Fire and Ice

“You need to come to the square,” a voice demanded behind her. Morwen looked up from the sheet she was wringing and glanced over her shoulder, surprised to be barked at so suddenly. Háma?

“What’s wrong?” she asked, drying her hands on her apron and unfolding herself from the floor.

“The ceremony begins at noon. You should be there,” the Door Guard replied with a nod, hands behind his back, feet and shoulders squared, every inch of him a military man.

“If I go, someone else will have to stay, and the twins have never seen the promotion ceremony,” Morwen replied. “I have no wish to—”

“If you’ll not come because you’ve been asked, I can send escorts,” Háma said calmly. It was a tone that didn’t stop at threatening; it practically promised action.

“You wouldn’t?” Morwen retorted, while Háma, ever calm, merely lifted an eyebrow.

“I will expect to see you in the square no later than ten minutes after the ceremony begins. You will be escorted there if I do not.” With that, the Door Guard turned on his heel and rattled away up the hill without a backward glance.

“Well!” Morwen humphed, pushing flyaway strands of hair out of her eyes. Thankfully they stuck where she pressed them. Midsummer day was proving to be uncomfortably hot. How the men would feel in their mail and armor she did not know, but rather than let that line of thinking continue, she turned and went back to scrubbing sheets. She couldn’t think of armor, or soldiers, or bright red hair in the sun; she’d only just managed to get herself out of bed, and only then because staying there every day would worry the others.

Morwen wasn’t stupid enough to think that no one noticed her sudden change in mood, or the distinct lack of Gamling in the tavern, but except for a few snide smiles from Dreame’s corner of the breakfast table now and then, nothing was said.

“What did he want?” Blithe asked over a pile of dry sheets she carried in from the back garden.

“I’ve been ordered to the advancement ceremony this afternoon,” Morwen replied sarcastically. “With an escort if I dawdle too long.”

Blithe’s indigo eyes looked ready to pop out of her head. “Could he do that?”

“I’ve no doubt he could,” Morwen said. “I just wonder if he would.”

“I wouldn’t chance it, personally,” Blithe said. “But then, I don’t generally defy men-folk much.”

“Now that’s not entirely true. What about that yelling match with Léohthelm a few weeks back? That was defiance if I’ve ever seen it.”

The little blonde had the grace to blush at Morwen’s comment but replied quite logically, “It was just a disagreement over medicine practice. I wasn’t disobeying him in anything.”

“What part of ‘Quit plaguing me you little harridan!’ marked you as compliant, sweet one?”

“Well he shouldn’t of just hiked up her skirts, prodded about a bit and walked out like that!” Blithe fumed. “I don’t care if she was one of you before that, she still deserves to know she’s all right.”

Morwen wasn’t quite sure what to address first, Blithe’s passionate assessment of Léothelm’s treatment of Scarlet or the fact that she’d distanced herself from the rest of the whores in the Dragon’s Hoard. Ultimately, the latter won out.

“You still don’t feel that you belong here, do you child?” Morwen said quietly over the splash of water and the tapping of a bumble bee trapped at the window beside the door.

“Some people seem cut for all this,” Blithe sighed. “Some just… never fit, no matter where they’re stitched in. You understand; you don’t belong here either.”

“Maybe once, long ago, I didn’t,” Morwen said. “But now, there’s not much else available to me. So, I do the best I can. The question is, do you think you can do the same?”

For a minute they looked at each other, then cast about for signs of the other women. Most, it seemed, were upstairs getting ready to go to the ceremony and the kitchen was quiet.

“Léothelm’s thought on it,” Blithe said finally. “He’s offered me a place as his apprentice.” As Morwen’s eyes lit up, though Blithe sighed. “I don’t know that I want it, though.”

“Well why ever not? You don’t want to be here, even Bliss has to admit that now,” Morwen asked.

“If he can’t show a former whore any kind of thoughtfulness when she's a first-time mother and needs his help, what’s he going to do with me?” Blithe replied.

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“If he thinks I’m lyin’ down for him, he’s sadly mistaken,” the girl continued with a healthy dose of venom. “I’m not payin’ for my place with my arse any longer than necessary.”

“Good, I’ll help you pack,” Dreame cut in, flouncing into the room with her bed sheets in her arms. “Piss-poor whore you’ve made anyway. You forgot something this morning Morwen. Too distracted being heartbroken, or just miss the coin from your cuckold up on the hill?”

That does it, Morwen fumed a split second before Blithe crossed the room in three long steps and cracked Dreame a sound slap across the face that snapped her head backwards. The yelling commenced at such a pace Morwen couldn’t understand it all, but the intent was obvious and a second later Dreame went for the younger one’s hair.

“Ablinnan ægþer þu! NU! This is ridiculous! Blithe, stop it! Ablinnan, nu. Ablinnan! Dreame, I swear by every Vala known to man, if you touch that girl one more time,” Morwen screamed when she finally pried them apart. Dreame, however, was lost to her rage and went for Morwen instead, aiming a long-nailed hand at her eyes. Instinct kicked in then and Morwen ducked, then jammed a doubled fist into the smaller woman’s jaw, sending her backwards into the wash tub with a shriek and a splash of soapy water.

Blithe’s laughter, followed quickly by Bliss’ and Weirthe’s, brought Morwen back to normal.

“Oh gods. Dreame? Are you…?”

“What’s all this now? Why’s Blithe bleedin’?” Walda barked. “And why is Dreame arse-first in the washing? It’s not that hot out there.”

The landlord’s comment, for once, wasn’t meant to garner laughter, but it succeeded any way… a moment before Dreame burst into tears. Stunned silence fell except for the sobs and sniffles from the woman on the floor and a steady drip from a few pieces of sheet sloshed over the edge of the washtub.

“It was my fault,” Blithe finally answered. “She started on me, then went for Morwen and…”

“Lost yer’ temper lass?” Walda asked, not unkindly. “Yer a good girl for telling me. Out to the tables wi’ ye until we can sort this mess out. Weirthe, go with her. Morwen? You all right?”

“Fine,” she said, still panting from the brief scuffle. “But… in the course of things, I… Oh gods, I’m so sorry. Dreame, are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Walda asked.

“I punched her, rather hard.”

“Oh oh oh… I see. I see. Dreame, answer me lass. Are ye all right?”

The bee’s incessant tapping became nearly unbearable in the silence that followed, but eventually Dreame nodded, dabbing at her eyes with her hands. Morwen couldn’t remember feeling so horrid, like a naughty child caught doing something forbidden by her nurse, in a long time.

“Perhaps you should take a wee walk, Morwen,” Walda said before he knelt in front of the washtub. “I’ll take care of this here. Bliss, go out with her. Look for some dandelions while yer at it. That tea didn’t taste as foul as usual.”

The girl mumbled something by way of reply and took Morwen’s wrist, nearly dragging her toward the door. Before she left, though, Morwen stopped and watched the bumblebee at the window trying in vain to batter a way through the glass. Very gently she reached out a hand and gradually worked it beneath the little insect until, exhausted, it came to rest on her palm. With her other hand cupped slightly to shield it from any stray breezes, she followed Bliss outside toward the side of the tavern’s ramshackle barn where dandelions bobbed their golden heads by the dozen.

“She had that coming,” Bliss said as soon as they were out of earshot.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Morwen replied, studying the little bee in her hands, the veins in its tiny wings, the yellow and black fuzz on its body.

“Somebody had to do it eventually,” Bliss retorted. “I’m just glad it was you. You’re the only one really a match for her.”

“Your sister started it,” Morwen said. “Granted, I was sorely tempted to dunk her before anything actually happened, but Blithe slapped her first. It was only when I pulled them apart that Dreame went for me.”

“She..? My sis— you’re serious?” Bliss stammered. At Morwen’s nod, Bliss whistled between her teeth. “She had to be right good and angry.”

“She’s…” Morwen started, then thought again and changed her tack. “I think the winter was harder on your sister than you may have thought.”

The bee walked slowly up Morwen’s index finger as she thought, feelers wiggling, abdomen pulsing gently as it crawled. Bliss reached down for a dandelion flower, pulling it stem and all from the nearly knee-high grass beside the barn. Carefully she lifted the bloom to Morwen’s hand and the bee sped up, sensing food. A moment later it reached the flower, rummaging between bright yellow petals with relish.

“I know,” Bliss murmured. “She’s not getting used to it here. She works but she doesn’t like it, only does it because… because it kept us together. Mama nearly lost us quite a few times, but… somehow she always kept us together.”

A sharp whistle from the tavern startled them both and, turning, they saw Wierthe at the kitchen door, waving them back. Smiling sadly, Bliss looked down at the flower and bee in her hand, then blew gently on the little animal until it took flight for parts unknown, the baskets on its legs full of food.

“Maybe… some folk just aren’t meant to be together all their lives,” Bliss mused before losing sight of the insect she’d just helped free. Morwen’s eyes wandered up the hill toward the great hall where a great platform had been raised early that morning so the herds of people in the square could see the proceedings better. A brief flash of red caught her eye, but she dismissed it as a reflection from armor or a shield. No use wondering if every single thing was him.

“Perhaps they aren’t,” Morwen replied as they turned toward the tavern again. “Perhaps cherishing what time there was is all we can truly do.”
……

“She’s being rewarded for punching me in the jaw?” Dreame fumed five minutes later. “She’s already prettier and paid more and you’re letting her rub it in my face by flouncing off to—”

“Woman, if you don’t silence that tongue o’ yourn, I’ll be the next one to strike ye’!” Walda bellowed and the entire room fell silent with shock.

“The facts are simply this: you’ve been an intolerable bitch since she came, with a few brief exceptions when you’ve been at least passably human. The only way I can get the two o’ ye away from each other is to send one to the ceremony whilst I deal with the other, and frankly you’d see the respite as a reward. Morwen don’ want to go, and trust me when I tell ye’ the wait’ll be as unpleasant for her as missing the chance to complain in public will be for you. Ye think, after workin’ here this long, I don’t know how to handle the lot o’ ya? I might be dyin’ wench, but I’m not addled. Now, down to the cellars where you’ll cool off and be out of my sight. Get them spider webs out while you’re down there. After that there’s other things to be done”

“Sending me away like a child now? Giving me chores like a common field hand?” Dreame retorted, split lip puffing already from the blow Morwen had dealt.

“Better than sending you off as a corpse,” Wierthe growled. “Just go on before you make his heart stop. Don’t be stupid!” She seemed to be the only one brave or frightened enough to speak. The rest of the women eyed each other silently while Walda drew a deep breath, most with eyes downcast and hands folded before them. Morwen, however, held her head up, ready for whatever came next, even if it meant that damned ceremony she was now twice compelled to attend. She’d already seen Walda this angry and knew he wouldn’t strike anyone, no matter what he said to the contrary, and met his eyes when he turned to her next.

“Well, you heard what I just said. You need to get out of this place, go play the grand lady for that puffed up little snipe of a mercer up the hill or somesuch. You’d not have struck her if she hadna’ started things, I know that, but your temper’s been soured and I won’t let you work like that. Get away from here for a time and get over it.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. And, I’m sorry,” Morwen replied as steadily as she could.

“Isn’t you should be apologizing to me. You didn’t start the fight. Now, speaking of: Blithe lass, you told me straight off it was you started the swinging. I don’t blame ye for bein’ angry, but lass, ye shoulda’ said something before now! I’d have done something long before had I known she was snipin’ at you an’ your sister all year. Ye dinna have to put up wi’ that from nobody, do ye’ understand me?”

Eyes on her toes, Blithe nodded, as did Bliss who stood beside her sister like a bulwark. “We’ve more to talk on later, you an’ your sister an’ me, and we’ll do it during the ceremony while there’s nobody around to interrupt.”

“But you can’t keep Bliss from the party! That’s not fair!” Blithe yelped.

“I don’t mind,” Bliss said softly. “I’d rather be here for you anyways. Don’t make it any worse than it already is.”

“No!” Blithe replied. “That isn’t right. Walda, surely you see it’s not her doing? Why must you punish her for my mistake? She shouldn’t have to stay and miss the excitement because of my stupidity; it’s not fair.”

“Truly, I didn’t think one would stand being separated from the other,” Walda said, genuinely surprised. “I’ll leave it to you then Bliss. If ye want to go to the square ye can. If ye want to stay wi’ your sister, that’s all right as well. The rest o’ ye, get ready and get out. Go have yer fun, spend yer money, whatever it is ye’ll be doin’ and leave me in peace.” Pressing a hand over his heart, Walda drew in another breath and walked slowly into the common room, letting the door drift closed behind him.

Immediately a whispered argument broke out between the twins over whether both would stay or Bliss would go. The other women, wisely, kept out of it. By the time Morwen, resigned to the fact that she was going to the dreaded ceremony, finished clearing up the washing and went to her room, the twins had taken their discussion to the barn and Folcwyn had lain down with a sore back. Wierthe and Rose, always close, had sequestered themselves in Rose’s room pawing through each other’s clothes and jewelry, intent to look their best at their first opportunity to be seen by the newly promoted soldiers and visiting gentry, but with Folcwyn napping and the twins otherwise occupied, Morwen had to rely on her own best guesses for an outfit. She settled on one of her new dresses, a vivid purple with pansies embroidered so that they popped up from the ground around the skirt, but drew up short at what to do with her hair.

Frowning, she left her room and looked in the mirror in the hall, studying how it lay around her face and over her shoulders. For some reason she couldn’t name, she couldn’t leave it free. There was no reason and, more importantly, it probably wasn’t a risk she could afford to take any more. Returning to her room she fished a purple scarf from her trunk and tied it, Gondorian-style, over her head. The decision rankled her, but she knew it was likely necessary. Dark hair now meant an enemy in Edoras and most would judge first, listen later, if they listened at all. More importantly, the hill people of the west apparently wore no head coverings. The scarf would mark her as a woman of Gondor to those who knew enough to tell the difference, and hopefully make her safer among the throng of Rohirrim filling the square under the near midday sun. There was no sense in making herself a target for misplaced political animosity; yet still, she felt ready to cry, already missing the days when her fears of this still sometimes strange people she lived among had been both unjustified and unnecessary. Then as she piled things back into the trunk, her eyes fell on her bag of seeds, and the tears almost broke free. Instead she scooped it up and flung it hard against the wall where it struck with a great crack above the bed and the seeds scattered like gleaming drops of ale over the blanket and floor.

“Morwen?”

“I’m fine,” she said, not even bothering to look up from the coverlet.

“Ready then?” Rose asked, stepping tentatively into the room.

“Shortly. Go on. I’ll be along.”

“Bliss is staying,” she said. “So’s Folcwyn. You’ll be walking alone?”

“That’s fine,” Morwen replied. “I’m not fit company yet. Go and be admired. I’ll be along.”

When Rose’s steps retreated and the front door closed below her, Morwen raised her head, battling back tears once again. Her options were simple: either pull herself together and retain some dignity out of the mess this day had become or dawdle until Háma’s escort showed up and send Walda into another tizzy, possibly upsetting his heart as well.

That settles that, Morwen decided. She’d caused him enough troubles for one day already; she would not let cowardice cause still more and, after a deep breath for fortitude, shut her chamber door and descended the back stairs. Had she hesitated only a few moments longer, she likely would have heard Folcwyn’s yelp, but with Dreame in the cellar and the twins far below in Walda’s chambers, no one realized that the pregnant woman’s back ache had just become much, much more.
~*~

Author’s Note:
Ablinnan ægþer þu! NU!- Roughly, “Stop it, both of you. Now!”

Also, any suggestions for a better chapter title appreciated. Thank you.