something of a post-note to various Meril and Mornacu ficlets:
Meril's husband enters her office less than a minute after the Morben lord gives his goodbye. Fingon's appearance in a room that he rarely frequents startles her, and Meril scatters the ledger-work that she was planning to copy across her desk in her alarm. Panicked, she demands to know what attack is happening for her husband to come to her. Conflicting emotions war across her husband's face as Fingon denies an eminent invasion forcing him to visit her. Meril forgets herself, begins to berate him, them remembers the unspoken power imbalance that now rules Hithlum, and apologizes. Her husband, ignorant of her concerns, offers to help with the scattered papers. Only with her nerves settled can Meril begin to decode that tangle that pulls at her husband's handsome features. Easy to discern is the amusement at her expense from the smile on his lips, but the crease of brow is self-recrimination. Shame in causing her alarm, perhaps, but Meril thinks it more likely that Fingon evaluates his own absence from the literal offices of power in Barad Ethil. He helps her straighten the loose papers of tax revenue with the determination to be useful but the confusion that comes from avoiding finance meetings. "What is all this for?"
"Taxes for the Morben. What they can afford this year, what supplies they still need and therefore we must pull from the taxes of other groups. Textiles and food. Tomorrow I will speak with the weavers' representative to decide what amount to save internally and the price that the artisans are willing to accept, for his clan need winter garments, and what percentage to export to the rest of Beleriand."
Jealousy is an emotion that Meril does not expect to find on Fingon's face, and she nearly disregards its appearance.
"Mornacu leaves his caves to visit you often," Fingon says. "The pull of your beauty overcomes his aversion to light."
Meril scoffs. "I know that I am the most beautiful woman in Hithlum. I will not claim ignorance of or a lack of pride in it - but to Mornacu, my beauty will never be noticed."
"How can one not notice?" Fingon teases, reminding Meril that her husband is not devoid of flirtatious charm. Still, she must refute him.
"Mornacu is Morwë's widow, from what I can discern, or something close to it. It is an unmistakable sorrow that he carries. And despite if I am wrong about the nature of their bond, the Lord of Tatyar is no more romantically interested in women than Annael."
"The other frequent guest of yours."
Meril, still bewildered that her husband worries over the attention that other men might give to her, replies "Yes, Astordil's husband, the herdsman who saved what he could of my father's horses and people when the orcs invaded."
"i like him," Fingon says with a sudden bright confidence. "Annael of Nevrast. A caring horseman. Reminds me of Urumarillo." He pauses. "You would not have known Urumarillo nor had a chance to meet him. He was Cousin Maedhros's husband and died in the ambush when Maedhros was captured. That grief of being responsible for his husband's death tortured my cousin more than any of the Enemy's weapons, I think. As a child and young man, I don't think that there was anyone that I admired more than Urumarillo. Kind, patient, wise, and very beautiful. He taught me how to ride. Listened to my songs. My desire would that he be also a great friend to you, had he lived."
Uncertain, Meril looks down at the matching rings on their hands. Steeling herself with the same pragmatic tone that she used for her proposal a year before, "I know that our union is not one of great passion, but there is not another love that I am pinning for, Husband. I did not lose someone in the war." Just her homeland as it was before both the orcs and Noldor, she thinks.
Her husband pats her hand in what could an assurance for her or himself. It is the same gentle gesture of affection that he gives to his favorite horses. Meril, having learned how few her husband's companions are and how greatly he esteems his equine companions, does not misread this.
"We are well-suited for each other, Husband," Meril reassures him. "I do not yearn for another than whom I have chosen."
That final remark, that he is her choice, lights up Fingon's face in a way that begins to break her heart as Meril finally realizes that despite his rank and birth, her husband rarely felt as if he was first-choice. His reputation had blinded her. Admiration, Meril re-contextualizes, is not the love of close or easy friendship. Immersed as deeply as she is in the web of government, trade, and treaties that run Hithlum, she can see the contrast that her husband is not given the same administrative trust or duties. As Princess of the Mithrim eager to create a new alliance did Meril treat with High King Fingolfin, his advisors, Princess Lalwen, and often Prince Turgon. But even standing by his father's side, infrequently in retrospect, was Fingon's input rarely asked for. Her other mistake was equating her husband's family and political dynamic with the one that Meril's brother had possessed. Fingon was not Rodnor.
"Nor will I be jealous if you tell me that I am not first in your heart's desire," Meril says softly, "for I am still comforted by your kindness and protection for me and all my people. And confident that you do acknowledge my preeminent beauty. My pride demands nothing less."
Now Fingon's smile becomes a full-hearted laugh. "I do love you, Wife. We are well-matched in passion and understanding."
"Because we lack neither?" Meril almost quips, but his gray eyes are staring straight into hers as if he can already hear her words.
"Do you need me for any of these meetings?"
"For Mornacu, no," Meril answers. "You frighten that man, and it is not out of nervousness of your own beauty. Annael, however, could benefit from your knowledge. We need to know where and when it is safe to move herds back into the Ard-galen, which only you can answer best. And the two of you share interests and hobbies. And," here Meril teases wickedly, "Annael has remarked once within his husband's hearing that of all the princes of the Noldor that you are exceptionally handsome, more so than your golden cousins."
"Wickedness to ask me to inspire jealousy between spouses!" Fingon exclaims.
"Fairness," Meril says breezily. "But first, My Lord Husband, I wish to change out of this uncomfortable dress and into something suited for riding. There is a place from my childhood that I wish to show you."
"Another one of those dizzying cliffs from which you leapt into freezing ponds?"
"I have heard stories of your own childhood feats," Meril admonishes. "I can neither shock nor outdo you."
Fingon laughs, and Meril does not have a mirror to recognize the expression of joy on her own face.
