side.” Gamling paused. “I’ve seen what happens when a lass gets pent up. At least yours still has the spirit to try to make you understand.”

Gram frowned and looked up at the older man who studied their respective womenfolk with a squint in his eye.

“Who?”

“My Ma,” Gamling said softly, and drained his tankard in one long stretch. After a pregnant pause, he continued. “The other lads in the city, they think like you?”

“Are you saying we shouldn’t be worried?” Gram retorted.

“I’m asking,” Gamling replied.

“Some of us, aye, the ones with children and wives. Threats from both sides don’t make many folks comfortable.”

Gamling nodded. “And I didn’t say they should. I need another drink. Come with me.”

Morwen, of course, had seen Gamling and Gram talking in the corner, but did her best to pay it no mind. Hopefully he could make Gram see that Scarlet just needed a rest from the monotony of day after day with few adults to talk with. She felt a strange prickle up her scalp, though, when she realized he watched the baby as much as he looked at Morwen, or anyone else for that matter. For her part, Sigrún seemed content enough now that her mother was within arms reach. She’d fussed a bit when the kitchen door shut, but Morwen distracted her with a spoon and did her best to hurry back to the common room before the child grew anxious again. They sat now, Sigrún still gnawing her spoon, Scarlet seeming to enjoy simply being in the bustle and fuss of the tavern.

“I miss the noise,” Scarlet said finally. “Of all the things I left, I never thought I would miss the endless chatter.”

“I suppose it would be a startling change,” Morwen replied. “It took me a while to adjust from the racket of Minas Tirith. Believe it or not, this has always been what I consider quiet.”

“No offense meant, but I never mean to find out for myself,” Scarlet replied. “Some of the places you worked… I would never.”

“I don’t plan to return either. I know a good thing when I find it, and apparently so does your Gram. He’s good to you?”

“The best he knows how to be,” Scarlet sighed. “Unfortunately he’s a bit… nervous. I didn’t expect that from him, but we’re learning.”

Morwen smiled and looked down at the baby again. “I can understand why.”

“She’s lovely, though I’m a little partial. Frowns just like her father.”

Morwen laughed and Sigrún looked at her again. “You’re right to be partial. She is a dear. So quiet.”

“That’s not normal, then, for a little one?” Scarlet asked, fingering her daughter’s cornsilk hair. “My sister was always quiet and I don’t remember my brothers as infants. I hope it doesn’t mean something’s wrong.”

“I’ve heard a wise woman say that if you think it might not be normal for a babe, the chances are it is, but I wouldn’t know first hand,” Morwen replied.

“She’s as normal as any I’ve ever seen,” Bliss piped up, “and I’ve been to more birthings than most.”

“Our ma was a healer,” Blithe added, addressing the baby with wide eyes. “I think Sigrún’s just fine for a little lass, aren’t you? Why yes you are.”

“We’ve had the cavalry healer by to check on us,” Scarlet said, “but he seems a man of few words. Didn’t speak to me much when he came, which wasn’t often.”

Hearing that, Morwen frowned and looked at the twins for their reaction to Scarlet’s statement. The Léohthelm known in the tavern was, actually, quite talkative for a man, especially with the twins. Blithe frowned, ending yet another peek-a-boo session prematurely, but Bliss filled in her place and the baby, it seemed, couldn’t tell the difference. Whatever Blithe thought about the situation was left a mystery when Gamling and Gram joined the women a moment later.

“First I’ve seen the bottom of a tankard here in a long while,” Gamling muttered seating himself next to Morwen. “You’re a distraction, milady Sigrún.”

In a flash the baby’s frown was back and the spoon dropped, forgotten, to Morwen’s lap. The twins went about their business, hiding smiles behind their hands, as Gram sat and watched Gamling and the baby become acquainted. Morwen watched Gamling more than the child, not exactly surprised by his demeanor but not terribly comfortable with the situation either. Sigrún tried, it seemed, to instigate a staring contest with the redheaded Horse Lord and, when that failed, opted for taking a fist full of his tunic sleeve and shaking. When that didn’t work, Morwen felt her draw herself up and suddenly fling her entire body forward, straight for Gamling’s lap. Luckily he anticipated the move and caught her before she went headlong onto the floor, and stood her on his lap where they could see eye to eye. To Morwen it seemed like watching a great bear playing with a cub, or rather being played with by a cub as Sigrún had taken one handful of Gamling’s shirt and another of his beard in the attempt to steady herself. Gamling just laughed deep in his chest and made wide-eyed faces at her, smiling broadly... for Gamling.

“First she’s ever done that,” Gram muttered, resting a tentative hand on Scarlet’s shoulder.

“I’m not surprised,” Scarlet replied. “She has her father’s instincts for people. You gave me a very smart daughter, you know.” When Morwen chuckled, Gram flushed to the roots of his hair, but eventually grinned a bit sheepishly.

“And you’re right to be a proud papa,” Morwen said. “She’s a sweet little lass.”

“Thank you,” the farrier replied.

“Our next will be a boy,” Scarlet added with mischief in her eyes.

Gram looked at her, frowning. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Oh, not yet,” the girl said before reaching for her daughter. “But perhaps we should go home, Husband? I think I have wifely duties to attend.”

Hasn’t lost her sense of humor, Morwen thought. She’ll be all right.

Gamling seemed a little reluctant to return Sigrún to her mother, but once the baby released his beard she was happy enough to be wrapped in her mother’s shawl again, peeking out at Morwen with one eye. A few goodbyes and promises to visit again later, the little family headed into the rapidly chilling night and Morwen breathed a quiet sigh of relief. That relief, however, was short-lived as everyone in the tavern, it seemed, talked about the baby for the rest of the night. Then later in her room, when Morwen thought she could finally relax, Gamling startled her a second time.

“You don’t like children?”

Shite…

“Are you forgetting Feanreth and her rabbit last winter?” Morwen replied coyly.

“So it’s babies then?” he persisted.

“I did hold the child for several minutes, if you recall. Would I do that if I disliked babies?” she asked, turning toward the window and away from her inquisitor.

“Something had you rattled,” Gamling insisted, grasping her upper arms. “Still does. You’re dodging questions. You don’t do that.”

The sound of hooves in the street drifted faintly up to Morwen’s room where she stood looking up toward Meduseld. Below their feet a bench screeched over the floorboards and a minute later a door slammed. Someone going to the privy. Morwen mused. Do I tell him? How do I tell him? And what will I lose if I do?

“You don’t like babies,” Gamling said softly. “You have none of your own. You’ve shown no signs of breedin’ in over a year.” With every statement Morwen flinched beneath his hands, but it had to be out. He couldn’t stand not knowing anymore.

“Perhaps I’m not… mayhap I don’t work properly, but surely someone else you’ve been with in that time does. Are you barren?”

Stunned by the simplicity of his argument and the empathy in his voice, Morwen still stood mute, feeling everything that resembled a relationship with Gamling falling apart around her ears. She braced her elbows on the windowsill and dropped her head to her hands, surprised by how cold her fingers had grown. There was nothing for it now, she decided. He’d backed her into a corner and, already mourning what they’d had, she straightened up again. Best endure her punishment with dignity and what grace she could muster.

“Voluntarily,” she muttered, ashamed to hear her voice thick with tears.

“What?”

“I have chosen to never have a child.”

“But… how? Morwen, I… I don’t understand,” Gamling asked.

“There are ways, among women like me, to stop a babe from growing,” Morwen said and turned to the trunk at the foot of her bed. “There are also ways to… be shed of one, should it stick anyway.”

From the black maw before her knees, Morwen withdrew a bag and a small box, then closed the trunk and dropped them on top before returning to the window. She avoided Gamling’s eyes and looked back up at the Golden Hall instead, counting the lights in its long, narrow windows through misted eyes. Gamling first opened the box and sniffed, making a face at its pungency, then opened the nearly empty leathern bag. A dozen or more small brownish seeds rolled out onto his palm before he poured them back and tied it closed.

“Which does what?” he asked Morwen’s back, any sign of empathy gone.

“The seeds prevent it growing. The tea is for… accidents.”

“You’re nearly out of seeds,” Gamling said. “Have there been any ‘accidents’? Since you came here? Answer me!” Morwen trembled only once when he raised his voice, waiting any moment to feel a blow or hear a door slam. “That illness last spring? Was that one of these ‘accidents’?”

“No,” Morwen replied, subdued. “There’ve been no accidents since I moved north. My sickness last spring was just that— sickness. That bag was full when I came.”

Casting the bag back on the trunk with a snort, Gamling strode across the room, his boots ringing loudly enough to make Morwen jump again.

“And if there were?”

Puzzled, Morwen finally turned around. “Were what, milord?”

Her sudden use of a title snapped Gamling out of his temper long enough to look at her, closely. Eyes on the floor, pressed against the wall at her back as far from him as she could get, it was plain that pure willpower was all that kept her composed and upright. Gram’s words from before echoed in Gamling’s mind. They've been through enough...

Brutish or not, he wanted answers. I’ll make up for it later.

“An ‘accident’. If there were one, what would you do?”

“It… it would depend, milord, on the situation at the time.”

Again with that infernal ‘milord’, Gamling fumed. “And what situations could that be? If it was mine? What would you do, if the next ‘accident’ as you call them, was mine?”

“I would have no way of knowing, milord—”

“Stop it,” Gamling ordered. “You know my name. Use it.”

For a moment Morwen simply stared, first at the floor, then Gamling, then at her hands, completely stricken. This was most definitely not the way she had feared this conversation turning; it was much, much worse. Racket from the tavern drifted up from below but still Gamling stood and would likely stand until the end of time if he didn’t get an answer, and an honest one besides.

“I refuse to bring a child into this life,” Morwen replied, the merest hint of temper snapping in her eyes. “I am only here because my mother had no other choice. I have a choice, and I’ve used it. No daughter of mine will ever spend hours on her back with somebody else’s hands all over her. My son will never have to be locked in the cellar to keep the bum boys away from him.” Finally she drew her gaze from the floor, met Gamling’s eyes and held them fast. “I will never bring a child into a place like this! I’d sooner slit my own throat.”

“That explains what you’ve probably done before,” Gamling replied. “But what about in the future? Has nothing… you don’t think things have changed?”

“I learned long ago mi— Gamling, that the only person I can rely on fully is myself. I won’t repeat her mistakes.”

With that Gamling fell quiet, grinding one fist over and over again in the opposite palm. Surprisingly, though, Morwen continued.

“You didn’t expect that, did you?” she asked. “Suddenly ‘the happy whore’ is gone, and now you’re stuck with the truth: a three time baby killer used in ways you can’t begin to fathom because she needed the gold too much to refuse. What will you do now? Toss the damaged goods aside? Pick another tavern and pretend none of this happened? Find another favorite whore, a younger one who doesn’t know she doesn’t have to be a brood sow and keep up the family tradition? Who doesn’t mind cursing her children with all the glory of life as a harlot? That babe in Folcwyn’s belly downstairs? It’ll be the fourth generation of her family born in a brothel. But I…”

Gamling stepped forward when her voice broke, but Morwen jerked away before he could reach her.

“I wasn’t born for this. I wasn’t supposed to live hand to mouth, night to night under some hairy, sweaty sailor or lily-white scribe who couldn’t find a pretty boy and decided I’d do well enough instead. I was supposed to be better than all this, but I can’t be because of one shipwreck, one greedy man, one unchangeable decision. So,” she said, her head snapping up again, “my mother’s mistake ends with me, one way or another. You can save your speeches about ‘the blessing of giving life’ and ‘the duty of women’; I’ve heard it all before. It has no place here… not with me.”

“Don’t you realize, if there were a babe I could take you from here?” Gamling asked after silence fell. In spite of Morwen’s snort of derision, he continued. “I know you weren’t meant for this, it’s carved all over you. What drew me to you. If you wanted, we’d leave, go back to where I grew up—”

“And how is a farm a better alternative?” she replied.

“You’d be a freewoman, in charge of a house as nature intended it,” he continued. “With no fear of our children being use— seeing what you’ve seen, forced into this,” he finished with a wave at the common room below.

“That’s just a dream, Gamling,” Morwen said softly.

“It worked for Scarlet.”

“I’m not sixteen any more,” she replied, heated again, eyes filling. “I— focka!— I wish I had come to Rohan twelve years ago. It’s too late now, Gamling. I can’t be anything better than a three coin whore.” Tears streaked her cheeks freely, speckling her bodice, soaking into her hair. “It’s just a dream; a beautiful, tempting, torturous dream.”

“If you think I would cast you off so sudden, after all these months,” Gamling replied, going for his purse, “perhaps it was.”

A moment later, three coins rattled onto the trunk between the box of tea and the discarded bag of seeds and Gamling’s footsteps retreated from the room. The door closed behind him with barely a click from the latch, and only then did Morwen feel her heart break and fall, sobbing, to the floor.