Part 6 Of Tolkien's Women: Aerin

Part 6 of Tolkien's Women: Aerin

CW: vaguely implied rape, suicide. Basically it's canon compliant.

The revulsion she feels is not for him as a man, for he is fair to behold and not unkind to his servants and thralls. In other circumstances she might have liked him, even. But she was never offered a choice. And so she detests every gift from him, every touch, every word of affection. She resents him for the pretense of a marriage he has forced her to take part in. To her, he will always be the invader, the conqueror, never the loving husband.

At times she envies Morwen. Witch-woman, the invaders call her. They shun her, they go to great lengths to avoid her stern, unflinching gaze. They whisper about her kinsman, Beren, who rose from the grave through the dark sorcery of the elves. Even Brodda fears Morwen, fears what curses she may lay upon him. Every time he passes by her house, he makes signs to ward off evil. Aerin sneers at such behaviour. The only evil in Dor-lómin is the one he has brought with him, the darkness he serves.

Most of all she envies the menfolk of the House of Hador. She envies them their swift deaths at swordpoint, so much more merciful than the slow death of a life in captivity. Many a night she has lain awake in the darkness, clutching her dagger, calculating how many throats she would be able to slit before someone raised the alarm, thinking, would she have time to plunge the dagger into her own heart before they caught her. But there are too many of them, and she knows that her people will pay tenfold in blood for every life she takes. So she plays at being the dutiful wife. She tries to make the most of what influence she has with Brodda. Many a child of the House of Hador makes it through the winter thanks to the food she smuggles to their families. And with every small victory, every tiny act of resistance, she feels a little bit less dead inside.

Until the day Morwen's son strides into Brodda's hall and she is caught in the gaze of those stern, accusing eyes. When he cuts through the guards, when he puts her husband to the sword, every blow is a reprimand for the years spent under the thumb of the enemy. As if he could ever understand restraint in the service of honour and duty.

In the end they are the only two people left in the hall. And Aerin faces him, unflinching, without shame.

"Know this, son of Húrin. Our people will suffer for what you have done here. I hope you learn, before it is too late, to leave more than ashes in your wake."

She sees the pain in his eyes then, yet knows that he is too young, too blinded by his own sense of earth-shattering importance, too weighed down by pride and doom, to ever turn from the path he has started down. He will burn, and he will make the world burn with him.

But one gift has he given her. With Brodda and his household slain, with everything she has built through her life crumbling around her, duty to her people no longer holds her back. With one last look at the sky, she drops a torch on the oil-doused floor. Aerin stands tall at the chieftain's seat, watching her prison go up in flames, and when the fire reaches for her, she unsheathes her dagger and plunges it straight into her chest. Smoke and darkness cloud her vision, but through it all it seems to her that a piercing light shines through. Aerin sinks to the floor with a smile on her face, free at last.