Though she was loath to admit it, Goldwyn's first week at Esarhaddon's villa was not as horrible as she had expected it to be. So far, nothing unpleasant had happened to her yet, although being dragged away from her homeland, forced to live in the land of her enemies, and compelled to be the concubine of a man whom she despised was terrible enough. Though she was surrounded by wealth and beauty, she was still a prisoner, and like any prisoner, she resented her jailors. She was determined to hate everyone in this wretched place, from the highest lord to the lowliest slave, and whenever an opportunity to strike out at her captors came, she jumped upon it. Her tongue might be the only weapon left to her, but it could be as sharp as any sword.

Unfortunately, it was difficult to be hateful when everyone was so friendly and welcoming. While she might be filled with rage and resentment, Goldwyn did not wish to stoop to petty rudeness. During the first weeks of her captivity, she had often lashed out without provocation, and now she regretted some of her behavior. Anúrnissa, Esarhaddon's Second Wife, seemed determined to make Goldwyn her friend, and often invited her to her quarters for tea and conversation. Thankfully, Goldwyn did not have to say much, for Anúrnissa kept up a steady stream of conversation. She often talked about her unborn babe, and her worries about giving birth to her first child. When she found out that Goldwyn had three sons, the younger woman bombarded her with questions about childbirth. Although Goldwyn did not say anything to hurt Anúrnissa's feelings, she resented the imposition. Surely there were other women at the villa whom she could ask about such matters. When she was not fretting about the upcoming birth of her baby, Anúrnissa chattered on about her three pet finches, which Esarhaddon had purchased for her two years ago during a trip to Turkûrzgoi.

"Out of all of Lady Kémi's creatures, I love birds the most," Anúrnissa had confided with a wistful, dreamy sigh.

"Lady Kémi?" Goldwyn asked, her brow raised.

"The Goddess of the Earth," Anúrnissa explained, her deep brown eyes shining with reverence. "Her skin is dark like the earth that nourishes us, and her hair is like the verdant crown of a mighty tree, with the blossoms of all the flowers of the earth adorning her emerald locks. She blesses the land with abundant life, fertility, and beauty. In the region of Far Harad where I was born, many people worship her."

"You do not worship the Dark Lord?"

Anúrnissa shifted uncomfortably upon the divan. "The Lord of Gifts rules over this land; it is here that He is most powerful, and we must revere Him. But in other lands, His power is not as great, and the people worship other gods and goddesses."

"I hate the Lord of Darkness," Goldwyn vehemently spat out. "It is because of Him that my husband was called away to war; it is His fault that my sons and I were torn from our homeland, away from our family and all we had ever known."

At those words, Anúrnissa drew back in alarm, her enormous eyes showing the fear she felt. "Lady Goldwyn, please do not say such things! I know that you are frightened and angry, but do not allow your grievances to cause you to commit the crime of blasphemy. There are those here who disapprove of my love for the Goddess, but I always acknowledge the superiority of the Lord of Mordor, and try to treat all with kindness and respect."

So Anúrnissa did not worship Sauron? That was most interesting. Goldwyn understood that Esarhaddon did not worship the Dark Lord as a god, although it was obvious that the greedy slave trader worshipped the gold that the Enemy gave him. Perhaps it was a good idea to learn who at this villa worshipped Sauron and who did not.

Goldwyn knew that Shumeeren was a devotee of the Dark Religion. "All the more reason to dislike her," she mused. She could sense that the First Wife had little fondness for her, and the feeling was mutual. Although she made a great show of cordiality and manners, Shumeeren had a haughty air about her and seemed to be perpetually looking down her nose at everyone. "She acts like she is the queen of this accursed place," Goldwyn thought to herself. She could sense that the First Wife was the jealous type as well, deeply possessive of Esarhaddon. She saw the murderous looks Shumeeren gave Anúrnissa and her when their husband was paying more attention to them than he was to her. Well, Shumeeren could keep Esarhaddon, and reserve her quarrel with Anúrnissa. Goldwyn wanted no part of the man.

While she hated Esarhaddon and had little love for his two wives, Goldwyn did not have anything against his two sons, although she knew that they would probably grow up to be just as cruel and ruthless as their father. The youngest child reminded her of her youngest son, for they were close to the same age, but the Haradric boy was more outgoing and mischievous than her shy, dreamy Fritha. Abaru was two years older than her eldest son, Fródwine, but his personality seemed more reserved, and he was more affectionate towards his little brother than Fródwine was towards his two younger siblings. Not that Fródwine did not care for Fritha and Frumgár, of course, but he was often annoyed by their antics and could be a bit of a bully at times.

Goldwyn wondered how her sons would have gotten along with Esarhaddon's sons. When the slaver had first expressed his interest in her that unfortunate day back in Osgiliath, he had told her that he would not separate her from the boys. His plan had been for Fródwine, Frumgár, and Fritha to be the companions of his own sons, receiving an education alongside them. Ever suspicious and distrustful of the enemy, Goldwyn had been convinced that Esarhaddon was merely plying her with false promises to ensure her complacency as his bedmate, and had little intention to make good his word.

However, as time had gone by, Goldwyn began to worry that she might have been mistaken in regard to Esarhaddon's intentions. What if he really had planned to keep his promise, and had every intention of making the boys a part of his family? If that were the case, she had sent her sons away without just cause, forcing them to fend for themselves in the wilderness, where they might die of starvation and exposure ere they ever reached their homeland. Perhaps instead of luring the enemy searchers away from her boys, she should have kept her sons with her and allowed the enemy to recapture all four of them. If she had done that, Fródwine, Frumgár, and Fritha would be with her now…

No, no! She must not think that way! She had done the right thing. No child deserved to grow up in slavery, and her actions were the only way that her boys could have a chance of freedom. It was better to be dead than to be a slave! She would never condemn her boys to such a miserable fate!

She longed to escape, to return to her homeland and begin the desperate search for her sons. Unfortunately, she was trapped in this wretched place, and hundreds of leagues from Rohan. At least she had more room to move now. Even though it had afforded her privacy and protection, the healer's wagon was cramped and stuffy. She hated being confined, for it made her feel even more like a prisoner.

Her days at the villa had started to fall into a familiar pattern. Each morning after being forced to take breakfast with Esarhaddon, she would return to her chambers, where she would receive lessons in reading and writing, mathematics, history, and etiquette. One of the teachers at the School of Industry had been assigned to be her tutor. Goldwyn could not say that she cared much for Shireen. She was one of those overly sweet, chirpy women, much like Anúrnissa. At least she remained focused on her task, and did not try to draw Goldwyn out in friendly conversations like Anúrnissa was constantly trying to do. Goldwyn did not want these people to know anything about her, and she certainly did not want to know anything about them.

When Goldwyn had been informed that she would be receiving lessons in etiquette, she had braced herself for the mockery and insults which she would surely receive. After all, the people of Rohan were often considered backward, even by the Gondorians. However, much to her surprise, she found the lessons to be interesting, because they served as a guide for this barbaric culture in which she found herself. She was discovering that here in Nurn, she occupied a far more prestigious position in society than she had as the wife of a furnituremaker back in Rohan. Her station was not as high as a noblewoman, of course, but still it came with many privileges. "As though anyone would want to be privileged in Mordor," she thought bitterly. "A land where the rich and greedy ride to greatness on the backs of slaves." Still, though, it was wise to know one's enemy, for knowledge was power.

Goldwyn found writing to be quite frustrating, for Tengwar was far more complex than the runic writing system used in Rohan. She felt it was critical for her to learn how to read and write, however, for such knowledge would serve her in good stead if she was able to escape. Though plotting her course back to Rohan on a map would be easy enough, it would help if she were able to read the notations on it. While learning the alphabet was proving to be a vexing pursuit, she was making far better progress with mathematics, for she had more experience in that subject. She had been the wife of a prosperous furnituremaker, after all, and knew how to do basic equations as well as measurements.

History infuriated her, for it was nothing but lies. Though she knew naught of the creation of the world, she certainly did not believe the blasphemous teachings of Mordor. To hear such vile slander against the Valar was appalling, but she could hold little fault with her tutor, for Shireen was only repeating what she had been taught to say. These pathetic wretches actually believed that the Dark Lord of Mordor and His accursed Master were the tragic heroes of a cosmic drama! Even listening to such outrageous claims made Goldwyn's skin crawl and left her with a deep, pervasive sense of shame, as though her soul had been sullied by the forbidden knowledge of the workers of evil. Yet what choice did she have but to sit and listen to this abominable profanity? At least she could take comfort that not everyone here worshipped the Darkness.

After her daily lessons with Shireen, Goldwyn was free to do what she wished, whether that was attending craft classes with the novices or requesting private lessons from the instructors who were not currently engaged in teaching a class.

"Perhaps my lady would be interested in learning how to dance," Shireen suggested helpfully. "Mistress Linnet can teach you some spicy dances which are sure to thrill your husband and bring him great pleasure and delight."

"Absolutely not," Goldwyn spat out in disgust. "I have no wish to give that fat pig any joy!"

"Well, perhaps you would enjoy learning how to play a musical instrument?"

"I do know how to play a few songs upon the lyre, so I suppose I could learn a few more," Goldwyn reflected, recalling how Fasthelm had taught her how to play the musical instrument. She had not been overly good at it, but she had enjoyed the time they spent together.

Though Goldwyn had little interest in learning Southern and Eastern music, she was intrigued by the weaving and embroidery techniques of these foreign lands. However, she had been horrified to discover that the students at the School of Industry were weaving bandages for the army of Mordor. She refused to aid the enemy in any way. Let them all bleed out! Though her younger countrywomen seemed perfectly content to do the enemy's bidding, Goldwyn determined that she would not step one foot in a classroom where students were engaged in such treasonous work. She had considered requesting private lessons from Mistress Ushbarmí, but she did not want to endure the personal conversations which would come about with such close interactions with the instructor. Perhaps she could request a small tabletop loom for her quarters instead. In the meantime, she satisfied her restless hands with embroidery. Several times that week, she had sat in on the embroidery class for novices, and had approached Mistress Fariela for advice and project ideas after the class was over. Now she was working on embroidering a linen towel based upon a sample pattern that Mistress Fariela had loaned her. Needlecraft gave Goldwyn something to do in her spare time, a distraction from her many woes. Sometimes, when working with red thread, she imagined that the fabric was Esarhaddon's body, and the stitches were his blood as she stabbed him over and over again with a knife.

She could not deny that Esarhaddon had made an effort to woo her, both during the journey as well as these past few days at the villa. Though he was still a detestable scoundrel, he seemed somehow different than the lust-crazed barbarian who demanded her affections in Osgiliath. Could she have misjudged him? He had had many opportunities to treat her cruelly, but he did not. When misfortune had befallen her in the crypt, he had allowed her to recover in peace, and had not tried to take advantage of her weakened state. Now he seemed almost desperate that she return the affections he claimed to possess for her. She wondered if all the many hardships that befell Esarhaddon on the journey to Nurn had tempered his ardor and taken some of the fire out of him.

Though she did not like to admit it to herself, Goldwyn was pleased with the quarters that she had been given, often wondering at the great beauty and craftsmanship that had gone into creating the rooms and the furniture. She appreciated the artisanry of the intricately carved wooden window screens and furnishings, and marveled at all the exotic woods which went into their construction. The vases which had been placed upon the tables were kept replenished with fresh flowers of great beauty and fragrance. Esarhaddon had asked her what her favorite flowers were, and when possible, those flowers were incorporated into the bouquets. He had given her leave to walk in the family gardens whenever she wished, and had even hinted that he would allow her to accompany him and his sons when they went hunting for roe.

True to his word, Esarhaddon had given her a week to become accustomed to life at the villa. Each evening, he had taken his supper with her in his chambers. Though he did nothing more than ask for a kiss or two upon the lips, he subjected her to what seemed like an eternity of awkward conversation in an attempt to ease her hesitations. Fortunately for her, she did not have to say much, for Esarhaddon usually dominated the conversation with anecdotes from his past or discussions of Haradric and Mordorian culture. While she found the ways of these foreigners strange and even appalling at times, she still found herself listening with interest despite her resentment and bitterness. However, she would never let him know that.

Every day that week, Esarhaddon had presented her with a lavish gift, with each day's offering more grandiose than the last. The first gift had been a red enameled armband entwined with black serpents. He explained that serpents held great importance in his culture, and were the subject of many myths and legends. The Mushma Confederation, an alliance of the seven most powerful tribes in Northern Harad, was represented by a black serpent upon a field of crimson. Esarhaddon proudly informed her that his tribe was the largest and mightiest of the seven, with their chief city Kaskal being located near the headwaters of the River Harnen. While Goldwyn did not reject the armband, she did resent being given a gift bearing the heraldry of an enemy nation. She took some solace that at least the bangle had not been adorned with the symbol of the Great Eye.

On the second day, Esarhaddon gave Goldwyn a bracelet of fine silver filigree. She wondered if he had sensed her distaste for the first gift, and had given her the bracelet as consolation. He explained that the bracelet had been crafted by an Umbarian jeweler using ancient Númenórean techniques which had been passed down through the ages. Goldwyn thought that the bracelet coordinated well with the Dolrujâtar-crafted silver and turquoise necklace that Esarhaddon had presented her upon his return to the villa. Of course, she wished that the jewelry had been given to her by someone else.

On the third day, Esarhaddon gave Goldwyn a set of three hairpins which had been intricately crafted from wood and bone. The head of one of the pins had been carved to resemble the face of a majestic steed; the other two pins depicted rearing horses with flowing manes and tails. Goldwyn's blood went cold when she recognized the craftsmanship as being of Rohirric origin. Esarhaddon explained that the hairpins had been part of the spoils of war which had been taken from the North, and that he had paid three times their worth so that he could give her a souvenir from her homeland. Goldwyn shuddered to think what terrible fate had befallen the original owner. Her first instinct had been to reject the gift in outrage, but then she considered that it was better for her to keep the hairpins, lest some woman of the enemy defile them.

On the fourth day, Esarhaddon had presented Goldwyn with a crystal phial of expensive perfume and a tome of erotic art. The perfume, a heady mixture of jasmine and musk, was far too strong for Goldwyn's tastes, and she found the book absolutely scandalous. As she turned the pages, scene after scene of lascivious pleasure greeted her horrified eyes, each one more appalling than the last. On one page, men and women lay on couches in the most embarrassing of positions, reveling and copulating in wild abandon, while stags rutted with does and stallions with mares in vine and flower-draped woods. On the following page, sunlight shone down between the leaves of trees as a maiden knelt straddling over the bristling manhood of a handsome young man. Another scene showed a nude couple embracing, obviously caught in the midst of the act of love. Esarhaddon chuckled at her dismay, and she almost threw the book at his leering face.

On the fifth day, Esarhaddon gifted Goldwyn a large trunk of linden wood whose top and sides featured skillfully carven panels depicting a herd of galloping horses. Each panel was framed by an intricate knotwork border and had been painted with rich, vibrant colors which stood out against the light brown wood. As the wife of a furnituremaker, Goldwyn appreciated the skill of the artisan who had crafted the chest, which was far finer than anything her husband had ever made. Esarhaddon told her that the reason why he had chosen this gift was so she would have a place to store all the gifts he had given to her, and all the gifts he planned to give her over the course of their companionship. The accursed man could find a way to taint everything with his vanity.

On the sixth day, Esarhaddon took Goldwyn to the nearby village of Blûgund, where the weekly market was in progress. The village square was a scene of bustling activity: groups of people milling about and talking amongst themselves, merchants hawking their wares and customers haggling for a better price, a trio of musicians playing before a small but lively audience, and black-clad Mordorian guardsmen sharing jests with each other as they made their rounds. As Goldwyn followed Esarhaddon through the crowded square, her eyes took in her surroundings. Everywhere she looked, she beheld the abundance of the earth. The stalls of the fruit and vegetable sellers were overflowing with heaps of green and yellow squash; white and purple aubergines; grapes of celadon, red, and black; vibrantly striped melons; and other fruits and vegetables for which she had no name. Surplus grain from the recent wheat and barley harvests was for sale, as well as flour which had been freshly milled at the village's grist mill. Since Blûgund was located on the River Tornin, there was an abundance of both fresh and dried fish, as well as mussels, in addition to the other varieties of meat offered at the butchers' stalls.

Esarhaddon led Goldwyn past the fresh produce to the section of the market where livestock was sold. After passing by crates of squawking chickens and pens of bellowing cattle, bleating sheep and goats, and squealing pigs, they came to a horse trader who was trying to drum up interest in the five horses tied to his picket line.

"See anything which strikes your fancy?" Esarhaddon asked, turning to Goldwyn. "I brought you to the market today so that you might choose your own horse to be your sixth gift. Of course, if none of these beasts appeal to you, we can come back another week."

As Goldwyn gazed upon the line of horses, she felt a forbidden flicker of hope burst into flame deep within her heart. If she had a horse, she might be able to escape this wretched place, or at least get closer to her destination. She had to choose her mount carefully, however; nothing could be left to chance. There were two dark bays, a chestnut, a dapple gray, a piebald, and a bay dun in the picket line. The piebald, with its dramatic black and white spots, was far too flashy and would draw too much attention. The pale coat of the dapple gray was so light that it could easily be spotted from a distance. The two bays were so dark they were almost black, making them a good choice for night travel, but a poor one for daytime, since their coats would contrast too much with their surroundings. The bay dun, with its mixture of dusty tan and black, would blend in far better with the rich, warm hues of the Nurnian landscape, giving it an element of camouflage.

After thoroughly questioning the horse trader on the virtues and shortcomings of the bay dun gelding, Goldwyn requested a trial ride so that she could determine the animal's temperament for herself. Soon she was galloping through the open countryside surrounding Blûgund, her hair streaming out behind her, Esarhaddon and the horse trader following in her wake. As the world around her passed by in a blur, she considered turning the gelding to the west and pressing onward until she came to the distant mountains. However, it was not yet time for her to put her plan to escape into action, and so she slowed her mount to a canter and then a trot as she returned to the village.

"What will you name your new steed?" Esarhaddon asked Goldwyn after he had paid the merchant.

"Hopa," she replied.

"A word in your language, I presume," he remarked. "What does it mean?"

"Hope."

She did not tell him what that hope was. Knowing the great regard he had for himself, he probably assumed that she hoped for a blissful future with him by her side.

At last the seventh day arrived. Goldwyn felt like a reluctant new bride in a particularly unpleasant arranged marriage, awaiting her wedding night with terror and revulsion. She dreaded the summons she would receive that evening, for she feared that the loathsome slave trader intended to consummate this detestable union. The past six days of gifts had been part of his ploy to convince her to reciprocate his affections and willingly come to his bed. While some might consider her ungrateful for the favors bestowed upon her, she saw such grandiose gestures as insincere, for they had an ulterior motive. Even if Esarhaddon emptied all his treasuries and spent every last coin upon her, she would still reject him, for her love was not something that could be bought.

"A copper rim for your thoughts, my lady?"

Goldwyn's troubled ruminations were interrupted by Raen, who was brushing and curling her hair in preparation for her evening with Esarhaddon. Goldwyn barely registered the presence of her handmaid, so lost was she in gloomy imaginings.

"I am afraid I have so much on my mind that it would cost you quite a few coppers."

Hairbrush in hand, Raen moved around to face Goldwyn. "Lord Esarhaddon can be a kind man," she told her gently, as though sensing the source of her mistress' consternation. "But he demands obedience from his subordinates, and desires to be treated like a king in his home. If you show him love and affection, he will respond in turn, but if his demands are met by disobedience, he reacts with cruelty." The maid paused for a moment, and then continued. "He truly cares about you, my lady. You could wrap him around your finger if you tried, and he would worship at your feet."

Goldwyn fumed at those words. She would rather stick a sword through his guts.

"I have no desire to play such games," she replied icily.

"We all play games here in Nurn, whether we like it or no," Raen confided. "Because we are women and our bodies are weaker, our opponents have us at a disadvantage, so we must be clever and cunning in order to win. My advice to you is to learn how to play the game and perfect your stratagem. Your survival depends upon it."

Sullen silence met her words, for Goldwyn did not dignify the maid with a response. The old bat was advising her to play the role of a whore for Esarhaddon. Death would be far preferable to such degradation!

Raen gave Goldwyn a pitying smile and went back to styling her hair. "Do not be like a bull that keeps charging headlong at a brick wall when the door to freedom is only a short distance away." When she saw the confused expression upon her mistress' face, she merely gave her an enigmatic smile. "There, your hair is all done," she proclaimed, holding a small hand mirror up for Goldwyn to survey her appearance.

Goldwyn gave her reflection a halfhearted glance and then waved the mirror away. "Thank you, Raen. You are very talented in what you do." While it was fascinating to see what new things the maid could do with her hair, Goldwyn wished there was some other reason that she was dressing up in fancy gowns and adorning her face with paint.

"Thank you, my lady." Raen bowed her head and then went about putting away the supplies she had used to fix her mistress' hair. "Since the master was late in returning from Turkûrzgoi today, he already took his supper when he passed through Blûgund on the way home. There is a tavern there that he sometimes visits, the Water's Edge Inn."

"That is just as well, for I am not hungry." Indeed, Goldwyn had only picked at the food the servants had brought to her chambers earlier that evening. Just the thought of the lecherous slaver pawing over her body was enough to make her stomach churn.

Raen looked at her with concern. "I hope you are well, my lady."

"I do not want to share that man's bed," Goldwyn stated abruptly. "I will make no pretense that I do."

"I am afraid you have no choice," Raen told her sympathetically. "The master is quite taken with you. Before he left this spring, he expressed a desire to take another concubine, and possibly even a wife, should a favorable match be found. He grieves for his wives and children who perished from misfortune, and longs for his home to be filled with a multitude of sons and daughters. You should feel honored that he has chosen you to be the mother of his children."

"But I have my own sons," Goldwyn cried out in desperation. "I do not want any more children, not when I do not even know if my boys are alive or dead!"

"Ah, but that is something you do have a choice in, my lady." Raen smiled mysteriously. "There are certain herbs that will prevent a man's seed from taking root in a woman's womb. But I would advise against using such concoctions indefinitely, as the master will become suspicious, and oft children are a woman's only happiness and comfort in a forced arrangement such as this one. A tincture of Queen Ancalimë's Lace, taken after the act of coitus, will ensure that there are no children until you are ready."

"Queen Ancalimë's Lace?"

Raen nodded. "It is a lacy white flower which grows along roadsides in the summer, along with chicory. While it also bears the more humble name of wild carrot, the flower is called Queen Ancalimë's Lace by both Gondorians and Black Númenóreans alike." The maid paused a moment, her pale gray eyes growing reflective. "I always thought the name somewhat ironic, given the plant's use as a contraceptive."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my lady, legend has it that Queen Ancalimë hated men, and some scholars even believe that she favored her own gender. Such a woman would have little use for a plant which would prevent childbirth." The elderly woman's face crinkled with amusement. "Oh, I hear a knock at the door. The eunuchs are here to escort you to the master's chambers."

Terror struck Goldwyn like a bolt of lightning, and for a moment she felt as though she would retch. Gritting her teeth and clenching her fists, she swallowed down her fear along with her bile, and summoned forth all the hatred she could muster. She would not let the enemy see her afraid.

Her head held high, Goldwyn followed the eunuchs with all the regal dignity of a condemned queen.